"incompleteness" poems
The half moon shows a face of plaintive sweetness
Ready and poised to wax or wane;
A fire of pale desire in incompleteness,
Tending to pleasure or to pain:--
Lo, while we gaze she rolleth on in fleetness
To perfect loss or perfect gain.
Half bitterness we know, we know half sweetness;
This world is all on wax, on wane:
When shall completeness round time's incompleteness,
Fulfilling joy, fulfilling pain?--
Lo, while we ask, life rolleth on in fleetness
To finished loss or finished gain.
14.1k
Standing before the masterpiece
she lamented it's incompleteness,
nothing ever gets completed in universe
thank homeostasis for the illusion
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 9:29 PM UTC
We are like two guitar picks
They are all so unique
Different shapes
Different sizes
Different textures
Different smells
Different feels
Different beings
But we
We are identical
Just like each other
And we play music that is so different
No one gets it
No one figures it why
But so it is
And only we can get what flows out of it
Strumming along in dischord
And harmony too
You’re just like me
And I am just like you
But we have our own guitars
And that is where our melody flows
The music all so complete
All so perfect
That it makes you just not believe
Coz things cannot be perfect
For nothing ever is complete
For beauty lies in incompleteness
And imperfection
And we with our guitars
Are just so ****** perfect
That it bleeds me to see us that way
If only guitar picks like us
Were left alone with each other
And never touched or disturbed
We wouldn’t get around to do anything
For the two of us
Are of the same kind
We can’t get music out of us
Or each other
Coz we are no guitars
And we won’t have them
Or anything else
But just each other
Two guitar picks
With the same lives
Touch
Smell
Shape and design
The only two unique
That no one else can match
That no one else can get
And there we lie together in the corner
No one to ruffle us
Just left to ourselves
And we lie there
By our sides
And we can’t play no music
And we can’t strum a song
Coz we are two guitar picks
Without nothing else
Without no guitars
But only ourselves
Which is just so ****** incomplete
And so imperfect
So mighty beautiful..
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 12:01 PM UTC
smoke.
the smell of nicotine
rests on my black
graphic t-shirt.
the dwell of misery
rests on my back,
while music reverbs.
my black vans are
filthy with the weight
of pain.
a wallet,
filled with little notes.
writings from her
in my back pocket.
a very lonely bench awaits
my place as i sit and
try to out smoke
this familiar mental state.
i look out into the
water ahead, the creek’s
liquid mirror reflecting
her aura.
“oh god, not again.”
a sudden and sharp spike
of sadness runs through
me, a longing tear trails
my frozen cheeks.
then i remember him,
and how much i miss him.
i remember him calling out
for me along with mom,
and how harmoniously my
heart would pump gallons
upon gallons of hot burning
blood.
hot burning love.
i take another drag to mask
the molecules of reality
that i wish i wouldn’t have
to inhale.
i look up
at the aligning stars,
and by the grace
of the god i do not
believe in
do i tell you
that i let out a cry
so loud, that he himself must’ve
felt heaven shake.
with water flooding
my brown eyes, i
yelled and pleaded
whatever being
that could hear me
to end me, because
i tell you that
all this pain,
of missing certain people,
of longing for lost love,
of experiencing incompleteness,
of feeling so ******* unable to stand up,
of combatting the poison guilt is,
drags.
at my soul,
harder
than cigarette
smoke.
-melancholicreator
Nov 5, 2018
Nov 5, 2018 at 10:24 AM UTC
There are many gifts in God’s great creation
All part of His great economy of the order of things
The gift of breath
The gift of song and of music
The gift of life, of image, of love
The gift of all things
The gift of even --dare I say it-- death
He gifted all things that are
All is gifted unto us
All is given by the Triune God
In all gifted, there was still incompleteness
There was nothing to respond to God
So constructed into the image of God
Comes a gift better than any gift before given
With the breath of God flowing to our lungs
Wearing a crown of the honor and glory of God
This gift, these people- Us
He says to explore
He says to see the world that we have been gifted
To unwrap the gifts given
To gift our gifts to the world that we are exploring
But there was this problem, a tree
It was not a gift, in fact it was forbidden
Yet still, we unwrapped it, we took that which was not ours to take
We were overcome by death
Overcome by udder sadness
Overcome by sickness, and hurt
By this torturous, terrible thing
This terrible stolen anti-gift
And for it we paid a hefty price
We lost all we were
We lost all we were meant to be
No longer did we fulfill our meaning
Where we were to be gift givers
Where we were to be life to the world
Where we were to bless all things
We took that which was not offered
We broke our relationship with God
Not only did we suffer
But all creation suffered with and due to
Then came a new gift
A gift to restore
A gift to be freely taken
Yet a gift of great responsibility
This gift would set free
But also bind
This was a gift of all gifts
This was a gift to end all gifts
God Himself became man
Offering Himself unto death
So that all things could be made new
So all that was sad would become untrue
Now, as we were once to be
We could, ourselves, be gifts to the world
Blessing the world
Giving life to a lifeless
Our gifts were joined with Christ
With this gift, we would become like the gift we were
More like it than ever before
For Christ makes us more human than we've ever been
Where we would offer the world to The Father
And for the life of all things
Our priesthood would be restored
All things would be restored
All things would be made new
All sad things would come untrue
The world would be restored
Prepare the way!
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 8:50 PM UTC
Matters of love, you’ve reaped into me
Dynamics of knowledge, richness and profoundness
Bringing age to my heart
Knowing love and knowing brutal pain
More real, more powerful, more beautiful
Gifted consciousness filling missing part of potential
Crumbling down our incompleteness
Loving you more than consciousness of my thoughts will allow
More than the passion of my intensity
To be a model of human brilliance
Manifests within the existence of my being
I am a furnace
You are the only flame
Sparking this wild fire
I am a candle, inanimate,
You are the flicker that gives it life, light, soul
I'm am intrinsic potential waiting to be actualized
You are the catalyst of life breathing momentum into me
Through your existence
A flower, a beacon, weapon to my oppression and pain
Appropriation of your love, impossibility in my life
Immaculate potion to my sorrow
Like a wild flower
Withstanding thunder, hurricanes, and rain
An atom from another dimension
Your pulse travels through my heart and my soul
As dangerous as ore
You are the purest form
Deep underneath farther than I can explore
You are the most beautiful creation
You are the end to my means
Unconceivable new reality to my rebellion
The revolution I await
In the deepest part of my existence
Knowing it might never be
Key to my chains
Chant to my muted voice
You are the embodiment and the soul of my freedom
Always escaping from me
Jan 18, 2013
Jan 18, 2013 at 11:14 AM UTC
my finger traced the cracks and brokenness,
found the gaps and incompleteness,
while you carefully took each jagged piece
and added a golden vein of grace
to mark the restoration,
creating a celebration
within a divine appreciation
of this, a broken reflection
of my origin,
starting and ending with you
Nov 18, 2018
Nov 18, 2018 at 5:01 PM UTC
The decaying mansions of English language
Rot and recede
into teenage grasses
with each unspoken year
The hired help have left their hair unmown and surrendered their uniform dress
Content with the neglect of nature
taking its timely course
When the architects and master masons of linguistics
Survey their forgotten plans in the heaven of English literature
They are not dismayed
but patiently sit and sit
The pristine edifices of the classics
Once grand and clad in deferential brick
Stand scaffolded and unread
The doors unlocked, ajar and hopelessly inviting
Into the library of the English canon
The dusty cloak on the carpets of grammar
Sheets thrown over the disused armchairs of archaic words
Echoing the plink of the out-of-tune pianoforte of the perfectly crafted short story
Bathrooms of formal poetry
With the rusty plumbing of metre and rhyme
Whereas the temporary outhouses,
hastily arranged huts of slang and idiom
are adorned by the living grasses of new forms,
creepers of half remembered dreams
mulching leaves of half formed thoughts
forests of half forgotten loves
writhing in living incompleteness
Which will in turn harden and fossilize
And we can then rue the passing of our once organic lingo
Dec 14, 2009
Dec 14, 2009 at 10:18 AM UTC
I know wot steps not to take caused in me the previous mistakes
I have driven swiftly down memory lane, I have now misled the old habits of incompetence, incompleteness and intolerance into isolation.
I have now become a thing of substance ready to be filled again but this time around I take responsibility for my choices.
In my head is the lyllaby of SPECIAL FRIEND singing
I oppose the feeling of remorse and hug tight love and self forgiveness.
U HAVE NO IDEA WHAT DIS MEANETH COS U HUNGERETH TO LEAD NOT
May 26, 2012
May 26, 2012 at 6:57 AM UTC
In his head
A small factory
Producing
Packages of wisdom
Personnel
Cooperating
With unprecedented brilliance
The observers
The processors
The creators
All contributing
To a brand new theory
Unfortunately
The packages
Won’t be sent
The fear
Of incompleteness
Interfering with development
Oh logician
If the world could only
Feel
Your passion
Behold
Your creativity
Your theories
Would dominate the world
May 14, 2020
May 14, 2020 at 4:55 PM UTC
Every inch of our ceiling
is bruised in memory,
watercoloured blues
fade into last Summer's browns.
It hurts.
Night brings the poetry
I'm still trying not to trip over,
the written and spoken wounds
that mark my body
still spell out your favourite weapons:
1) Ginsberg
2) Naivety
3) Perpetuated incompleteness.
I am anatomically structured for
falling apart with one cut heart string
at a time; a countdown only I control.
One only you tick for.
One day you'll learn
that the world is made from tissue paper,
and tears as easily as I.
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 5:36 AM UTC
She's a pattern and yet so complex--
An entity of incompleteness bound by the voices that tell her "she is nothing"--
A frame unstructured and yet paved by the scars life left on her--
Not an epitome of daintiness but the reflection of a clay that's been molded then chipped to bring forth all at once rugged, sharp, smooth and rough edges--
Multifaceted for she smiles in the light, laughs in the crowds, cries in the night and cringes at the slightest mention of the word "love"--
Self-conscious, never once hearing of a King who thought the world of her--
The irony of dodging people who care only to fall into the traps of the ones who would never care to figure her out--
Similar to a pressed rose--
Pressed into the lives of others, leaving behind residue to the point of self dehydration--
If tears are as perfume, heaven is filled with bottles marked with her name; Daisy--
Born delicate, pure, & soft to the touch--
But over time the petals have been dried , shriveled up into brown nothings that fall fearfully as another heart dares to come near--
Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 2:26 AM UTC
this oriental rose
textured with occidental precision
desperately seeks perfection
in all things worldly
nature’s true signature
wreaks havoc instead:
in the rocks of the grand canyon
in a mole on a cheek
in the dried but fallen leaves of autumn
even in the scribbling of our children
embrace wabi-sabi
where wafting moments of melancholy
transform to sheer joy
in the subtle realization
that coexistence with incompleteness
the proven path to release one
from the chaining bonds of perfection
© 2021
Jul 19, 2021
Jul 19, 2021 at 10:45 AM UTC
Not all love stories get the 'happily ever after.'
Some leave you breathless
Or crying
A few may have you scratching your head
'Really? All that for what?'
Love between two people can even have all of that combined.
There is a single flame inside every human being on this entire planet.
It flickers inside ourselves, randomly choosing to be on or off throughout our lifetime, only it never brightens--
lacking the spark that increases the radiance of the fire.
When two people have a spark, their souls for a moment connect as an invisible whispering, twirling as a dance of lovers.
There are those that never see it.
Some try to use the flicker as real love.
Yet incompleteness is inevitable!
There is a hole in the soul left by the one your soul danced with, or your fire longs for.
Live as though your fire is lit, and sooner or later it will be
"A candle loses nothing by lighting another candle"-James Keller*
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 12:42 AM UTC
He: What're you afraid of?
12:38am
She: Losing you.
Because I don't want to lose you. And if I lose you I know that I will feel empty for years after. And I don't want that incompleteness. I just want you.
12:41am
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 3:50 AM UTC
The winds have run away from us
Sailboats and feelings of incompleteness
Are now what we call home
Blue skies kiss the scabs on my knees
I've fallen many times while you were ahead of me
The distance stretches its limbs into the unknown
And I follow the quiet heartbeat
reverberating through my bones
If you listen closely, its reciting those words
And promises I once made to my broken self
It tells me all about my journey across the vast strait
That drains into the storm-loved sea
That bubbles and roars under my skin
I walk through fires and biting forests
As I make my way through everything that I fear
I walk these steps, holding you near
Prayers for you on my tongue
Evaporate into the open breeze
Carrying the hope that you make it through
Everything that obstructs your peace
Jul 10, 2022
Jul 10, 2022 at 5:54 PM UTC
The loneliness permeate down into the toes, walking along the sidewalk
The streets seem empty, vacant faces, hurried bodies avoiding the solace of a simple hello, their trifling stares stabbing at their incompleteness
Write pain only because the voice cannot verbalize it. We don't understand it. We don't want to
Trifling affairs taking us up, consuming us, completing us, then draining us
Walking life avoiding others, their daring greetings, their trifling
They, too, walk along the sidewalks and the gutters, getting tripped up on their own despairs Listen not to Dante's doom, that abandonment is futile
Futile fallacies, our trifling forays, our misfortunes
Street along, you masses, you unforgettable, delving into yourselves, forgetting
You cannot understand it, those trifling friendships
How do they compare to the miseries you trudge through, swamped in that which hold you back, slows you down, drowns you, chokes you
Your only connect is the carelessness of your incompleteness, contagious of complaints
That cracked sidewalk, tripping you up in its unevenness
Your shoes have rubbed out their souls, toes slamming their unending pressures
You feel defeated and oppressed. Yet you walk on
Why do you not just stop and rest? The lonely road does not end, it continues on and on unceasingly, its seasons one big blur
Year in and year out your days numbered as nothing but trifling affairs, your greetings to fellow walkers rare as encouragement from within. You have become swollen in refusing refuge from those that share that uncaring sidewalk
You balk at accepting a hand to take that lonely walk with you, it is just another pair of loneliness who seeks companionship, who only seeks to cease their own trifling affairs
Lend not your own complaints, but console and be consoled in the greeting of a walk together
Feb 2, 2012
Feb 2, 2012 at 10:37 PM UTC
i'm about to finish a puzzle,
completing a portrait
to give me peace.
when the puzzle,
I soon find,
is broken;
there's a spot
with a missing piece.
the whole picture seems ruined
by the hole,
the hole
where something should be.
incompleteness
that once was masked
is now apparent
for all to see.
I open up the box
and find its contents
have been taken.
the piece that has been stolen
left the puzzle with no ending.
I draw out a replacement
as perfect as I can imagine,
but the hollow representation
cannot match
what once was.
I retrace all the steps I took
to get me to this point.
each puzzle piece which I had put
in order to make it work.
the last of all,
the one needed,
the one to complete me,
was given to the one who
needed it more
than I could give.
she has my final puzzle piece
and I have hers as well,
and I would gladly hand it over
time and time again.
she has my missing puzzle piece
and I have hers as well.
neither of our portraits can be complete
without the other's help.
and though this makes it difficult
to carry on as before,
I find the best puzzles require
more than just oneself.
[ARH]
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 9:29 AM UTC
Love's ideas, two becoming one
two halves of a whole
what if one's not in it all the way
not like the love of olden days but transient
latched on like a love dart
an antibody flooding in an antigen
placing its little locks with its little keys
closer than two genders - a swell
August 2017 brings the apartment together
but hubris and October 2018 tears it down
if there's one hole in the puzzle
it will tear us down with its incompleteness
don't love me like a girl; don't call me one
when that ghost sits at our banquet
rips the swell apart leaving
nothing but blood and dregs of love's dark wine
all over the floor
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 8:49 AM UTC
Ah, passion -
That stay awake,
Go-without-eating mania.
What other feeling can
Make a person feel so alive?
Then, there is longing -
That helpless sense of incompleteness.
Give me comfortable love -
That gentle expression of companionship.
Give me safe love,
Free of juvenile fears and
Exaggerated
Expectations.
But...
Give me contentment
Some other moment.
Feb 15, 2013
Feb 15, 2013 at 10:05 PM UTC
What will it be like
when I close my eyes
for the last time?
Will I see that
bright light
I have heard about?
Pain may flicker
in those last moments,
or maybe
there will be
no pain at all?
This I do not know.
From my first breathe
to my last, oh how
many people and places
have I known and been?
Seems a wandering train
of adventures
has left the track.
Oh, how it seems
to have been rushed.
It is now,
as it seems,
the end.
That last stop
that shall only
happen the once.
This passenger
is getting off
at that location.
Will anyone be
at the station
to greet me?
Such is the faith
I hold, that I
hope this is so.
Shutting down.
Closing.
Dying.
Final visions
filtering themselves
from my eyes.
Who will I see
around the bed
when
I
swallow my
last gasp?
Should I be afraid?
Or should I
welcome the
death rattle
as a system of
release?
Free from
the sundry
incompleteness
of walking in this life.
Not having to
worry about
the
imperfection
of walking
on this planet.
As life drains
out of me,
what will be
my very last thought?
What final image
will I take with me
to the grave?
I pray it will be swift.
Absent from pain
and present
in God.
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 8:58 AM UTC
A colorful, blinking lantern
dangles by the eave's ceiling
green, red and yellow lights hung
outside the window, stilled at day time
but......dazzle the eyes at night
i am late... no pots of poinsettia
yet, to brighten the veranda
in the living room
the tree top is bare,
no pretty angel or a bright star
to complete its attire
mind is already set, decided, on what
festive foods should adorn the table
what gifts...to be laid under the tree
........all these occupy my mind,
........as every once in a while
i think of unfinished issues,
uncompleted tasks that nag me
.......problems i could not resolve
.......a few unfulfilled promises
.......to some....and to myself
some planned moments...failed
my targeted time....didn't work
Christmas eve is fast approaching
the house...is not yet fully decked...
i am standing.....and though i think of
these thoughts of incompleteness,
after all these years,
i don't care that much anymore
i just wish, it would be easy and slow
when things, or people have to go
i wish that love would abound,
to never cease.....the fires of anger
and hate, be doused and subdued....
i wish that all, including myself,
find wisdom in the serenity prayer...
i wish that we shift our eyes, our hearts,
away from material things...from power...
let us focus on Him...the true reason
for this festive holiday season......
may peace reign the world over
may it begin with you...and me...
::::::::::
Prayer of Serenity
God grant me the serenity
To accept the things I cannot change;
Courage to change the things I can;
And wisdom to know the difference...
:::::::::::::
Sally
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
December 20, 2018
Dec 20, 2018
Dec 20, 2018 at 12:28 AM UTC
once a month estrogen teaches girls the
meaning of happiness
by feeding them to the darkness of their own imagination.
once a month i see my incompleteness manifesting as physical imperfection
staring
staring me down at my ugly claw feet my jiggly thighs my soft stomach my mammoth arms my swollen eyes my misshapen eyebrows my thinning hair
even my fingernails,
the shape of my fingers all wrong
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 10:55 AM UTC
Into a spiral of words, we go once more
Into the head of a madman;
On the contrary, he is self-proclaimed,
None proves he is a madman, after all.
He sets his machine ablaze,
Sculpting words upon his hundred epitaphs,
Exclaiming he'll end his hell today,
And rise again, tomorrow.
He is but a tinker of words,
He is but a feeble being;
Unable to voice the change he desires,
Unable to converge in the norms.
His machine seems rusted,
Rusted, but not broken;
Spewing out nonsense in disguise,
Molding empty grandeur.
It is not his machine that needs repairs,
It is the Tinker who seeks soothe.
He toils upon his machine,
Only to find that none is wrong;
It still basked in ivory and gold,
It still made what it does.
Yet, why does the Tinker feel such incompleteness?
All was vague, until it, came;
It had a smile that rivaled the sunrise,
It gave the Tinker the eyes to see the truth,
It showed him the light, and umbra of life.
It guided the Tinker to the stars;
It made the Tinker feel new again.
Together, they tinkered the machine once more,
And together, they saw the marvel before their very eyes;
They were truly, a cog and a catalyst.
Yet all is not forever.
It vanished without a trace.
It left the Tinker lost.
With its departure,
It left wake of the darkness in his heart.
His eyes grew dimmer,
He saw his masterpiece again, as a loss,
A failure.
The Tinker left death to feed upon his happiness,
The Tinker felt incompleteness once more;
He gambled for it to stay,
Yet all gambles fail in the end.
Yet the Tinker never knew,
It never left him.
The Tinker was made a fool over nothing;
Art lest, just offer nonsense, in love's yonder.
Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 8:32 AM UTC