"inevitabilities" poems

I should be thinking about you but I am thinking about inevitabilities. Like how my dog's life will end before mine. And how my heart isn't even beating half the time. Maybe it would be better to relax our grip. take our eyes from the sky feel the string slip There's biology and there's sociology and there's plenty of other people out there, man. and We'll pop either way or deflate someday.

0

Sep 18, 2014

Sep 18, 2014 at 10:48 PM UTC

matthew-matthew

Balloon

I should be thinking about you but I am thinking about inevitabilities. Like how my dog's life will end before mine. And how my heart isn't even beating half the time. Maybe it would be better to relax our grip. take our eyes from the sky feel the string slip There's biology and there's sociology and there's plenty of other people out there, man. and We'll pop either way or deflate someday.

16

Finishings can be The hardest part In these final steps All the craftsmanship Has already occured The finishings are Mere inevitabilities You must Come to terms With the idea that Perfection is a Necessary goal Precisely because It is unattainable You must reconcile Yourself to failure It's not perfect You have to make Your peace with that How? Well.. You lay out Your tools And you start again

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Jul 25, 2022

Jul 25, 2022 at 5:53 PM UTC

a-m-ryder

Excellens

Finishings can be The hardest part In these final steps All the craftsmanship Has already occured The finishings are Mere inevitabilities You must Come to terms With the idea that Perfection is a Necessary goal Precisely because It is unattainable You must reconcile Yourself to failure It's not perfect You have to make Your peace with that How? Well.. You lay out Your tools And you start again

25

let's cut to the chase. stagger through barely unlocked doorways tripping off jeans over still-tied shoes falling onto unmade beds, a mess of belt buckles and baffling buttons scrambling hands and hungry mouths exploring every surface within reach teeth tugging, hair pulling, air- gasping I want you to want me so badly you forget to breath. collapse into covers, inviting embrace. but make no mistake, boy, let's cut to the chase. we know where this stumbling, tumbling, fumbling leads. and it isn't marriage ceremonies. or happy endings. inevitabilities. soon, distance will destroy this life we both lead. but why would I lead a life of misery when I can have what is sitting right in front of me? each second lost, is resolve gained perhaps if we pretend you're not leaving, nothing will change. *. . . if we can just tell ourselves, May will n e v e r come . . . . . . winter will n e v e r end . . .* if ignorance is bliss, and there is no escape... let's lie to each other; let's lie to ourselves. let's not waste our time; let's cut to the chase.

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Dec 7, 2011

Dec 7, 2011 at 10:05 PM UTC

km-jones

if ignorance is bliss

let's cut to the chase. stagger through barely unlocked doorways tripping off jeans over still-tied shoes falling onto unmade beds, a mess of belt buckles and baffling buttons scrambling hands and hungry mouths exploring every surface within reach teeth tugging, hair pulling, air- gasping I want you to want me so badly you forget to breath. collapse into covers, inviting embrace. but make no mistake, boy, let's cut to the chase. we know where this stumbling, tumbling, fumbling leads. and it isn't marriage ceremonies. or happy endings. inevitabilities. soon, distance will destroy this life we both lead. but why would I lead a life of misery when I can have what is sitting right in front of me? each second lost, is resolve gained perhaps if we pretend you're not leaving, nothing will change. *. . . if we can just tell ourselves, May will n e v e r come . . . . . . winter will n e v e r end . . .* if ignorance is bliss, and there is no escape... let's lie to each other; let's lie to ourselves. let's not waste our time; let's cut to the chase.

25

The song played-- muffled, hesitant, As if the tabletop jukebox Seemed unsure of the tune’s suitability, As out of place and time as ourselves, It being Wednesday morning three A.M. At the all-night diner on the Klondike Road (The mills, going full-bore down the road in Montmorenci Falls Making such a place viable, indeed necessary), But we laughed loudly and nonchalantly Between bites of nearly adequate cheeseburger, Ostensibly unaware of all those inevitabilities Which were tangible but unspoken, indeed unspeakable, This being the last of the last summer not careworn, Textbooks to be exchanged for neckties, Plastic sandals swapped for sensible flats, Other lives to take flight in other places, A mere handful of evenings remaining Before the clumsy process of untying All that which had been loose ends from the beginning. Would I go back? In a sense, it does not matter. There was always a laundry list of reasons That it could not be, cannot be, will not be: Irreparably meshed gears of relocations and reconciliations, Gordian knots of logic and desire. Still, in my dreams, I often run like a madman, Chest burning as my sneakers slap the pavement in the darkness, Back toward the diner, but it has been razed to the ground (Likely the case, for all I know, What with the mills silent and padlocked all these years) And I paw madly, feverishly through the rubble In search of some remains of those vinyl chanteuses of love songs, Those epitaphs of our failures, Those three-minute odes To our compromised and conditional successes.

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Jan 30, 2017

Jan 30, 2017 at 10:07 AM UTC

wk-kortas

michael nesmith sang "her name was joanne"

The song played-- muffled, hesitant, As if the tabletop jukebox Seemed unsure of the tune’s suitability, As out of place and time as ourselves, It being Wednesday morning three A.M. At the all-night diner on the Klondike Road (The mills, going full-bore down the road in Montmorenci Falls Making such a place viable, indeed necessary), But we laughed loudly and nonchalantly Between bites of nearly adequate cheeseburger, Ostensibly unaware of all those inevitabilities Which were tangible but unspoken, indeed unspeakable, This being the last of the last summer not careworn, Textbooks to be exchanged for neckties, Plastic sandals swapped for sensible flats, Other lives to take flight in other places, A mere handful of evenings remaining Before the clumsy process of untying All that which had been loose ends from the beginning. Would I go back? In a sense, it does not matter. There was always a laundry list of reasons That it could not be, cannot be, will not be: Irreparably meshed gears of relocations and reconciliations, Gordian knots of logic and desire. Still, in my dreams, I often run like a madman, Chest burning as my sneakers slap the pavement in the darkness, Back toward the diner, but it has been razed to the ground (Likely the case, for all I know, What with the mills silent and padlocked all these years) And I paw madly, feverishly through the rubble In search of some remains of those vinyl chanteuses of love songs, Those epitaphs of our failures, Those three-minute odes To our compromised and conditional successes.

34

Of course, you have never considered yourself to be edible! You are probably the most valid being in that tree; not a single one of those thousands feel it like you do. And why do you feel pleased at them? Is it uncontrollable attraction or perhaps profound admiration? You don’t understand how this vast community shields you, enabling you to pursue your purpose. Eating, breeding and avoiding inevitabilities. Do you even belief in death? Usually, it’s sudden in the moment when terror paralyzes you. And what does one feel at that moment; Fear, regret? Rarely peace. Perverted isn't it? How grief will consume them when you do not return home. Will they search for you periodically? Before continuing to eat, breed and avoid being eaten; repressing their deep sadness forever. What can one do but slowly decay?

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Jun 17, 2013

Jun 17, 2013 at 8:56 PM UTC

eleanor-wright

Little Life

Of course, you have never considered yourself to be edible! You are probably the most valid being in that tree; not a single one of those thousands feel it like you do. And why do you feel pleased at them? Is it uncontrollable attraction or perhaps profound admiration? You don’t understand how this vast community shields you, enabling you to pursue your purpose. Eating, breeding and avoiding inevitabilities. Do you even belief in death? Usually, it’s sudden in the moment when terror paralyzes you. And what does one feel at that moment; Fear, regret? Rarely peace. Perverted isn't it? How grief will consume them when you do not return home. Will they search for you periodically? Before continuing to eat, breed and avoid being eaten; repressing their deep sadness forever. What can one do but slowly decay?

4

Today, I stay and reflect. Like the mirrors floating on a pond, wandering in focus. At times I am hopeless, distraught, and dazed, pondering. I'll stop you there, you sad, beaten man. Do you feel the seas trod upon you, drown you and let you swim further, and further just to regret, forget why you even began? The shining at the deepest depths is merely a mirror to self-reflect, to pay respects to what you wish you were. Did you forget why you're here? Because, in truth, I never forget what I never knew, why the sky feels the need to fall in disrespect, all upon your war-torn shoulders, buckling under that very sigh you set free when you realized you're the traitor here, as you just get colder. varied sighs sing you lies of peace, poor Icarus, he tried to fly, to plead the sun, to chase infinity. Do you truly seek peace? You try to run yet create your own inevitabilities, seized by your own dreams. With these ****** knees you've built yourself. Scorned by warnings of your self fulfilling prophecies. You said so yourself. First, find what you need, then perhaps your ever elusive peace may come, and bring you to your knees, to drown in seas of relief. The war is not over, Just another day.

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Jan 7, 2024

Jan 7, 2024 at 3:29 PM UTC

WordsDoMeanSomething

Mirror, Mirror, as I fall

Today, I stay and reflect. Like the mirrors floating on a pond, wandering in focus. At times I am hopeless, distraught, and dazed, pondering. I'll stop you there, you sad, beaten man. Do you feel the seas trod upon you, drown you and let you swim further, and further just to regret, forget why you even began? The shining at the deepest depths is merely a mirror to self-reflect, to pay respects to what you wish you were. Did you forget why you're here? Because, in truth, I never forget what I never knew, why the sky feels the need to fall in disrespect, all upon your war-torn shoulders, buckling under that very sigh you set free when you realized you're the traitor here, as you just get colder. varied sighs sing you lies of peace, poor Icarus, he tried to fly, to plead the sun, to chase infinity. Do you truly seek peace? You try to run yet create your own inevitabilities, seized by your own dreams. With these ****** knees you've built yourself. Scorned by warnings of your self fulfilling prophecies. You said so yourself. First, find what you need, then perhaps your ever elusive peace may come, and bring you to your knees, to drown in seas of relief. The war is not over, Just another day.

22

Last ditch attempts and descents without grace. Darkness was diffusing into ambers. He’d been deteriorating for a while now, slowly, abruptly, and then with the fall of the summer months completely off the other end of the scale. He’d felt it in adrenaline coursing through his veins, known it when spilled liquids seeped into carpets that weren’t his own. But this was it. He faced the final breech of his own standards, or what was left, with bare feet, exposed eyes, all the while knowing he was corrupted. He had brought himself inches away from a descent, drawn himself through the chaos, grasped his gnarled hand around what had held him back, and pulled, pulled his own cold body from the lifeless thud on the floor, pulled himself here, and now his toes curled over the edges of what had been his life. Gathering the last vestiges of his age and time, Bram stepped forwards into unfilled air. Foot first, the ground drawing closer; he watched the atmosphere fly past in kaleidoscope. Like all inevitabilities, the moon extinguished the sunlight, both knowing their places elsewhere.

0

Dec 14, 2014

Dec 14, 2014 at 6:04 AM UTC

jodie-whitchurch

Last Ditch Attempts

Last ditch attempts and descents without grace. Darkness was diffusing into ambers. He’d been deteriorating for a while now, slowly, abruptly, and then with the fall of the summer months completely off the other end of the scale. He’d felt it in adrenaline coursing through his veins, known it when spilled liquids seeped into carpets that weren’t his own. But this was it. He faced the final breech of his own standards, or what was left, with bare feet, exposed eyes, all the while knowing he was corrupted. He had brought himself inches away from a descent, drawn himself through the chaos, grasped his gnarled hand around what had held him back, and pulled, pulled his own cold body from the lifeless thud on the floor, pulled himself here, and now his toes curled over the edges of what had been his life. Gathering the last vestiges of his age and time, Bram stepped forwards into unfilled air. Foot first, the ground drawing closer; he watched the atmosphere fly past in kaleidoscope. Like all inevitabilities, the moon extinguished the sunlight, both knowing their places elsewhere.

4

it’s the kind of day that makes your jaw ache and the soreness settle in even the youngest of bones (“rainy days and mondays always bring me down” but rainy mondays are guaranteed to be worse) i worry too much care too much cry too much think too much it’s about time to start thinking about what happens when seasonal depression hits about time to start making plans for the rest of my everloving life it’s hard for me to make plans hard for me to admit that maybe my life won’t always make me miserable i struggle with feeling powerless watching those around me suffer trying every day to make someone smile and then one monday picking up a paper and seeing that one of those smiles is no longer with us nobody tells the barista and they tell me it’s hard to find out someone you know has died by looking at a work ticket but i’m just the girl who makes your coffee and wraps your bouquets and no matter how much i truly genuinely care about each face in this town i know at the end of the day i have to face that nothing can change the inevitabilities that nothing i say can really help the world will still turn without me like it turns without others who are gone i know i sound pessimistic i’m sorry it’s just a rainy day or monday getting me down

0

Sep 19, 2018

Sep 19, 2018 at 11:00 PM UTC

be-mccomb

one of those days

it’s the kind of day that makes your jaw ache and the soreness settle in even the youngest of bones (“rainy days and mondays always bring me down” but rainy mondays are guaranteed to be worse) i worry too much care too much cry too much think too much it’s about time to start thinking about what happens when seasonal depression hits about time to start making plans for the rest of my everloving life it’s hard for me to make plans hard for me to admit that maybe my life won’t always make me miserable i struggle with feeling powerless watching those around me suffer trying every day to make someone smile and then one monday picking up a paper and seeing that one of those smiles is no longer with us nobody tells the barista and they tell me it’s hard to find out someone you know has died by looking at a work ticket but i’m just the girl who makes your coffee and wraps your bouquets and no matter how much i truly genuinely care about each face in this town i know at the end of the day i have to face that nothing can change the inevitabilities that nothing i say can really help the world will still turn without me like it turns without others who are gone i know i sound pessimistic i’m sorry it’s just a rainy day or monday getting me down

64

what is the good in bye? maybe we will see in time or somewhere in our dreams after we close that door or drop the curtain to end the scene but you know this time my heart doesn't hurt too bad maybe by human nature I've adapted to the inevitabilities I've finally learned to grasp those things that use to damage my soul so much but not these days I see a possible hope twinkling like the oceans in the skies I see a possible chance of my happiness in the stars that are swimming above our heads but your firmament always seem to block me my humility never seems to stop me from making an absolute fool of myself because for your love that is what I would do but for my love am I willing to the the same? Copy Right 2020 ©PoeticPat

0

Jun 6, 2017

Jun 6, 2017 at 1:31 AM UTC

undefinedcreation

I Am Almost Saying Goodbye

what is the good in bye? maybe we will see in time or somewhere in our dreams after we close that door or drop the curtain to end the scene but you know this time my heart doesn't hurt too bad maybe by human nature I've adapted to the inevitabilities I've finally learned to grasp those things that use to damage my soul so much but not these days I see a possible hope twinkling like the oceans in the skies I see a possible chance of my happiness in the stars that are swimming above our heads but your firmament always seem to block me my humility never seems to stop me from making an absolute fool of myself because for your love that is what I would do but for my love am I willing to the the same? Copy Right 2020 ©PoeticPat

22

Winding fingers, Weave the thread, That wrap me so comfortably in my fears, Embracing. Mould my mind, Shamelessly encrypting my thoughts, Through and through. Grown to shapen my impersonality, Both for my lack there of, And my tenancy for the impersonal. Yet how, Should be such a bond to my pains, An Introspective perfection, Or am I? Or is that just my guise, Impersonality guide my imperfection, Interspective shapes my imperception. Impossibilities in my inevitabilities. I am. Imperfection.

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Jul 14, 2018

Jul 14, 2018 at 1:24 AM UTC

WordsDoMeanSomething

Imperfect

Winding fingers, Weave the thread, That wrap me so comfortably in my fears, Embracing. Mould my mind, Shamelessly encrypting my thoughts, Through and through. Grown to shapen my impersonality, Both for my lack there of, And my tenancy for the impersonal. Yet how, Should be such a bond to my pains, An Introspective perfection, Or am I? Or is that just my guise, Impersonality guide my imperfection, Interspective shapes my imperception. Impossibilities in my inevitabilities. I am. Imperfection.

19

We burn like meteors: Hot, fast, and bright Screaming through the atmosphere Hearts afire, souls alight Each trip One small skip for heart, One giant leap for meteorite. But there are two inevitabilities: Time, and with it, gravity. We break apart Losing light We extinguish Losing sight But after it's over - After you're gone I'm still Euphoric. High. Replays shooting through my mind - I'm starting to suffocate on oxygen. Then I desperately search For a laugh, or a sound, Hoping a new voyage Soon will be found Grasping at wind All the way down Just a stone in thin air Plummeting to the ground.

0

Nov 3, 2017

Nov 3, 2017 at 8:41 PM UTC

subconscious-on-parade

Day 28: Fall

We burn like meteors: Hot, fast, and bright Screaming through the atmosphere Hearts afire, souls alight Each trip One small skip for heart, One giant leap for meteorite. But there are two inevitabilities: Time, and with it, gravity. We break apart Losing light We extinguish Losing sight But after it's over - After you're gone I'm still Euphoric. High. Replays shooting through my mind - I'm starting to suffocate on oxygen. Then I desperately search For a laugh, or a sound, Hoping a new voyage Soon will be found Grasping at wind All the way down Just a stone in thin air Plummeting to the ground.

28

Anticipating Inevitabilities Continuously

0

Jun 29, 2017

Jun 29, 2017 at 6:03 PM UTC

zani

Haixiety

Anticipating Inevitabilities Continuously

3

The common desire to define ourselves is defeaning and my ears are ringing. I'm searching for the foundation of the sound, the definite core where I grow from the ground. I have the power to water my basis but instead I let the impression of myself through anothers biases dry up and dust away. I'm kicking rocks below my barefeet, hoping that when I spread and share my air the opinions of who surrounds me wont pollute it to the degree where I can no longer breathe. And now im rocking back and forth in this creeking wooden chair, the roots of relative minds rested below me reminding me what was once there and whether or not something tangible will result when the inevitabilities of life chop me down and leave me bare. So I guess until tomorrow, or a week, a month, a year, I'll disintegrate into the soil before any of my peers and it won't hurt so bad to be left alone when I know their roots above still continue to fully grow.

0

Jun 20, 2014

Jun 20, 2014 at 2:20 PM UTC

taylor-marion

Deeply Rooted Yet Still Lost

The common desire to define ourselves is defeaning and my ears are ringing. I'm searching for the foundation of the sound, the definite core where I grow from the ground. I have the power to water my basis but instead I let the impression of myself through anothers biases dry up and dust away. I'm kicking rocks below my barefeet, hoping that when I spread and share my air the opinions of who surrounds me wont pollute it to the degree where I can no longer breathe. And now im rocking back and forth in this creeking wooden chair, the roots of relative minds rested below me reminding me what was once there and whether or not something tangible will result when the inevitabilities of life chop me down and leave me bare. So I guess until tomorrow, or a week, a month, a year, I'll disintegrate into the soil before any of my peers and it won't hurt so bad to be left alone when I know their roots above still continue to fully grow.

2

I can’t speak. I am mute. The words, half-formed, stop between my heart and my lips. What was I going to say? Mundanities. Sit and listen. Shut up. I’m listening. What did you say? It’s grey, but I can see in colours, so many colours. My heart beats, the warmth of my hands, my steady breaths. I am. I’m lost in this pinwheel, this spinning circle, the inevitabilities. Round and round we go. I exist in moments. Each second the hands pass. I am silenced. I have nothing to say. Onwards we continue. March onwards. Brave soldiers, courageous warriors, forward I tell you, forward! I’m so dizzy. Oh please, can we rest for a while. Now I don’t know. I know nothing. I am nothing. Falling like raindrops, broken dolls you lie on the floor. Still, your unmoving eyes remain, reflecting hollowed moons. Watch me. Watch, watch closely. I’ve forgotten what I wanted to say. No matter. There’s always tomorrow. Empty as always. Take out my soul, scrape me raw. I am a husk. Crumbling, but untouched perfection. Automaton, I feel nothing. Oh, invisible man, where are you? We walk in circles. Monday, Monday and a thousand Mondays again. Below lies the fiery depths of hell. Above, the unforgiving brilliance of heaven. And in between, an endless purgatory. We are hamsters on a wheel. Waiting. Are you listening, or not?

0

Oct 21, 2021

Oct 21, 2021 at 6:03 AM UTC

59degrees

the heart of light, the silence

I can’t speak. I am mute. The words, half-formed, stop between my heart and my lips. What was I going to say? Mundanities. Sit and listen. Shut up. I’m listening. What did you say? It’s grey, but I can see in colours, so many colours. My heart beats, the warmth of my hands, my steady breaths. I am. I’m lost in this pinwheel, this spinning circle, the inevitabilities. Round and round we go. I exist in moments. Each second the hands pass. I am silenced. I have nothing to say. Onwards we continue. March onwards. Brave soldiers, courageous warriors, forward I tell you, forward! I’m so dizzy. Oh please, can we rest for a while. Now I don’t know. I know nothing. I am nothing. Falling like raindrops, broken dolls you lie on the floor. Still, your unmoving eyes remain, reflecting hollowed moons. Watch me. Watch, watch closely. I’ve forgotten what I wanted to say. No matter. There’s always tomorrow. Empty as always. Take out my soul, scrape me raw. I am a husk. Crumbling, but untouched perfection. Automaton, I feel nothing. Oh, invisible man, where are you? We walk in circles. Monday, Monday and a thousand Mondays again. Below lies the fiery depths of hell. Above, the unforgiving brilliance of heaven. And in between, an endless purgatory. We are hamsters on a wheel. Waiting. Are you listening, or not?

16