"irrelevance" poems
I’m in my prime; at the cusp of my development.
A few more years of growth make decay a lot more relevant…
*Glass Elephant,
Glass Elephant,*
Irrelevance, benevolence,
Compassion, or malevolence;
I’m one of few who sees it sums no difference.
Glass objects.
Or Elephants.
Irrelevance,
Irrelevance
Striving for motion, with motive elusive
Each thing I endeavor is far too exclusive
I need something inclusive, objectively singular
A sinusoidal wave with a mean lacking integers
Peace in zero and equilibrium inclusion
*Glass Elephant
Glass Elephant*
Delusions, Delusions
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 3:58 PM UTC
Oh beautiful for specious lies
where Christless values reign;
for superficial battle cries
above the muted strain:
Diversity, diversity
God hides His face from thee—
and frown he should, while planethood
distracts humanity.
How sad it is when victim groups
monopolize the floor;
enabling the marginals
to agitate for more.
Diversity, diversity,
Your queer agenda rules—
with Balkanizing tendencies
imposed on witless tools.
Degenerate in decadence
the ailing eagle flies;
in spirals of irrelevance
through clouded toxic skies…
Diversity, diversity
the Left defines your terms;
the weakened body politic
grows sicker as it squirms.
Oh Lord we need a miracle
before the patient fails;
celestial intervention please
to purge us of what ails.
Diversity, diversity
We shall not overcome—
Unless the Lord reveal His word
twixt here and Kingdom Come…
Sep 17, 2015
Sep 17, 2015 at 8:41 PM UTC
Two boys
and girls
unclothed each other
simply at a picnic
flush with wine
alongside
sun-flecked trees.
The girls,
easy as the
forest round,
burned,
delicious,
as the boys
eager and nervous
in unequal measure
partly gave up
concealing
their joys
at forgetting
or remembering
in flickers
their bare bodies.
It went on
over nettles
and half-hours
and clambered
trees and
photos taken
almost formally
(on film,
of course).
And boyish lust,
at first sinuous,
a darting tongue,
began to
soften against,
for instance,
the sheer,
unthinkable
texture
of the two
girls carved
now backward
over the bough
of a storm-felled elm.
And there
in the embers
of evening
they learned
to thrill originally
at the vast,
gorgeous
and astonishing
irrelevance
of what
might happen next.
Jan 26, 2011
Jan 26, 2011 at 7:05 AM UTC
In tunnelled darks, pastes of reminisce
Outward disjoint points to irrelevance
Spooned and coned in cold mountaintops
The darks of sorrows and trails of struggles
Persistence patterns of self satire in gloom
Sunken in identity crisis of broad oceans
Stormy seas spotlighted by beatific stars
Trajectory of spilled ice in recurrent motions
A mere past cocooned by fears and tears
Clouded in thoughts that cruise and decline
Greyed white imprinted by sudden sadness
Madness echoes on arched ancient bricks
Checkered maniacs of fulfilled passions
Filed and iced in cased prolific memories
Cascades of sunshine tickles to warmth
Orchards of glow that bloom and grow
Picked, ticked and unpacked from boxes
Attacked, nurtured and stored in bliss
Eventful lessons unfolds in untold augury
A mission as the known permeates and fade
Windowed eyes all line up in parade
Mirrored lights digest the haunted haste
A stranger to self, an ally to another
A dance of bright entwine a twist of blur
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 11:48 AM UTC
On a night I feel has been well lived
met is her sweet becoming gaze
that savory ocular innocence
built to shadow her soft, fluid, longing intent
that whispers,
"I am open to you."
And so she calmly is
and with my head
full of rocks and irrelevance
I unconsciously enter
and sigh
Once, again, twice more
our love traces a metronome
So soon does it become
an inhale
exhaled
I lean into her
limbs aside
in a love extension
a vital push through tension
and the small red brook that follows
flows to fill a page
and rest a mind
Feb 4, 2013
Feb 4, 2013 at 6:38 PM UTC
I'm writing this poem to be ignored
like many of you
I enjoy being a poet
of keen irrelevance
a literary luminaire
of solitude
a lost writing ghost
a megalomaniac haunting himself
a waiting oracle
waiting
for the occult muse door mouse to tap dance
whispering night babble
or having a cooked chicken fly into my mouth
while i take searing snapshots
of erratic images
puzzling them into words
from boundless burdens
of heaping intestinal bluesy aftermaths exodus of conscience
bruising my self like a ********* in heat
on out of control run-on rants
and blood razor drenched mysticism
while real men drive earth movers
drink bruskies
and kick ***
hustling time share Chinese handcuff contracts
and up sell social justice platitudes
fit for pie in the sky levitating hysteria
lives shatter like red ice
in endless cacophonies of skull clobbering effacement
I'm writing this poem to be ignored
and no one lets me down
Mar 20, 2019
Mar 20, 2019 at 3:32 PM UTC
It coats my tongue in apathy,
After the feeling I get from knowing it's irrelevance.
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 10:17 AM UTC
I CAN BE WRONG AND STILL BE RIGHT
IS THE REAL PARADOX TO HEIGHT
A LONELY PILGRIM LOSES SIGHT
OF ANSWERS THAT COULD BRING HIM MIGHT
AND YET TO SEED THE ANSWERS CALL
THE STALLION IS IN ITS STALL
HE’S NOT PREPARED TO TAKE THE FALL
FOR WHAT COULD BE IS CLEAR TO ALL
THE ENDLESS PARADOX IN SIGHT
THE TRUTH OF RIGHTEOUSNESS TO KNIGHT
I FEAR TO SEAL MUST FLY HIS KITE
AND PRAY SURREAL COMES OUT TIGHT
ACROSS THE ANCIENT CASTLE WALLS
THE DEMURE TAINTED SHADOWS CRAWL
TO FORM THE MORNING’S CLEARING CALL
EFFUSIVE ALLUSIONS , IRRELEVANCE FALL
THE ECHOS FROM THE GROTTO SWELL
LIKE MEMORIES OF ANCIENT HELL
THAT COMMAND THE OCEANS TO RESEND
THE LOWLY FORCE WITH WHICH THEY’D BEND
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 4:07 AM UTC
seductive effective cutlass sadistic
serendipity and la la la
licorice liquor lick her and plastic
roses rise relentless resentment
time mime rhyme desire
sentiment sincerely aspire admire
anonymous synonymous simultaneous symmetry
molasses disastrous syntactic mirrorly
Samir sincere severe severe
la la la love na na na never
samirly this way
suicide sinister cynical silence
stop and stare
care and share
love with or without violence
sloppy seconds menace a menace
minus a life structure dependence
relevance relevance irrelevance
sense tense and meaninglessness
sincerely samirly
synthetic systemic sense
cents cents
sense sense
cents
Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 12:23 AM UTC
allocation of supreme alliteration illustrates perpetual contemplation and concentration that dictates a maligned mastication of federal incarceration of elongated complementary probation leaving you cuffed and based on baseless accusations conducted in aboriginal abbreviations masked task force concluding a course of brevity conducted in coordination then coordinating and copulating condemnation for a homeostasis of thought bought scolded eroded and shot inefficacy perpetrating cultural holocaust irrelevance somersaults galactic static of mathematical bombastic smack addict glued shut in a craft attic floral resurrection gartered section of ****** selection she moves fluid through unaltered perfection of cosmic bypass past the point of extemporaneous infinitude reciprocating fortitude of sinews congregating fabricating visuals of vitality soldering axonal membranes on the cerebellum and cortex simulation of sensual vortex demented fusion more blessed I am that which stands to understand the incomprehensible unconsidered options of racial conflicts the screaming round of unaltered copper fiber severing life from the living only now can we debunk the years
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 9:01 AM UTC
A drugstore pallid in waning light, always illuminated in halogen halos.
I am earless with music.
Black metal loud in clanging sets and blows-
foreshadowing the smell of cleaning solution,
air freshener and the outside
sweet at my back
all steeped deep in the rip roaring undertone torrent of cigarette smoke
blended with cheap perfume until I cannot tell the difference.
There is a limp familiarity to the underlying odor
born partially of personal encounter and-
nestled in the hive mind of social experience.
A distillation of regret and remorse,
of lonely,
of irrelevance;
this black hole swallows my voice the way of my ears,
eaten by rust.
Four cans of beans,
kidneys,
in cans squeezed without any power against sagging swells
melting into other curves
and I swerve close and around guiltily,
noting you only as the source of this pungent spring.
You are smiling apologies
ignorant of my apparent inhumanity-
blind to my selfish hands..
Pinioning belly flesh,
flattening,
reaching
and gaining attendance from a better man
retrieving every dropped can.
I’m retreating,
shaken,
tense to alternatively slacken.
My sweat slippery palms with whitened red sharp fingers feel foreign
and I am surrounded by razors then shaving cream,
moving from shampoo to conditioner,
the whole store is infected with smell.
Staring at nail clippers/snipers clipping touch smooth sooth my tense mind-
don’t look
**don’t
look**
I can sense little else but dread
drawing closer
you are now crouched so close I’m gagging,
taken forcefully-swept away in an olfactory flood
roiling in rot,
currents of solitude exude from your smiling sullen appearance when I turn to you
fumbling
with my electric ears,
surfacing
in a breath of Amish silence
broken with simple request
and I want to scream at you that I am not a man to ask opinions of
that it does not matter what fake nails she glues to her body
that she is excluded and I don’t know why.
I choose swirls of cream suspended within watery milk,
over childish lady bugs framed by yellow
or dots of red alternating to black,
an epitaph to a lifelike effigy.
Dec 10, 2010
Dec 10, 2010 at 1:42 AM UTC
Because Instagram is my medium, and because somewhere deep down--in that place that no one talks about--it makes me feel immensely validated: putting out my ******** and receiving little bits of peer approval in return... Because I still smoke too fast when I want that short indulgent rush to last the most, so light another. Because the Itunes visualizer is an assured source of inspiration when I am feeling small about the universe, and about the 5-ish senses that I am confined to, and because there is too much of me to simply be kept quiet; because the things I want are wanted too completely to shut up about. Because I am doing excellent, and I want everybody in the world to applaud me for it--for my relentless and unyielding grasp of sanity, which often slips without my sureness be-ing lost along with it, and because the wreckage is a comfy place to lie when everything comes down to it...
Because admitting to yourself that you are addicted is the first step to recovery--or so I am told,,, and because denial is the first step one must fall from if they're itching to reach bottom... Because I am tired of climbing and have learned--among all else--how to enjoy the weightlessness of this long fall and the uncertainty it brings: uncertainty being my one true love, alongside mistress logic, who I truly LOVE returning to with open arms, seeking her comfort after a long long trip-- where I can walk winter without minding cold, and can enjoy seeing all the sights and all the Mad, Mad characters that wonderland contains. Because there is no 'character limit' nor is there censorship where I am concerned. Because I crave the criticism: that repetition is a cheaters way to write--and I want to cheat life's limitations and all social standards every chance I get. Because above all else, below all else, I want to clarify that--through every lesson I have taken-in since recently deceased December, and through all I have learned painfully, through the confusion and unrecognized irrelevance,
Because the greatest thing that I have learned thus far is: I am learning.
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 12:25 AM UTC
Dissappeared as if a dark cloud decayed the body in a matter of miliseconds and disposed of it somewhere unknown. Never did I see a single sign of being psychologically sick. Not one piece of evidence to prove her existence. Multiple memories of her wither away slowly. No discernment to the delphian disappearance. Very vague memories of her, perhaps she was a vision. Maybe, just maybe my imagination had gone too far with my mind. No! Her disappearance was real; but due to her irrelevance, and exodus she was forgotten in the conscious mind of others. Maybe its time that I finally forget about the phantom that haunts my memories, and makes me question my sanity. Gone she is, and gone she will be. So the acknowledgment of her existence is Irrelevant. She is now, and forever has and will be nonexistent. -V.H.
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 2:51 PM UTC
that’s the thing with those trophy wife types,
never really mandible in *** like a jaw ought to be,
too stiff, too anorexic model type:
pooch pooch a handbag full of duck quack pouts of the lips.
i like mandible women, scary scarred women,
the types that will grow into fond babushkas
and cook you a broth.
ah all this crap with daddy longlegs walking into a paparazzi
web of flashes is ruining the red carpet,
i was about to frizz it up into cushion afro softness
that would be quicksand for high heels.
i need blotches i need survival skills that hold the skin together,
every wrinkle, every passing jest of “irrelevance,”
every amulet glow of feeling through the kaleidoscope of depression,
jet-lag i call it, although i rather call it trombone,
with the numbers it was bound to happen, leaving the mammalian
kingdom and entering the insect kingdom, it was bound to happen,
the lost identity tiling the earth, ploughing the eardrum for symphonies,
it was just waiting... just waiting... like a spider waiting
with the flies of the urbanisation of green & green...
can’t change my mind... blotches on skin and bulges of missing protein
on the hips... perfect girth for child rearing...
i don’t like perfect... it’s supposed to have an aesthetic aura of an art
gallery... instead it has an aesthetic aura of hygiene of a hospital;
i arrested all the beauticians while talking to the paediatricians
painting my nails with u.v. liquorice in this hospital of hygienic looks
but unhygienic romping pompoms that swayed man to chlamydia.
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 11:14 AM UTC
God **** will you all stop with your pseudo-intellectual ******** please
You're killing me
So busy trying to fit fancy vocabulary
Into the structure where your heart should be!
There's no heart I see, and **** you with the argument
That swears are not intelligent
At least they invoke some sort of feelings
Instead of 18 stanzas of irrelevance
Your aristocratic airs are pathetic and irreverent
Come back down to earth now, you drink coffee like the rest of us
Another armchair poet pizza stained can stand among the best of us
I want to feel the pain you try desperately to convey
Not spend 20 minutes looking up definitions in a dictionary
I want to know who you love and why
Describe the scene around you at the moment that your friend died
Stop it with your intellectual ******** please
Simply describe to me how your heart did bleed
Upon the lack of the presence of your lovers touch
You try too hard and harp too much
Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 11:12 PM UTC
What tragedy it is to be human.
To think yourself so mighty and all knowing,
Superior to all other creatures.
To stand upon a mountain top,
And crown yourself king.
To proclaim: I AM MAN
As if it means anything
To believe you are invincible,
And strong enough to hold the stars in your hand.
Strong enough to cheat even death.
When you know better.
You know you are weak and blind,
Powerless to your surroundings and fate.
You know to cower in the shadows of the cosmos
Hide from the giants you stand among.
You know you are mortal,
Ever aware of your eventual doom.
Always knowing that you will wither and die.
That no matter how much you fight,
You will die.
And that is the greatest tragedy of all.
What tragedy to be human
To always be full of doubt and fear
Yet wishing to be anything but
To be powerless over your fate
Yet proclaiming total control
To know the sheer insignificance of your existence,
The irrelevance of anything you do, of everything you know.
Yet denying that truth every second
To continue on
Despite all the facts
What terrible tragedy it is to be human
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 9:37 PM UTC
Flow so sickening
Haters always get infected
I'm up and away
They down and out
They cause arguments to be relevant
There irrelevance will never be relevant to I
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 10:48 PM UTC
Never finding expectation to exist beyond the last known blip of the past, projected through my back, in tackled grounds, bound, in the banter of spectators, speculating the specifications of specialised weaponry, silencing the empathy, and seducing my enemies in the isolated idolatry of their stupidity that i sculpted from the scrutiny, that was wished to have eluded me but soothed my playful solidarity to my sickly game called reap and sow instead.
We are all dead, all dead inside, residing in thriving wounds.
Left unsaid in rhymes etched in tombs.
In the lies of old bafoons
I shall not fight, myself, as they do, nor shall i defy whats right just to eat tonight.
I will fight until I am mine and sleep.
Cradled in my shrine of thoughts amiss, in the frost of loss vs reward.
I am torn, between torture and a vultures wait of the prize to pedal the pestilent pettiness to the edges of my testaments, in the truth of youth-less suicide, slicing social structures into cylinders to swing in circles around the room.
Swooning, in my looming threat of self immolation to warm the heart with shopping carts of satire, killing the sad away.
Delaying the the decay of hope.
A stay of patience in my irrelevance,never hesitant in my clever projections of nothing.
I feed you nothing
But emptiness
Shuttering in the sultry shade of my suffering and loving every moment of it.
Saying nothing too much in things of such insignificance.
Spilling the mizpellings and settling for wordlessness after a good ***** of belligerent arrogance.
Im tempted to quit but my wick is lit and to submit now, would just put the fire out and i want to watch the burn.
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 11:41 PM UTC
leather of codes
child of no garden I want to be trash shining metal bucket streets
echoes of his scars crash deeply from his quick glance and words
his crushed inner faces blow by me like shotgun shells flipping ejected
a warm burn enters my ear and falls to the ground like pure seed
there has been a siberian tiger heart perhaps
a trumpet's bright coming tip in the night is his voice
but night has no color, only the air of space and eternal infinite collossalness
he has not been there, he knows I think I have been
his voice hunts in silence the opening of his throat
I never felt my neck arch as though I were angelic spinning holy pollen
my feet are broken from my birth's uncertain angles
my white skin is somber to me and it dreams of thick, muscular hair
his back hunts me like a prowling silent perfect killer
he has no meat for me in his most beautiful kind thoughts, nor ice
I know he does not want my soul, its irrelevance like bad country music
he glares at me his eyes are beautiful in their transubstantial wizardry
as though I a child with no hope to ever be less or more
this is the way beer cans bounce of cars better than wet silken ******* may rise
he has felt his lover's wine fully enter him in his sweetest moments
I am a child of no garden he would have
but thoughts of exclusion are often only private codes of want
his serbian tiger motion is utter but I am child of no garden until I can dance
I know he so poignantly relevant would in some fierce and mad
teach me of my father
that I might be coddled beyond redemption my white skin
he wants to giggle a soft stance or a minion of pretense
I am fully truly what he sees, yet I cannot touch him
he has no time for me I would see my heritage's murderous take
he knows I bow down to his conspicuous innocence
he has forgotten the child he knows I think I have been
he wears a leather of codes I can never remember
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 8:51 AM UTC
Your inferior intellect disgusts me. While I have some trouble verbalizing my own, I know that it is far more than what you display. Your immature actions and juvenile conduct will get you into trouble some day; real trouble. You may not even notice, because you are too stubborn to face the fact that you aren’t a goddess. You have bad intentions and wicked tongue. Your fuel is jealousy and your eyes are blind. But we’re both growing older, and one day you will realize that everything I’ve done has been good. Or maybe you won’t realize - if not, I will pity you, but I will have no mercy. We all have a choice. We all choose who we want to be, and I’m not disregarding DNA; I know it plays a role, it plays a strong one, but we feed on experience, and I expected better from you--of all people.
You’ve been put through the same evil that you construct. Why? I only want the best for both of us, for everyone. You seem to differ. I’m not sure if it’s selfishness, envy, or determination to make a point, but it’s something. I’m not sure of its irrelevance to our confrontation, but I sure as hell know that it is irrelevant to anything else. So, why? You know as well as I do that we all have our different skill-sets, different opinions, and different incentives, so if you’re trying to prove something, stop. You know the human can’t be tamed once his or her mind is set in place. You’re apparently set in stone. Maybe I am too, so do you understand now? You can’t change my mind. I will do as I please, just as you will. We are a lot alike, you and I. The only difference: yin vs. yang. And you know I’m right. Your inadequate hands, reaching out, just so someone will notice. Well I notice, okay? But I will not submit. Neither will he. So, please stop. I understand your apathy and your care, but is it genuine or is it all a lie? After all these years, I feel that I should know the truth, but now I feel that I don’t know you at all.
I’ve watched the change creep up your spine, and I don’t blame you, completely. I know the storm has been rough, but don’t you know that it covers the whole sky? We’re all getting rained on and all you seem to care about is your own umbrella. Sure, you may hand it to me every once in a while so I have a bit of cover, but I know that you’ll be retrieving it soon, just like always. I just hope that some day the sun comes out for you, because I want that for you. I want you to be okay. I want you to be happy. I want to be happy. I want your interference to cease. From one empath to another: I know you can feel it. You know you can be better. I’m not sure if it’s fear of failure or simple carelessness that’s getting in the way, but something is. You can control it. I would never intentionally disrespect you; you’re almost like a sister to me, an older sister. So start acting older. You have a substantial amount of potential in this life. All you have to do is let go of all the negativity and you’ll be set free. Just like me. I love you, so please understand.
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 6:42 PM UTC
Tell me,
Tell me how,
Tell me how I’m selfish,
Tell me how I’m selfish for planning my ending.
Explain to me how, though you can see the ropes tied to my limbs,
and you can feel the itch of my scream in your ears,
and ignore it,
that I am selfish.
“They took their own life”
As if it’s a surprise.
They finally retrieved the ultimate prize.
The right to their own life.
A life spent on somebody else,
as I often restrict myself,
“I can’t leave, there’s too many people relying on me.”
Explain to me how YOU are selfless,
when day after day,
at any opportunity you remind me that I made a MISTAKE.
How dare I try to abandon YOU?
Was my mistake ever trying in the first place,
or not having tried hard enough?
How is it that a right to my life that doesn't belong to me,
negates my right to a death,
the only thing, that will ever be recognised as my own.
“Here lies, Libby Preston, a girl who felt the need to take her own life.”
I apologise for my ‘wrong-doing.’
I apologise that I took control of what should have been, mine.
I apologise that you can’t think past what you feel inside your head.
I apologise that you can’t accept mine.
I apologise for the fact that the human race feels it has the
right to end the life of another living creature,
but do not have the right to do what they would like with
their own.
A death can rattle the planet.
It will cause upset, naturally.
However- emotions fade.
Reality does not.
We can dive into irrelevance,
I will decide not to live a life taped to the sole of somebody else’s shoe,
I will decide to live for me, and to die for me.
Lecture me about consideration, go on,
I dare you.
Hypocrite.
I’m ‘selfish’ for wanting a right to my life.
You’re ‘selfless’ for stopping me.
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 7:38 PM UTC
I wasn’t born to write
With every bent petal,
and every fallen leaf,
my ma’s sweet kisses
And papa’s gentle smile
I learned to write
A five year old me was once fascinated
by the loop of an ‘e’
and the playful swing of an ‘m’,
The wide smile of a ‘d’ delighted me
Words were powerful and mesmerising,
now they lie discarded and ignored
in broken stanzas of self proclaimed irrelevance
I watch the black ugly marks
That taints countless sheets of paper
They surround me in a sea of ink
That once flowed carefully and slowly
A thousand thoughts with each single word
Drained lies my mind, my breath’s not a whisper but a plea
My heart pumps blood not ink, I’m not a poet, it says
Incoherent scribblings mock me with their existence
As a child, confined spaces scared me
But now, a confined mind petrifies me with just a glimpse
A pen stays gripped in my hand
I wonder what it fears more
My inability to let the ink flow coherently
Or my arrogant ramblings, regardless
And fearless of consequences
While I stumble on disjointed verses
A paper aeroplane is my best accomplishment
In my two hour search for freedom and thought
Who cares for pretty words and mystifying couplets?
When the idea of a paper boat seems much more exciting
-പ്രിയാന്ഷി ദാസ്
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 8:05 AM UTC
Your arrogance,
your pride.
The tyranny you hide.
Your fashion sense and flair,
That bracelet that you wear.
Your scent,
your taste,
your fingers,
slipping along my waist.
Vanilla blooms and smoke.
Reach to my back,
Stroke.
You're touching,
you're staring,
you're teasing,
you're daring.
Look at me,
smile.
You're deviant,
I'm vile.
You're "fourteen" steps ahead,
I'm "twenty" back instead.
My mind grows thoughts,
to win..
Thoughts of you,
and thoughts of sin
Bits of blond here and there,
Beauty marks everywhere..
I catch up.
Do you feel it?
My body aches,
reveal it.
Sheets of white,
shaking
A war; the love we are making.
More scratching.
A few lustful silent breaths.
Louder screaming.
My long blue nights
of dreaming.
Now I'm only left
with a trace,
of a four stroke letterface.
They're everywhere I go:
"Gush", "star", and "no"
Words that repeat,
resound.
I'm bound.
Seven sins,
for all mankind
I commit less,
I'm left behind.
You're indifferent,
you're blunt.
I was just a new hunt.
What's "innocent"?
What's "safe"?
Mere letters made me cave.
Mere letters can't define.
I'm more than an "aging wine".
More talking..
I stare.
Confusion,
everywhere.
Irrelevance,
contradiction,
and pouring waterfalls of speech.
Unstable souls should not preach.
Confusion splashed across the wall
Confusion took its toll.
And now after all,
It's either a fall,
Or a continuous reach.
Apr 13, 2013
Apr 13, 2013 at 2:51 PM UTC
does a sacred stone
still retain its worth
if it was never taken
from it’s hidden earth?
could it truly be
a treasure trove
if no one sees
its alluring glow?
-
is my mind right to tell me
that invisibility doesn’t cause irrelevance?
or is that just a way to cope with
the ever feared unfounded-forgotten-pestilence
Jul 14, 2023
Jul 14, 2023 at 8:03 AM UTC
When one is in desperate need of sleep
With their minds churning out thoughts of upmost irrelevance
She is told, to simply count the sheep
If only the Sandman would possess such benevolence
I want only to collapse into a dreary heap
When one is desperate need of sleep
She is told, to simply count the sheep
In the waking hour of dawn, weary from Sandman's malevolence
Inexplicable panic begins to seep
With their minds churning out thoughts of upmost irrelevance
Sunshine caresses the houses steep
If only the Sandman would possess such benevolence
The neighborhood yawns, the birds begin to cheep
Night refuses an acquiescence
When one is in desperate need of sleep
I wish for once, Night and I will come to a complacence
Languid to the point where I will weep
She is told, to simply count the sheep
One wants a gloaming of reposing divulgence
With their minds churning out thoughts of upmost irrelevance
When one is in desperate need of sleep
She is told, to simply count the sheep.
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 11:47 PM UTC