"illuded" poems
The colours are not colours.
This must be a shock,
For what are they if they are not colours?
Well, colours are only colours when hit by the right light at the right moment,
But even then we all see them differently
The night is evidence of this
You look at a colour upon the light
And all you see is its representation
A beautifully hand-crafted lie
Somebody crafted these colours into it,
Magnificently sure...
But if you look upon this colour
Once the black of the night has fallen
And drained away the world
You will see
Not pretty, bright red's and blue's of innocence
But the black's and grey's of life
No matter how hard you can look
The colours will have changed,
Twisted and morfed into something unrecognisable.
A lie
This is the true truth of a colour
...It is a lie
One designed to lighten and highten
And to create the fear of truth
A concoction of the human world,
Wrought to fool and impress
To impose and to play
Playing a game that they themselves don't understand
One of tricks and illusions
One to keep you up all night writing
Simple things with lying words
Everything is a lie,
Hell, even a lie is a lie
Because when Earth is no longer fit for mankind
The sun stops spinning
And the understand of anything
We mere humans have accomplished to comprehend
Is gone
This is when everything will be nothing
There will be no nothings to interpret
Not even a few measley words
Strewn together with mace and lace
They will amount to nothing,
And yet,
The colours.
Stop to see the colours
The same ones
That lie in wait for the light
To jump and give you a fright
For one day
When the night view is never ending
You wont have the glory of being fooled or illuded
And that is the greatest part of life
That life does not really matter
So why not see what's not really there
While we still can
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 10:58 PM UTC
Grass green sways in the wind
Sky blue of such depth
White pillows fill in the canvas
Small fingers point up
Decorations of white entertain
Bringing about such delight
Wind lifts tiny curls
Framing the cherub face
Laughter escapes
As tendrils tickle the face
The sound contagious
Even strangers are amused
Watching with delight
As happiness is so bright
A breezy spring day
Children all out at play
Nothing in sight
To give them any fright
The days longer
Bodies grow stronger
Dancing without a care
On a great spring day
Happiness grows
As the wind doth blow
The green meets the blue
In the distance
One day we might
See the day
When brown meets darkness
Happiness illuded
As children become secluded
Enjoy each day
Like it’s the last day
As it is the cure to grey days
And produces children at play
Written by Niyahlove
Jennifer Humphrey
Jul 2, 2010
Jul 2, 2010 at 2:14 AM UTC
I cannot remember who used to call me Darbels.
A dorky nickname, that somehow I adored.
I can her the voice faintly in the back of my head,
but I can't seem to figure out who it belongs to.
An old teacher, perhaps.
A childhood friend's father?
A good friend I once had?
It's driving me mad.
I am losing my mind,
and all I want
is for someone
someone
to just call me Darbels
again.
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 2:13 AM UTC
I saw a dim light
there was an artifact in my gaze
,however,
and I found that I had to look past a blade to see the light.
just to see the light.
An ancient blade of
A timeless razor with a word written
,freedom,
Or so it illuded in the darkness where I stood
I could hear the sirens
My life says they would sound beautiful
,however,
I have a heart of intent and a hand of doubt
I am in doubt
And hope is to blame
Hope is the name
Of my flickering fame
Nov 13, 2010
Nov 13, 2010 at 6:29 PM UTC
When I was young,
I found out I could become invisible.
I didn’t notice straight away,
but there were moments over time,
In the day to day where people,
Would see through me,
As though I was air.
It took time to figure out,
As all skills do.
But it seemed the more I desired it,
The more it illuded me.
At the moments I needed it most,
It was not there.
And at the moments I wanted to be seen, or helped, or loved…
It worked.
Feb 14, 2018
Feb 14, 2018 at 4:08 PM UTC
To the great brothers and great sisters of Her womb
To the great Mother and great Father, shifting through and through
Calling upon them for the great wisdom of our age
To bridge the gap between science and the sacred
This land has no boundaries, all conventions are made believe
and we are made to believe that politicians have our backs
while the preasts of a false language preach hypocracy to our faces
This is not our Shangrala, we have lost our grasp of Eden
Turning our garden into a guard, lost, we have turned a paradise
to a prison; old men casting aspersions of disrespect to a newborn,
blaming a victim of an obsolete tradition, casting salt onto the soil,
and calling it a blessing.
The prophets throughout the ages have seen a brighter world,
one that had, at its core, the truth; we are all one spirit, inhabiting these many forms.
This illusion of form and distance, made to be overcome, has illuded many, but not them;
They gave us the wisdom to escape the eternal womb of the mind,
and grow gracefully in the warmth of the Father Sun.
Trained to be beaten and broken, our new prophets have been beld and misled.
We call this machine, cold and calculating, Education; beaten and broken from the inside, our prophets are internally bleading: rose red ink on term papers with F wrote large!
**** you! The first words of resistance cries. I am my own authority,
I seek the truth, not your lies!
Tearing down the walls, and begining to tell a new story, we new prophets challenge "the way things are," because nothing is certain;
Our conscious evolution transcends to the stars, and starts in the grasses slowly showing their infinite patience and strangth, like a soft blade breaking the solid ground of traditions floor.
Be the evolution, brothers and sisters, fathers and mothers, be the change, and the change becomes you!
Agape and Appreciation
~M
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 1:40 PM UTC
You find yourself in Pittsburgh
In the shackles of Sinead,
You hear your name in circles,
and you play it on repeat,
When all the drums start playing,
The marching carries you out,
You can’t hear what their saying,
The music’s just too loud,
I’ll carry on the night,
Brown stars and the moon fight,
Run around my kids,
And watch all the pigs,
Wearing suits and ties,
Lash out at all the agitators,
Procreators, Legislative, creatures of the night. Debators, and anti-human manipulators
Let them guess all your secrets,
Let them hear your soothing voice,
no matter who the leader,
their job is to devoice,
and once let your mind float away,
into the plastic techno joy,
it may only be an illusion,
but to be illuded is your choice
And everything they’re saying,
about all our future plans,
oh how I wish they’d realize,
the future is in our hands,
and this division in the world,
leaves and endless race,
where we separate our families,
based off race, or place, or gays.
For one second not to notice,
For one moment not to care,
and everyday we want to give up,
or wallow in despair,
youth only driven by parent goals,
Money leave the dreamers trapped in a hole,
And at some point we all must choice to lose or let go.
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 4:24 PM UTC