"impermanence" poems
Hey there nephew, you're precious to me,
You're only six and life is yet to be,
But here let me tell you a thing or two,
I want you to live it before you get here too
Your world is small but your mind is free,
Ride that bicycle all you can on the street,
Hit that ball as far as the eye can see,
Slow the world down and be an athlete
Let your mommy give you kisses you need,
Cry and hug her when your fingers bleed,
Her laps are the best pillow indeed,
She will always love you, that is guaranteed
Your dad is going to be your best hero,
He will protect you today and tomorrow,
I too love you a little too much,
Somehow it can heal me, your touch
You too will someday love someone,
Kiss her lips and touch the sun,
Love her heart with all your soul,
Pity, impermanence is something you can't control
You are young and still have a lot to learn,
When you get to my age one or two things you really love,
No there kid I don't mean to make you cry,
When it gets hard just give it one more try
You see, all these things I too had once,
I see you and I see a piece of me,
Life is long and life is short,
You make me relive my memories
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 3:09 PM UTC
Goodluck everyheart
That dances on timelines
For a while, a short blink
Of an eye between cascades
Goodluck everyheart
That now watches life
As pure energy, watching
Stars die, reviving stars
In the impermanence of things
Goodluck everyheart
That runs on the lips of time
Laughing and playing
In the existence of routines
Death comes to each one
Like a sound, or the coming
Of a silent storm, it’s natural
To die, goodluck everyheart.
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 2:40 PM UTC
The bamboo forest favors impermanence
Flower petals, thunder, snow flakes
So let the time traveling tourist tell us
We will have something to say about this, later
Nov 19, 2018
Nov 19, 2018 at 6:28 AM UTC
All that you perceive is impermanence
No thing is begot by Nothing
All that can ever be known is but
a cap
upon a crest
upon a wave
upon an ocean
upon a sphere
upon nothing
within a sphere
within an ocean
within a wave
within a crest
within a cap
All that recedes is increasing
Nothing transmutes to No thing
All is externally breathing
w
a
v
e
s
into your perception
You are but a w
a
v
e
But you already knew that
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 8:26 PM UTC
Putting ink and needle
to my skin made me
realize the impermanence
of life. How flesh is a
life time but a life time
is just that,
only some number of years.
They say that tattoos are forever,
but cells flake off, organs decay,
and brains forget
the most important,
beautiful things.
I’m learning that even the
most profound of scars and
aches and pains
are all impermanent.
Because skin is just skin,
and I am just human,
and pain is not permanent.
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 5:10 PM UTC
*Nothing is permanent
Everything is ever-changing
Change is inevitable*
The dark shadowy clouds of Sorrow
linger over the horizon of our Mind
only to usher the rain of Happiness
And then a Sunlit sky to find
With Moon and the Stars as a guiding light
comes Night after a Day
Only to call upon the Sun
Illuminating the world, to keep darkness at bay
The shower that gushes through Mountain springs
flowing as a River it merrily sings
becomes one with the Ocean, a depth to attain
then evaporates into Clouds, to usher the Rain
The Flower that blossomed is meant to wither
the Pupa is meant to become a Butterfly
That what Arises is meant to Cease
That which is Born is meant to Die
Pain and Suffering is there but to pass
Delight is not going to forever last
One follows the other in Circle of Life
like a rhythmic pattern in Vitality vast
Matter is made up of tiny atoms
we are but merely Nature's vibration
An entire Universe resonates inside us
Realisation of which will lead us to Wisdom
Time, the bird of change, has taught
impermanent in itself it always flies
Things as they really are should be known
without craving or hating the feelings that arise
Ignorance, Conceit, False Hopes and Self Deception
are the very causes of Human Suffering
Consciousness of it all removes the Passion for Existence
in it alone lies the secret of our Well-being
Desire gives birth to Sorrow
nothing else can be so true
because after all "*You only Lose
what You really Cling to! "*
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 7:41 AM UTC
Impermanence
*—the shadow of everything that once was
the visitor who only sipped a little tea
dead leaves in autumn
someone who got away
despite begging him to stay
chipped paint in old walls
butterflies in their cocoon
trends that fill voids of the moment
but leave after they are forgone
suspended words in whispered talks
a child's wonder
faces with remarked lines
empty laughters turned into glistening tears
flesh to ashes, ashes to flesh
wines in glass bottles*
**—a beginning of everything that are to be,
cradle of brighter, better stories to come
as the pieces of long agos
are laid to rest**
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 11:45 AM UTC
The horror echoes in the neglected nooks
between the stained walls of my heart,
smeared in dust and smoke, the mirror tells many truths,
the impermanence, the impermanence of it all,
Hope takes a minute to die,
forever even lesser.
To love is to lay naked with a bullet in his hand,
the heart pounding and bleeding the fallacies,
of love and of hope and of dreams and of every false sunset,
stinking of what we never had and what we will never have.
We die the moment we believe, we believe it lasts,
all in all grows another wallflower
and dies before you notice.
Infinity? Eternity? the shallow truths we made
just to live a little, just to live on.
There is no door, there is no key,
no secret and no escape,
no soul and no mate, no blue and no red,
There never was more than lies
just to live a little, just to live at all.
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 3:36 PM UTC
How this could have
happened I will
never hear again
but it happened
all the same
exactly this way.
I was walking in
Prairie Creek
surrounded by my
soon to become silent
companions
when I noticed
events so
strange.
I dug my feet
into the dirt
they soon dissolved
and roots were
sprung
a nervous system extending into
the soil, oh the sounds the
smells I felt.
Where my skin once was
bark began to emerge
my fingers became tiny
clones of myself
each speaking different
tongues I could not comprehend
I made out these
words "our time has begun. "
I became a Buddha
on the road
a three quarter
smile on my lips
as my body grew
towards the sun
a thousand years
was now mine
and to it I did
succumb.
I watched the
generations pass
Christs come and
go and come again.
It all meant nothing
to me at all
as long as I have
this fog that nourishes
me and creatures living
in the canopy.
I stand at peace
for centuries
a thousand years
and still my life
is a five minute
dream filled with all
possible intensity
and former attachments
as the impermanence
of the illusion of
time was plain
to see
as human lives whirlwinds of
experience
dust devils
blew by me.
Lightening and fires burned me
but I survived.
Now that I stand in
this silence
lost in the meditation
of dreams
a solitary tree
the last standing
a brand new species
born of evolutions breeding
runs on the ground
dancing on my grave
I remember that
first day
the beginning of my
thousand year awakenings
I think it was only
yesterday.
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 10:31 AM UTC
A traveller am I on the roads of the world. In my wanderings
have I seen lands famed in story and shorn of all glory today.
I have seen the unheeded ruins of insolent might - its banner
of victory is gone with the wind, like boisterous laughter stilled
into silence by a sudden thunder-clap.
I have found stupendous pride humbled to the dust, dust
on which the beggar spreads his tattered rags, dust on which the
traveller leaves the print of weary steps to be effaced by the
ceaseless march of unnumbered feet.
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 5:51 PM UTC
I must recognize impermanence.
The curtain falls,
Good-byes are said.
I sit here in the darkness, waiting.
The end will come,
Unaccepted.
This odd, close-knit family will be gone.
Yet it does stay,
Just in memory.
This wish is all that remains after.
Never forget
What we have done.
The magic made,
The illusion, the theatre.
Aug 2, 2010
Aug 2, 2010 at 3:51 AM UTC
A long time ago a very young mother
Named Kisa Gotami gave birth to a son—
A child who was the light of her life.
The mother’s love was second to none.
Not long after her son was born,
The poor child grew sick and died.
“Who can bring my son back to life?
Have pity!” Kisa Gotami cried.
The villagers knew that there was nothing
They could do to help and suggested
That she seek out the help of the Buddha.
“He can do wonders,” they attested.
She found the Buddha and beseeched his help.
“My only son has died,” she wailed.
“Can you bring him back to life.
Everything I have tried has failed.”
The Buddha calmly said, “I will help you.”
The poor woman waited with bated breath.
“But first you must find for me
A family that’s never been touched by death.
“When you finally encounter that home,
Tell the family there’s something you need—
Just one thing to take to the Buddha—
And that’s a single mustard seed.”
With great excitement the mother ran
From house to house—to every abode.
But death had visited every family.
On her face, great disappointment showed.
After a long, unsuccessful search,
The young mother came to realize
That everything born had to die;
Everything had to have its demise.
She understood the law of impermanence
And that her suffering was not unique.
She now saw life from a new perspective;
Her eyes were open, so to speak.
Kisa Gotami returned to the Buddha
And started to follow his teachings--the Way,
Or Path to Enlightenment,
Which still guides many seekers today.
- by Bob B
Oct 11, 2016
Oct 11, 2016 at 9:24 AM UTC
*** a couple times with your hand that
has one vein popped up over the knuckle. sheets crinkle
laundry sits in the small humid room.
smells like roadkill and peppermint,
like christmas eve with dinner down the toilet.
you've *** four times in an hour,
rubbing at yourself through your underwear.
don't touch skin. it's off limits today.
getting raw means you can feel
how it stings when you cross your legs.
it's not about pleasure. it's the reminder:
you want to know what you look like,
what you feel like.
next time you're ******* down some boy you ask him
"how does that feel?" he says "good."
quick kiss, his ****** is archaic and copper.
you like how it tastes. now it's your turn:
but of course he won't make you *** unless
you take your hand and rub while he *****
your hand a barrier between his body and yours.
"please be quiet," you say out loud
the boy furrows his eyebrows, "i didn't say anything."
you laugh, "no, my stomach."
pretend to *** for a faster exit.
give him a tiny maternal kiss.
let it linger out the room where it's cold but he's still warm.
you don't want a warmth you have to love because it's too much.
the scab on your neck is now a scar
and you have no make-up for the ones on your forearms, but
really, most of you by now is star dust and tobacco leaves.
the sun is in our eyes. i want to know
what makes a circle go on forever.
i think about ****** a lot.
dreamt two nights ago chris sold me some,
it was in that tiny wax bag with a "king ****** stamp .
when i texted him the next day said "i dreamt
we did some together," he said
"that's funny. i've been doing some definitely
but not really selling."
the Chicago cold does something odd enough to you.
it always seemed like you were alive as a kid. well,
were you?
where is your body? out in the storm.
are you a ghost? no, it would be nice though:
the lack of responsibility of life,
a state of impermanence.
it would be nice.
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 9:13 PM UTC
People will always leave.
It doesn't matter how they tell you
that you are the most important thing
that ever happened to them.
It doesn't matter how they treat you so special
for days, weeks, months, years, I don't know.
It doesn't matter.
It doesn't matter how they tell you 'I love you'
after they kiss you on your forehead.
It doesn't matter how they make you
feel warm when you were cold.
It doesn't matter how they remind you
how perfect you are after you wake up.
You will be left hanging
somewhere,sometime, somehow
by that someone.
It's just a matter of duration.
People leave no matter what.
It's a human nature.
Jul 25, 2015
Jul 25, 2015 at 6:23 AM UTC
he was more of a friend than a pet
a modest, ugly thing
with three souls bound by skin & fur
i’ve never known a mouse to be a functional addict
and i’ve known a mouse or two
he monologued with clever prose
about the impermanence of materialism
and with a deep, angry, disappointment
whenever he saw an empty parking lot
and with reverence regarding the flower that grows through asphalt
you could call the thimbles of ******* he travelled with
cute
most times i listened to him in
silence
when the air was right i would speak as he spoke
identically
he was more of a brother now that i think about it
a shy, talkative sibling
who gave his heart away as quickly as he could
i’ve never known a mouse that cared so much for the world
and so little for himself
Mar 9, 2021
Mar 9, 2021 at 5:23 PM UTC
portray permanence
resist impermanence
all they see are patterns
patterns you are not
patterns they will enforce
you to become
patterns of impermanence
portray permanence
definitely find
meaning
in the ruins of thought
Aug 18, 2018
Aug 18, 2018 at 1:06 PM UTC
we are nothing but corporeal beings
tangible, earthly, and most of all, perishable
we are passengers riding in our own trains
in a seemingly perpetual motion
but we are doomed by our expiry
which could already be looming in the distance
it might already be standing by the door
ready to bury us beneath our tombstones
we get reminded by our impermanence
only when death himself shows at our doors
when we are already beneath our tombstones
emblazoned with our own epitaphs
we fade into dust, and become one with oblivion
but all is not lost, you can still see me looming there
in the blooming flower fields, in the open skies
out in the ocean, the wilderness
i fly with the birds, flow with the breeze
and swim with the fishes beneath the sea
in all your searching, you won't find me
but i am here, now one with the earth
Jan 4, 2018
Jan 4, 2018 at 10:22 AM UTC
Old men on park benches
they’re the real heroes
souls defying impermanence
greying and slower than you
recalling the days
when they dared the seasons to change
kinetic and thoughtless
they were once young men ablaze.
These elder boys sit reminiscing
as the beautiful young women prance by
not daring to say a word
for fear of ridicule
but knowing that many nights
they were desire’s center of attention
when lithe legs enwrapping them.
Elders are not holograms
just vintage men with feelings
hurting when the young and sparkling
look through them not at them
as if they were props
in the day’s act.
Elders are not mirages
but consciousness battling time
accumulated wisdom vibrating in the ether
still electric inside and unafraid of time
with smiles on their faces
they reach out for sunsets
and pull them close
with arms of love.
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 6:29 AM UTC
When I discovered I had cancer,
I was told that I would learn a lot
About Life and Death and Time,
But I never thought that I would
Discover what it means
To be intimate
With strangers,
Or anyone, for that matter.
When my insides were cut open like a game of operation,
I told myself:
Be detached.
When visitors came,
We talked about the weather.
When I arrived home, I spent my time
Trying to forget
The experience
Of impermanence
And shared emotions
That I couldn't even grapple with
Myself.
When the person I loved
Left me
I flinched
And then sunk back into an abyss of
Emotionless functioning,
Cutting myself further and further
Off from my narrative
Of pain.
When it was time to go back to school,
I flinched
And signed up for a workload
Heavy enough
To push out the fading reality
Of my condition.
It wasn't until I was sitting on the steps
Outside of a bar that was slowly beginning
To empty out,
As intoxicated shadows gained substance and lit cigarettes against the brick wall.
I sunk down next to friend I had recently met-
My big t shirt inched up above my abdomen
And the lower jagged mark of my scar
Peeked out-
I didn't choose to tell him my story
Until he asked me about the obvious
Stale incison mark that had a presence
Of its own.
Piece by piece, it peeled itself from off my stomach
And liquified into a sequence of events
And feelings
That poured from me
Like a stream of bubbling bath water
Overflowing from the rim
Of a porcelain tub.
That's when I realized that there is something shared and intimate about scars:
Marred reminders of the flesh
That speak to our upmost human
Encounters with our own mortality.
An indecipherable label of sorts:
An unsigned invitation into the taboo.
In a moment of unintentional word *****
At 2am to a stranger,
I regained my intimacy with myself
And my journey.
I learned that while Life and Death and Time
Will always plague our existence,
They distance us from the human experience that is
To feel:
To feel everything in this God forsaken world.
To feel angry at people for leaving when they should have stayed.
To feel compassion at the same time.
To feel intimacy with others.
To feel intimacy with yourself.
To feel love.
To feel pain.
To feel the cold creases in the wooden floor as you make your way to the bathroom in the middle of the night.
To feel alone.
To feel surrounded.
To feel the trembling echoes of the past and be able to grab its elusive coattails and shake away the dusty remnants of time and shout that you are present.
To feel nothing.
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 1:07 AM UTC
pictures don't capture essence
though some fools try
fleeting and impermanence define
as moments pass us by
to put things in a mason jar
to try and save a part of life
and miss out on the majesty
of rare occasions, lucky spied
it's never the same
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 2:47 PM UTC
*each moment
flows uninterrupted
the more I unclench
my grip
and
let go,
let it flow*
Sep 26, 2016
Sep 26, 2016 at 10:43 AM UTC
your skin is pale silk, my white hart, my Sol heart,
your blood as it thrums is red Eucharist wine,
your hair all the sun's godly glory and gold:
so Gloriana, lonely amora, who'd not call you the one and the only?
you speak of the sweet whispers that the waves could-- could!-- bring,
you, all fragrant with frankincense and rosehips and thyme,
you, avournine, flow to and away with the moon's ebb and sway,
and who'd not shiver and tremble before you, loreley!
you claim castle and crown with your easy warm grace,
you claim thrones of ice then complain of the cold,
and to touch your lips to petals is to touch her face:
but Titania, appassionata nostra,
caprice and impermanence, grace and countenance,
our lady of the lake!
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 4:46 PM UTC