"futility" poems - Hello Poetry

In a wakeful contradiction, It lays fact between my fiction. Tangling subatomics, It unravels, as its tricks spin Deeper, toward the outward . . . It won’t let up, Until I give in. Over matter, lay my mind . . . I tell a lie to pass the time . . . But there’s no reason nor a rhyme — Less still, a purpose? I search for something To remind my mind That there is truth, That isn’t worthless. But as always, failure appears In a sort-of amnesiac continuity, And my reality lies to my own mind, Just as well As it succeeds in its futility. With destruction as its manifest, It tells me that I stand my tallest Upon two buckled knees. Just as faith will find one’s doubt — A search within has left without. It seems that an answer, once sought out, Will be left lacking its question. My truth divides itself, As the product Of infinite misdirection. I try to substitute a reason, for a rhyme. But with no lies left to pass the time . . . I swallow a dose of ignorance. It goes down Smoother than the truth. In a war that started with a truce, This world betrayed my faith To show me: That I'm only tall enough Once I’ve been cut down slowly. A pill too large to swallow, I think I’m choking on myself Or the irony of asking, “How could I be so careless?” Here I stand, Barely standing, Consumed almost entirely By my own dry-heaving self-awareness Each night I am left to fight the fears That my nightmares create; I’m still running from my past, Yet, haunted by my fate. They walk beside me always, Shadowing wholeheartedly — They exist as a duality, Both “apart from,” And “a part of” me. In truth, These ghosts have taught me very little, Aside from what I hate. But, I've come to learn, not to fear The forceful hands of fate. For, I shudder not, at the thought of destiny, Or the inevitable in time . . . Instead, I fear the eventuality of the choices That were solely, And entirely, mine. I fear that my will may be Of enough influence, alone . . . That fate itself may collapse Beneath decisions like my own. Or that I, myself, Might be constructing What destruction I will find Among my shattered spirits And convictions, In these depths, to which I climb.

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Jul 3, 2018

Jul 3, 2018 at 9:43 PM UTC

bad-luck

A Search Within Has Left Without

In a wakeful contradiction, It lays fact between my fiction. Tangling subatomics, It unravels, as its tricks spin Deeper, toward the outward . . . It won’t let up, Until I give in. Over matter, lay my mind . . . I tell a lie to pass the time . . . But there’s no reason nor a rhyme — Less still, a purpose? I search for something To remind my mind That there is truth, That isn’t worthless. But as always, failure appears In a sort-of amnesiac continuity, And my reality lies to my own mind, Just as well As it succeeds in its futility. With destruction as its manifest, It tells me that I stand my tallest Upon two buckled knees. Just as faith will find one’s doubt — A search within has left without. It seems that an answer, once sought out, Will be left lacking its question. My truth divides itself, As the product Of infinite misdirection. I try to substitute a reason, for a rhyme. But with no lies left to pass the time . . . I swallow a dose of ignorance. It goes down Smoother than the truth. In a war that started with a truce, This world betrayed my faith To show me: That I'm only tall enough Once I’ve been cut down slowly. A pill too large to swallow, I think I’m choking on myself Or the irony of asking, “How could I be so careless?” Here I stand, Barely standing, Consumed almost entirely By my own dry-heaving self-awareness Each night I am left to fight the fears That my nightmares create; I’m still running from my past, Yet, haunted by my fate. They walk beside me always, Shadowing wholeheartedly — They exist as a duality, Both “apart from,” And “a part of” me. In truth, These ghosts have taught me very little, Aside from what I hate. But, I've come to learn, not to fear The forceful hands of fate. For, I shudder not, at the thought of destiny, Or the inevitable in time . . . Instead, I fear the eventuality of the choices That were solely, And entirely, mine. I fear that my will may be Of enough influence, alone . . . That fate itself may collapse Beneath decisions like my own. Or that I, myself, Might be constructing What destruction I will find Among my shattered spirits And convictions, In these depths, to which I climb.