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Matt Mar 2015
The 21st century
It isolates me
I have my therapist
I love her
She is my friend

I have a few friends
Other than that
I am lonely!

I just have this machine mostly
And these youtube videos
F*!

And it's Friday again
And there is a guest at our house
And I'd like to go home
But I can't

And I'm here at Starbucks
Looks like the woman next to me
Is having a good time
Laughing and talking to somebody online

And what do I see outside
A group of friends talking
And having fun

And I'm alone
At least I have my youtube

Off to get some soup
At Whole Foods
I am at my wit's end
I just want to shut down and hide from the entire world
I can't continue ******* people off
I can't keep talking about my problems
to sort out emotions as I feel them
I can't keep reaching out to people
who have their lives on track
It's not fair for me to cause stress for other people
I can't even describe how I feel anymore
It's more than depression
It's worse than anxiety
It's something unknown
It isolates me
It confuses the **** out of me
It causes me to feel out of my skin
to the point I want to rip myself apart
I don't want to discuss it
I don't want to see a doctor for it
I just want it to go away
The possibility of me being dead by thirty does not surprise me
I am starting to understand the peace those suicide "experts" talk about
The peace
when you make the choice to die
how all of your emotional turmoil just disappears
Maybe I am becoming suicidal again
I don't know
I am so through with thinking
I don't want to die
but I can't keep living a life full of dead ends
WRITTEN BY: Mandie Michelle Sanders
WRITTEN ON: April. 17, 2016 Sunday 10:10 PM
artsyats Aug 2018
My heart cries
The cries hurt
My beloved love gone
Love buried down and deep
Six inch never to bloom.
Once a lovely vase
Beautiful and fascinating
Till knocked down
By a ravaging missile
Missile with a burning heart
Ready to famish full family.
Deep inside my heart weeps
It is shattered
Broken and separated
Tattered
I wish for someone to mend it …
I hope a Guardian Angel will come along
One day
One century
Just to comfort my bleeding soul
Blood of tears.
Fast and furious she will come
A walking succubus you may call
Ready to ******
And drop you to dying hell
She will expound the pleasure
But later suppress your life
Then isolates and disappears
Moves on to another miserable soul.
My heart cries
It hurts indeed!
Bitter like gall.
She continues her profession
Capturing my loved ones
Bruising my life
Oh Dear!

August 26, 2015
M Seifert M Mar 2013
and he isolates himself again
and she cries her eyes out in a crowd of friends
and we buy it all just to keep ourselves comfortable
and we lie to ourselves constantly
because the truth hurts and if they fall
we fall

what side are you on?
are we playing the same game even?
are we all double agents
out in the open?
are we all playing pretend
or is some of this the real thing?

is it eerie how i hear you
before you're even looking?

the best of us will be left performing magic tricks
for the guys weilding the biggest sticks

stick to the plan
get a tan
and collect fans
because you need to keep cool
[sure]
not in front of everyone
no
not ready for that
no please
no not while they're here
they
they need more time

you need more


you've had plenty

i've had enough

we all have

precisely my point

the point hasn't even begun to be reached

we're at it again

battling 'til surrender

remind me why


i can't breathe around her

her last wish kept me up all night

sir
they're at it again
we can't seem to stop them this time

we asked them to leave

i believe you
please

grieve





the loss of many
the loss of one man
or any number


it's been keeping me up
no slumber
that's right
every night
i couldn't sleep feeling another one leave
i made myself feel everything i could imagine
happening all inside of me

have they forgotten what it feels like?
have they robbed themselves of what they crave most
because they couldn't handle the pain of knowing any longer?

and now i'm numb
like you

still
                                                  craving
are
                                                  meaning
you
                                                  seeming
in
                                                  playing
love?
                                                dreaming?
no
                                                    for
ever?
                                                   lost
never
                                                    cost
not
                                                   most
once?
                                                   such
maybe
                                                 horrible
every
                                                   hosts
time

never
been shown the meaning
never
had it spelled out before
letters
in the sand
holding hands
no longer there

in circles we had drawn
we sang our favorite made up songs
it didn't matter that we didn't know the words
everyone could play along

i wouldn't remember later
but those songs reverberated
'round the walls of the crater

if i never see you in my dreams again
it's just one more i'll keep drawing until i get it right
one more silent vigil lit by fireflies


this morning ritual of mine is getting old
i've bought and sold enough to trade my soul
i've trained my soul for the day they take it all away
and it won't matter
'cause it's not my game and i never wanted to play
take me to the place you want me
stake me out
make sure it's nice enough outside
a place where children play
with paths for bikes to ride

you showed me in their faces
you showed me and i'll never be the same

i'm falling again
and i'm leaking  for my own sake
i'm speaking for no one in particular
i'm making it up as i go along
as i feel it every word feels wrong

but the sound of these
the rhythm of my knees shaking
the symbolism of an embolism
makes me tremble maybe there's more to stem from

can you trace the outline on the wall?
can you taste any of it at all?
can you hear if he's still in there?
can you tell if he has enough air?
can you get ahold of him?
how long's it been?
don't look at me that way
none of us ever expected this
someone should have expected this
is this serious?
should we be calling someone?
is there a problem?
are we in trouble?
don't you talk to anyone

the wrong mind in the wrong hands
will be forced to make new plans
wrong man sent to a new land
will take ownership and make demands

stained sheet
stars i lie beneath
cars i almost died behind the steering wheel
screaming out my rotting teeth
dotting every line
spotting every guy in the crowd in striped shirts
every spy in every automobile
behind every pile of rubble
behind every "i'm sorry we're having a little trouble with the connection"
"oh you didn't get my text? it must have been redirected..."

*11/5/12
Miguel Diaz May 2016
What is the air breathed in by the millionaire?
The same as inhaled by the slum-dweller?
The monopoly on air is great!
Or imagined?

A false dichotomy, a false pretense,
a logical fallacy, a paradox and contradiction. Linguistic sounds murmured and mumbled by orators and curators.

The breath of life is the worlds most beautiful gift, but also a mundane commodity,
It is in a perpetual state of being unwrapped and re-wrapped,
Transported by logisticians,
Prepared by makers,
Packaged by designers,
Consumed by the user,
Expelled by the waster,
Salvaged by the recycler,
Reminder of our life,
Reminding us of our mortality
Which we so frequently forget.

Breath is without choice,
We are unforced,
We flow the atoms inside us
Which our lungs are built to contain,
But particles need to be expelled.
As all good things must come to an end,
So must the ego we wish to contain.

Nature's masculinity is all too powerful, dominating the global hemisphere. His spheres of influence are enermous and his allies volatile.
Fire, metal, lightning, magma, stone, thunder.

An awesome feat,
We have learnt to harness electricity,
The ecstatic delight,
The shock of wonder,
We are galvanised into apathy,
Wired on our technology,
Device on finger,
We have yet to integrate the complex organic with the intricate artifical.

The technology of air is a great invention, invented by an invisible nothingness, an empty void of silence, a chasm of infitissimal unmeasurableness.
We have yet to harness this ancient element.

As we race about and fulfill our desires,
Humans, thought to be different,
No, we are a microcosm of repetition, a chain reaction, a catalyst of a parralel universe.

We have created our own branch of nature,
We are a branch hanging off the trunk
Our own pecking order,
We are not elemental isolates from the land which we once grew on.
Diamonds are made from carbon.
Flesh from cell.
Cell from atom.
Interconnected, neural and galactic.
The microscopic projections playing through our planetary minds:
Sharp as the claws of beasts.

The tiger rattles its chains,
Exuding its own glory,
Its notoriety known amongst
The lesser kingdom dwellers.
Is it moral to cease the latters' lives early on, severed by the hand of sentient and intelligent conciousness?

The grand old question proposed by philosophers.
To **** or to be killed?
To live or to die.
War or peace?
Answers and binaries, we rush in attempt to answer both,
The sedate and the anxious professors will philosophise,
Knowledge will reach the masses,
Ignorance remains.

Time will pass and death will come to all of us,
Mortality an unstoppable force,
an unstoppable ticking,
A machine in the clockwork of nature,
A cog that has been inhabited by life,
An abstraction colonised by thinkers and doers,
All on the same trajectory of the unknown.
Powerless and hopeless civillians, grasping and clinging desperately on an immense rocketship,
Fighting for survival.
Are we preparing for a greater good or a we headed into the dark oblivion?

The corporations too - perceived as more powerful -
Know they have land and
Ownership of property,
Exerting their will
In an extravagant and
Flamboyant fashion.
A luxurious and pompous display,
A model for citizens to admire

Sooner than we know,
The invisible does become visible,
The curtains are opened.
Even denyers become believers.
The windows of facades,
To be scratched. Will be clawed.

We lament and count our losses,
But the trees remain grounded,
Roots are always shifted,
Loggers cut down beasts of beauty,
All too common, there are all too many treefellings.
Her presence is sparse and dense.

We raise, we grow and then we prepare and consume.

Is it so strange we do this to eachother when we do this to nature?

In a internation that worships success and scolds failure, how can the failure be allowed to live?
He is at the mercy of the lucky,
he is at mercy to dissaproval,
he is at mercy to mockery.

The air she does not distinguish between worthy and unworthy, she gives lovingly to children of the earth.
Is it not time love ourselves to love eachother and love her back?

Is it much more powerful to imagine utopia than to disdain dystopia?
We are a dusty age that Mother blows away with her strength of love.

We forget her might,
Her fury, her will.
She: more powerful than all of us.
The earth can crack,
The skies will burn,
The seas will flood.

Our might is remembered by historians,
Our strength is revealed through leaders,
Our vulnerability is exposed.
Our secrets are brought to light.

We are as evil the land.
Life lived in the grey.
Allania Berkey Jan 2014
You're breath on my neck,
It replays in my head everyday.
Your whispers, they taunt me.
Your heart lies.
The softness and clarity of your lips on my chest,
Leave me restlesss,
Aching for more.
To be a fool
Or to be sane,
That is the question.
Our bodys intertwind,
But to afriad to truly touch.
The heart frolics with the mind ,
Leaving both fragil,
Weak.
To be a fool,
That's the question.
The breath which you leak, isolates my heart,
And manipluates my mind,
To foolishness.
To be a fool,
A fool to love you.
Hal Loyd Denton Nov 2011
Imperfections
The kindest evidence the savior passed was the marks he bestowed in the most gentile articulation in this
His wise choices matched imperfection to our needs. One of the most telling attributes of women can be
Her hands but what if they are slightly marred the grace only flows to a deeper level quickness is
Replaced by deliberate action slower more thoughtful and profound a touch placed with this kind of
Feeling goes to a measure instantly felt it is not just the ordinary but a thing of force that unravels
Trouble mysteriously it finds the hidden knots looses them allows love to flow wide and full. Perhaps a
Man no longer strides with a power that has an assurance maybe he is depended on a stick for support
Where power is diffused it only changes channels it makes the heart stronger the eyes feel it too
Humanity in others is recessed the blunder the self efficiency drains from boisterous streams into calm
Assessment a flow that harnesses possibility not vain bravado that can at times wound those who are
Weaker and that are struggling. If times try men’s souls then imperfection can be a clarion call the
Placement of virtue at the lead where sometimes pride is the driving force this writing came from seeing
A woman walking in a sunny scene and she had a blotchy spot on her arm others could observe this and
Be to one degree or another repulsed but to the man who loves her it is a special calling card it
Touches makes the forces revel in a display that sets her apart from all others an instrument of sound
That separates from the den isolates carries a marker that generates tenderness, esteem, and honor
Thou art the tune and sound of a masterful violin play nothing else in my presence nothing else will do
Your imperfections makes another whole don’t ever fret over your special make up it is the breath and
The visitation of the divine in the human form boldly brushed in the shadow perfected by sun light.
Andrew Rueter May 2021
To the person who's sexually attracted to children
but has never acted upon that attraction:
Thank you
it's not always easy doing the right thing
and I understand the stigmatization you face
in a society where advocating killing you is socially encouraged
for the forced productions in the privacy of your mind
usually stemming from traumatic childhood abuse
but don't let them stop you from getting help
for the misery and frustration associated with
constantly denying one's ****** urges
for the sake of others.

Nobody is born an angel or a demon
walking along we pick up horns or halos midstride
often confusing one for the other
often trading one for the other
often naming one for the other
until heavenly hellspawns
attack with horned halos.

To the person who perpetuates the stigma against those people
through edgy internet posts and comments
like it's some sort of controversial sentiment
that isolates those people until they crack
usually just so you can virtue signal militancy
so you can feel good about yourself through persecuting others:
*******.
art
Any form of art isolates us from people
See that's crazy and true
Thats why i do this
Im the kid that doesn't hear
I miss you alot
Im that kid with no fear i could die today
samantha xx Feb 2016
if grief is a long dark table that calls for you to come to it alone, then forgiveness is a shipwreck that isolates you with nothing more than broken wood and half torn mast. forgiveness is a long bus ride that stops every while for passengers, but never seems to stop for you. its when you are the demon within yourself, refusing to let go of your own bleeding heart and yet aching with a desire for love and acceptance.
if grief is a long dark table that calls for you to come to it alone, forgiveness is a painfully bright surgery table that only you can operate for yourself.
Ian Beckett Jun 2012
Every morning I swim up a vertical river,
Almost drowning, as night leans into
A clean new day, where thoughts
And plans crystallize in a foam
And spray, which isolates
Me from the world
Of people and
Places and
Problems.

I am reborn
Rejuvenated
And cleansed
Of a night that
Contaminated my
Now-clean body
With all my
Yesterdays
Erased
Ian Beckett Jun 2013
Plus thirty in scorching sunshine at noon
Heat insulation isolates me from feeling
Warm sensation fries me from your touch
And a contrasting black emptiness inside
Is a distant sort of closeness for me now.
Maxine Robbins Aug 2014
Ah America, the land of the free,
Where you are supposed to be living happy.
But not all Americans seem to be able to see,
Why some of us feel so **** ******.

“Oh, you’ll get through this don’t worry!”, they say.
“Something affecting your feelings can’t be a disease.” they preach.
These sayings are pretty stupid and cliche,
And it just shows that understanding depression is far out of their reach.

I have no sympathy for the people who say these things to me,
Because they don’t have a ******* clue how depression destroys you.
How would you like to feel completely worthless or to feel like an amputee?
This is way more than simply feeling a little blue.

I feel like the part of my brain that should tell me to be happy is missing,
And it was replaced by a voice telling me that slitting my wrists is the next best thing.
Now matter how hard I fight it that voice will be in the back of my head just hissing,
Telling me the blood dripping down my arm is worth the sting.

Depression is like having an obnoxious mean friend,
Who you try to hide from everyone until it is too obvious he’s here.
No matter how hard you try to shake him you end up making amends,
And instead of letting people try to help you just try to disappear.

Depression takes you away from everyone who loves you,
It isolates you and traps you in the corner.
And slowly every hateful thing it whispers to you becomes true,
The you that was there before is now gone and you mourn her.

You will never be the same person as you were before you met depression,
You will be a living person trapped in a dead girl’s shell.
You will feel tired and angry from all of that repression,
And living this way alone feels an awful lot like hell.

How long will it take for people to realize this isn’t “just a phase”?
How many have to hang from their closet for people to understand?
Depression lasts forever it’s not a few ******* days,
And suicides are caused by depression’s twisted evil hands.

A person who is murdered by depression is not a coward,
And they sure as hell are not selfish that’s for sure.
They felt completely abused and overpowered,
And to them their struggle had no other cure.

I think it is time for the world to get a couple tips,
Depression is real and it is alive.
You cannot tell someone to “get a grip”,
They don’t need to be reprimanded they need to thrive.
In honor of Robin Williams.
Rexhep Morina Nov 2015
Let us meet there,
let us witness the beauty itself,
Simplicity in the purest form
cherish these moments for infinity.

Where the sky kisses the earth,
where the sun gives birth to sunshine,
where eveything seems meaningless,
insignificant.

Let us meet there,
let us be bold, and feel everything so deeply,
realize that we are one with it,
hold hands and unite in these moments of infinity.

Break through the limits, push our selves towards our true being,
rejoyce, dance, and acknowledge
that we are the creators.

We are the light that shines through,
the darkness that isolates us from the truth,
the truth that gives wings to our souls.
TussyLambz Aug 2017
Living in a city of empty people
peeking through my peephole
surrounded by weak souls
I'm forgetting what is real

Forgetting how to ******* feel
Beliefs heavy as concrete
humanity's Achilles' heel, still

I get no sleep
see theses webs of deceit
see me question everything
From our origin to corporate extortion

distortions of historical proportions
If no life is worthless
do the math and divide the portions
Factoring in that a few hoard fortunes

So in the end what is really important?
Sporting Jordans at the performance?
Or forming meaningful communities
with other human beings

The type that have me believing
that there is strength in unity
And that living life beautifully
is worth more than greed achieves

So I am not speaking of Utopian fantasy
but I am so dope the status quo can't handle me
so "put your hands in team"
and recognize life is more than just existing

we are on the verge of mass extinction
but, oh so captivated by television
social media and religion
all program us to stay in position

we have our own vision
but it has become tradition for us to follow
so repeat this motto:

"Live life as if there is no tomorrow"

'Cause we borrow time every day
So it is safe to say one day it will all be taken away

With no replays, I hope the words I say crash like waves
'Cause once awake you are never the same
I may hate a lot about the current state
But I cannot even place the blame

I would rather self-deprecate
If it would do a ******* thing
Like address climate change
Or increase the minimum wage, I am just saying

Let's debate a path to take to avoid dark fates
Let's make the world a better place
and forget about the word race

'Cause it still frames a way to segregate
Police profile people that they incriminate
generating prison profit off of slaves

Our priorities are obviously nonsense
At what point can we no longer stop this?
What the **** is this that you call progress?

I feel stress in my bones
and I know I am not alone
my environment isolates me from those that I know
my confinement makes me feel like I am on my own

So I scroll through my phone
looking for something
anything to give my life meaning
Somebody, please cut the seams at the borders of  my being
Releasing my inner-beast as I breathe in peace just this evening

<3
listen here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VsI1bJzPzZ8
“The Silicon Tower of Babel”
The over utilization of technology, its abuse, is unweaving humanity at the seams. Human health, sanity, and spirituality are under attack. The boom of accessibility over technology has increasingly subtracted from the frequency of face to face human interaction as well as human interaction with nature. The result is a declining emotional and psychological health and a ******* of spiritual values. Each individual who values holistic health should limit the time he or she spends using technology that isolates them to less than twenty-four hours in a week. They should make more purposeful efforts toward interacting with nature daily and for periods of at least an hour at a time. Lastly, these individuals should labor to replace reclusive technologies with modes of technology that encourage face to face and group social interaction such as movies, Skype, etc.
Self-limitation of the use of isolating technology will begin to correct the twisting of our spiritual values and the social and physiological damage that has been caused by the overuse and abuse of technology. In James T. Bradley’s review of Joel Garreau’s book discussion of radical evolution, called “Odysseans of the twenty first century”, Bradley quotes Garreau when he says that technology will result in human transcendence. In “Odysseans” it is said that “The nature of transcendence will depend upon the character of that which is being transcended—that is, human nature.”  James. T Bradley, scholar and author of this peer reviewed journal says that “When we’re talking about transhumanism, we’re talking about transcending human nature. . .  One notion of transcendence is that you touch the face of God. Another version of transcendence is that you become God.”  This is a very blatant ******* of the roles of God and man. When the created believes it can attain the greatness of its creator, and reach excellence and greatness on par with its God, it has completely reversed the essence of spirituality. This results in the ability to justify the “moral evolution of humankind” according to Odysseans. And this “moral evolution” often results in “holy wars”. In “Man in the age of technology” by Umberto Galimberti of Milan, Italy, written for the Journal of Analytical Psychology in 2009, technology is revealed to be “no longer merely a tool for man’s use but the environment in which man undergoes modifications.” Man is no longer using technology. Man is no longer affecting and manipulating technology to subdue our environments. Technology is using, affecting, and manipulating the populace; it is subduing humankind into an altered psychological and spiritual state.
Technology, in a sense, becomes the spirituality or the populace. It replaces nature and the pure, technologically undefiled creation as the medium by which the common man attempts to reach the creator. The common man begins to believe in himself as the effector of his Godliness. Here there is logical disconnect. People come to believe that what they create can connect them to the being that created nature. They put aside nature and forget that it is an extension of the artist that created it. Technology removes man from nature (which would otherwise force an undeniable belief in a creator) and becomes a spiritual bypass. “According to “The Only Way Out Is Through: The Peril of Spiritual Bypass” by Cashwell, Bentley, and Yarborough, in a January 2007 issue of Counseling and Values, a scholarly and peer reviewed psychology journal, “Spiritual bypass occurs when a person attempts to heal psychological wounds at the spiritual level only and avoids the important (albeit often difficult and painful) work at the other levels, including the cognitive, physical, emotional, and interpersonal. When this occurs, spiritual practice is not integrated into the practical realm of the psyche and, as a result, personal development is less sophisticated than the spiritual practice (Welwood, 2000). Although researchers have not yet determined the prevalence of spiritual bypass, it is considered to be a common problem among those pursuing a spiritual path (Cashwell, Myers, & Shurts, 2004; Welwood, 1983). Common problems emerging from spiritual bypass include compulsive goodness, repression of undesirable or painful emotions, spiritual narcissism, extreme external locus of control, spiritual obsession or addiction, blind faith in charismatic leaders, abdication of personal responsibility, and social isolation.”  Reverting back to frequent indulgence in nature can begin to remedy these detrimental spiritual, social, and physiological effects.  If people as individuals would choose to daily spend at least an hour alone in nature, they would be healthier individuals overall.
  Technology is often viewed as social because of its informative qualities, but this is not the case when technologies make the message itself, and not the person behind the message, the focus.  To be information oriented is to forsake or inhibit social interaction.  Overuse of technology is less of an issue to human health if it is being overused in its truly social forms. Truly social forms of technology such as Skype and movies viewed in public and group settings are beneficial to societal and personal health. According to a peer-reviewed study conducted by John B. Nezlek, the amount and quality of one’s social interactions has a direct relationship to how positively one feels about one’s self. Individual happiness is supported by social activity.
Abuse of technology is a problem because it results in spiritual *******.  It points humanity toward believing that it can, by its own power, become like God.  Abuse of technology inclines humanity to believe that human thoughts are just as high as the thoughts of God. It is the silicon equivalent of the Tower of Babel.  It builds humanity up unto itself to become idols. In extreme cases overuse of technology may lead to such megalomania that some of humanity may come to believe that humanity is God.  Technology is a spiritual bypass, a cop-out to dealing with human inability and depravity. The misuse of technology results in emotional and psychological damage. It desensitizes and untethers the mind from the self. It causes identity crises. Corruption of technology from its innately neutral state into something that negatively affects the human race results in hollow social interactions, reclusion, inappropriate social responses, and inability to understand social dynamics efficiently.
It may appear to some that technology cannot be the cause of a large-scale social interrupt because technology is largely social. However, the nature of technology as a whole is primarily two things: It is informational; it is for use of entertainment. Informational technology changes the focus of interaction from the messenger to the message. Entertainment technology is, as a majority, of a reclusive nature.
Readers may be inclined to believe that nature is not foundational to spirituality and has little effect on one’s spiritual journey, it is best to look through history. Religions since the beginning of time have either focused on nature or incorporated nature into their beliefs. Animists believe that everything in nature has a spirit. Native American Indians like the Cherokee believe that nature is to be used but respected. They believe that nature is a gift from the Great Spirit; that earth is the source of life and all life owes respect to the earth. Christians believe that it is the handiwork of God, and a gift, to be subdued and used to support the growth and multiplication, the prosperity and abundance of the human race.
In a society that has lost touch with its natural surroundings it is sure that some believe that nature has little effect on health, as plenty of people live lives surrounded by cities and skyscrapers, never to set foot in a forest or on red clay and claim perfect health. However, even in the states of the least contact possible with nature, nature has an effect on human health. The amount of sunlight one is exposed to is a direct factor in the production of vitamin D. Vitamin D deficiency has been determined to be linked to an increased likelihood of contracting heart disease, and is a dominant factor in the onset of clinical depression. Nature has such a drastic effect on human health that the lack of changing season and sunlight can drive individuals to not only depression, but also suicide. This is demonstrated clearly when Alaska residents, who spend half a year at a time with little to no sunlight demonstrate a rate of suicide and clinical depression diagnoses remarkably higher than the national average.
Dependence on technology is engrained in our society, and to some the proposed solution may not seem feasible. They find the idea of so drastically limiting technology use imposing. They do not feel that they can occupy their time instead with a daily hour of indulgence in nature. For these individuals, try limiting isolating technology use to 72 hours a week, and indulging in nature only three times a week for thirty minutes. Feel free to choose reclusive technology over social technologies sometimes, but do not let technology dominate your life. Make conscious efforts to engage in regular social interactions for extended periods of time instead of playing Skyrim or Minecraft. Watch a movie with your family or Skype your friends. Use technology responsibly.
To remedy the effects of the abuse of technology and the isolations of humanity from nature, individuals should limit their reclusive technology use to 24 hours in a week’s time, indulge in nature for an hour daily, and choose to prefer truly social technologies over reclusive technologies as often as possible. In doing so, individuals will foster their own holistic health. They will build and strengthen face-to-face relationships. They will, untwist, reconstruct and rejuvenate their spirituality. They will be less likely to contract emotional or social disorders and will treat those they may already struggle with.  So seek your own health and wellbeing. Live long and prosper.
Shashi Oct 2010
Life in little steps of love
Falling, leaving, goodbyes and then denial
Happiness bleeds in little steps

You really know what love is
When you loose her
In few words

She was half playing
The game of love
But I lost completely

Too intense
Too insufficient
Loving has been painful to me

Her voice over phone
Simple, sweet and friendly
Isolates my love

The thin line of longing
That ties us
Cut me apart

Some words are so effective
Before you realise
They **** the happiness out of life

Your burden of being the only thing
That makes me happy
Is killing me softly

Broken heart beats silently
Fears to wake up mind
See, I told you so!

Can not say, what is harder
Breaking Heart or
Heart Break
__
@Shashi
25th Oct - 31st Oct 2010
Om Namah Shivaya
Twitter: @VerseEveryDay
Blog: http://shadowdancingwithmind.blogspot.com
Spílaiaus, noticing that Vernarth felt unprotected on the iridescent Nimbus, greeted Zefian; he was in the Phlegrean Fields reliving the Sibylline Treatises of the Pytia Cumea, when the last death rattle of the Universe began to beat with force Zefian sent from his Thracian Gold Quiver right next to where the Sibylline Treatises could materialize again by withdrawing the Arrow of the Vóreios where it began to protrude from the Doric stylobats of the Megaron, everything was comparable to the Parnassus from which Leto; Apollo's mother would grant them Vernarth's Megaronic Songs, making up for her withdrawal since he was saved from the fire in 548 BC.  from the Acropolis, being able to assent to the presence of Triads Women who moaned at him due to his deserted unbalanced voice without being able to receive his exclamations. Zefian then before the lightness of his cosmic phalanges withdrew the Fourth Arrow from the Phlegrean Fields; before it from the volcanic caldera, he released the nine books recovered in total from the six cremated, to then be pierced by Zefian's Arrow to finally project them towards the contiguities of Prophyits Ilias where their spirits appeared here with such reflections of Miletus conversing with each other that the beauty of Coronis was not enough tenor of Paralesias of the Firmament of Apollo, so the Heavens of Patmos had to be opened with the nine sybilline books along with Vernarth's Hellenic Trilogy to establish the Duoverse as paralesias of the world that would restart from the Ádyton to save the Inheritance and his astrophysicist strangulation.
Both vicissitudes of the Fourth Arrow were heading at incalculable speeds to collide and merge with the Arrow that pierced Apollo's Lynothorax to the detriment of Coronis, thus abandoning transcripts of the oracles that crossed paths in the Seventh Hour of Paralysis to later touch with holistic chrysanthemums with their pointed ivory ornaments that hung from the Universe wrapped in an omphalos, which became a Kosmous of wands encrusted with igneous flames to burn to a great degree among the stylobates that the upper canopy prevented from being incinerated from the rest, protecting the parapets from the Megaron that depended on the nearby Cloud of the Iridescent Nimbus where Vernarth resided in the armband patterns of the monarch Croesus.

Spílaiaus replies to Vernarth: “From this promontory, I go to your parents, I tell you that I see signs of great parapets where the center of the Kosmous rises; “The Ádyton, is closely linked to the fusion of the Quarta Saeta, and Septenario del Ibic or Virola to the depths of the Katabainen; whose Katabasis grows through places of impious land from a Megaron that is nothing more than traces of Lycurgus in limber blood that the tabernacle could not contain, nor could it dispossess for a chalice the firmness of an instigated Christus that could now flow and be reborn by submitting to Cyrus, and other satraps of the past, referring to the fact that Vernarth's asceticism depended on the minimum luminance that could come out of Tartar. Vernarth, distinguished himself more calmly when he perceived that Eurydice filled him with greater agreement with the one who is delimited from an underground room, than from a sub-empyrean who began to separate him from the parapets of the Megaron with the shape of a Howling Kosmous burnishing from the same district Strategoi.

In this way, the Adyton was made up of a temple with Seven Steps until the arrival of the fusion of Zefian's Arrow to collide with that of Apollo, then both being the curtain of the interface of the Duoverse that became oracular with the presence of Jerome de Estridón, and Spílaiaus taking them to the Forests of Parnassus and Kanthillana with the Pythonesses in the spurious Oracular of the nuptials. The Sybilla Herofila is present with her veil with the darkness of Castalia, with ceremonious gestures also in front of her the Sybilla Cumea for the brothers of Delphi and Adyton who reopen it with the power of their God, who was accumulating access to an infinite where nothing isolates it, not even from the sip of a sea that does not grant the gift of quenched thirst, then the Psiloi custodians as advisers of their "V" of the pentagram would take charge of the Oracle's minions to unite the center of the Kosmous with the Universe-Duoverse where he rested on the niche of Hestia.

Apollo emerges between some proxenos that accompanied him before noticing the impact of the Arrowheads, and compasses between proxenos that would admit the New Duoverse of the Oracle of Adyton, for a new universe that was gestating from a polymer towards a multidimensional height that rotated to exhibit only the edge that would admit the mass of Saetas to create rings of vibration, and frequency of Apollo in front of Vernarth looking from the magnanimous lookouts of all Greece. This is where the shepherd Coretas juxtaposed himself with his flock to swarm in the thin strips of landslides that would be left by the atomic detonations of both colliding Arrows, whose cracks would drop obtuse crude oil down mysterious empty cliffs in the face of a Greece that would be born before Anthropotite or humanity, only eclipsing Vernarth in the company of the atomic hatching in the middle of the sieve of the same faces of his entourage that will make him return every day of his transition, like fiery Ashin of the Roman Vestal in assiduity of Naples.
Apollo indicates to Vernarth: “If you stay alone in the drift of Astro Cirrus, you stay with the shadow of Coronis, or you will tell me that it dissipates from the discharges of Tarquino Prisco, you must treasure your Trilogy as a pendulum on the towpath of the Dodona or from the hiding places of the fetish between leaves of the inventory that unknown is not by an auspice that will open from the greatest Paradise ”

In advance of the hallmarks of the Itheoi Duoverse; with the Pre-Kelesete or Possession, they decide to contribute the Anticipatory that will open the doors of the Soul that they have to enter the Universe of San Juan Apóstol, from then on a whopping bump are unleashed with the hatching of Saetas between Zefian and Apollo. The Cabal skirmish was accomplished in the dark! The macro transport of spiritual masses begin to coexist transporting the end of the Himation Ceremonial, later until an impartial right here appeared from Camphor, it was his signature Macrowave protoform of the Himation itself; called Camphor-Xórki (syllabus). The Pre-Kalesete began its walk through the Nothing when Vernarth tried to look down on the limpid spheres of Patmos seeing the holistic whole involved in a Greece that was hailed from the Hatching Arrows coming from the last breath near the Camphor-Xórki of San Juan Apóstol where the Xorkí began to syllable “O θάνατός σου είναι τώρα Ζωή – Your Death is now Life”, from the Quantum atomic that began spelling out by Vernarth's Stóma; or beginning of his astonishing mouth that was regurgitating the oscillating lapses between the Keselete and Xorkí.

With expeditious speed came the Arrows of the Phlegrean Fields, forking one by one until the Fourth Sagittal that was isolated in the evolution of myriads of stars that were made up of the proximity of the Nimbus where Vernarth provided himself in decades of nebula Celestines that shone to tear pimps fibers that still aspired to hijack the remains of the Millitum Vernarth, in the form of clusters of radio galaxies that moved towards the reddish, expanding from the Campos Phlegraios in Naples itself; like geological hydrothermal fissures that clustered behind a sudden crimson blue of the great Universal that split receiving the Saeta Prima from said field of fire. The gravitational completion of the curve generated the Saeta Prima that was made conventional with assistant telescopes, before exultant excesses of wanting to see it as a Quasar that descended from Andromeda together with the Auriga, in such a radio galaxy journey to melt the bars of the Universe to be distended by Vernarth's bombastic Stóma that expressed itself more than his dwarfed senses by the Galaxy that was propelled by the waning of the radiance of the Quasars.

The Primal Saeta is abducted in the intermediate vortex of the Quasars, it remains in the orbit of the Nimbus where Vernarth remained in photometric that allowed him to reflect it in its silhouette with the closest astral referent of Orion. The Secunda Saeta came out of the transversal valleys, this came with the agreement of the Pre-Keselete of Saint John the Apostle bathed in ultra-luminous infrared Ouranos, making vibrating strings of the frequency of the Universe in an ultra-luminous dream emanating from molecular gas, adapting to the new fusion of Zefian's Prima and Secunda Saeta with the determination to split the monoxide at the base of the Nimbus from the acroteria that still accompanied it with the universal entity of the Empyrean as hydrogen that formulated the Saetas clash in homologation of the same aerodynamics prop of the Xiphos, from solid metal to liquid in pearly spirals from the magnitude collapse of the Tercia Saeta, this would bring the same from the Horkun hydrothermal or Horcondising Mountain with thousandths of a thousand light years that would unify on their Solid and Liquid pedestals as the Fifth Essence of the Horkun, the Third Bolt arrived between five Kyrios who followed her through the atrium that was beyond the Hydor that incarnated in collusion with her deformation to soon reform, beginning to go towards the manifest of shared energy towards magnitudes divided by the coefficient 0.7 Micron of atomic energy levitating from the quasar equivalent that stretched from the luminous zenithal meridian in front of the mast of the Four Leaf Clover, which pretended to be a Cherub still emanating from nothing, towards the fractal splendor of the Patmos region ten times greater than the hydrothermal that reconfigured Greece at a distance of ten molecular cycles minus a molecular trace of the carbonate crystal. The diameters of the absolute observable were coming out to the delight of a Hellenic Ego observable in the wide Cosmos rendered in anti-gravity of the Fourth Arrow; being competent to see how he appropriated a snowy-blue sky that softened with the obstructed eyes of Saint John the Apostle, granting more than ninety percent of the explosiveness of the Quarta Saeta above the infrared that dominated the collisions, leaving them inactive for only seven seconds before concluding the snowy waves with the dense and glacial gas helically topped by few waves of any gas that sprout from each galaxy that never ended as an isolated Nimbus as Kant preceded, in a time that becomes more extensive than our own light that lives in its bright end. The dislocated morphology of the Fourth Saeta would ignite the border of the Pre-Keselete from the Phlegrean Fields, Kimolos, the Horkun, and Patmos in an unleashed spiral since the matter was uncontrolled from other unknown matter between myriads of collisions caused by Zefian to the limit that cuts his inspiration, only falling asleep all the previously mentioned Duoverse with Vernath's Megaronic Odes in Epilogue of Xorkí, from here towards the metallic lithic tip of the Xiphos with its spelled enchantment.

Megaronic Odes

"You see from the Enchantment in which all matter becomes Free, You see how each one of them after being Four will now be one that speaks of their very existence that you do everything... you realize that the noise of the Duoverse is born from the Xorkí, where everything dark turns grey... and black is Xorkí.

“Everything that has four digits moves with your four wings, everything that you call Quarta Saeta is a Xorkí syllable…”
Camphor is the heat of friction of the contracted memory, it is here that all pain that is in this field of tragedy urges it, and leaves you distrustful of sap that is another that you lead to the Pre-Keselete as an environment of infernal turns that seem to be good of a good that is born to crash fatally. I want to tell you with these Megaronic Odes that I write, which do not belong to me, they are concise clashes of two atomic ignition fields of the Keselete and Xorkí of San Juan Apóstol that make me not mortified, that you will destine me to the gross speed of the blinking of my Hellenes eyes quicker than those of enchanted thought.

“I need to tell you that between La Prima and Quarta Saeta, my charms between frictions will rest on herbs from Corinto and Sudpichi, I will join the choir that will begin to rise for me, it will do so for you who have just begun to know me, soon we will see you, my dear Adelfos"

"As for the Primal and Quarta Saeta, it is the fanfare of a being that would visit every night, it would invite you to live your own experience that was seen to shine for the last time while being handcuffed to an agro bush, which would sustain itself against an enchantment of the Xorkí in a revived future of the brand new Vernarth with his prodded and resonant Xiphos”

Vernarth utters: “Eurydice... here I am, a closed pilgrimage looms towards the dim light with the nocturnal phrase of him endowing me through the conclusive!! Father... Mother, Myloi of the Sad Wind, here I am with your Primordial Arrow endorsing Pillows, beloved Adelfós, the Rabih San Juan? Almighty God bless you from this Quilt holding our spirited hope of seeing you again! "

Between The Prima and Quarta Saeta, enormous hydrothermal plasmas of the drained Don would be cited, which would conglomerate between the interdimensional of the four Saetas, to later send them from the "Heroon Hurkun Funeral Home of Kanthillana", from there to Lefkandi for the transition of his cremated body that began to revive from there ipso facto, later from the Phlegrean Fields with the Fourth Arrow that Zefian would finally bring with the III Trilogy of Vernarth Hellenic being transferred from the iron prop, supremely seconded by settling in the Prophytis Ilias to revive in autonomous descent of the body of a “Hero in his Heroon who will be reborn from his immolated body”. Incontinently, the arrows will be spaced through the interdimensional strapping of all of Greece to revive its awakening just as it happened with Erestles in Messolonghi; but this time of Orion's Wagon breaking with its coined bar eternity in its Hurkun chamber. In this way, Vernarth is distracted by looking at him at three hundred and sixty degrees looking at the Prima, and from this Secunda Saeta seeing how he rose and accelerated his trajectory adjacent to the Tercia and Quarta that would take him towards a failed break over Thyatira; with the Son of Yahweh, who has eyes like a flame of fire or Aish, and feet similar to going burnishing the bronze chaff towards Patmos to revive immediately with the subrogation of his body in the company of the almighty Mashiaj, Saint John the Apostle and the granted Right of the Hexagonal Birth, with the posterity of prosapies remaining everlasting to resurrect him from the neophyte and Hellenic Hortus Heliacus.
Quantum & Alchemy  https://www.academia.edu/105786699/Hortus_Heliacus_Hellenic
there is a sense of fluency
in his visual metamorphoses
framed in a diaphanous red
that isolates a consciousness
yet at the same time allows a journey
to ultimate extremes
of perfected enhancement
of the higher realization
of unfulfilling limitations
he knows that he can never be free
like a name in an address book
written in blue ceramics
that provides the impulse
to sensitizing thought
to the silence that walls him in
spiraling back in second hand decibels
overloaded with the complex distribution
of metabolic need
forms contradictory impulses
an index of vulnerable and invulnerability
like the familiar dissimilarity in his eyes
Nat Lipstadt Jun 2018
(from “A Love Song” by William Carlos Williams)

<•>

familiar that apple google and amazon
have me under 24 hour surveillance
e-specially now
as I am in their
geosphere of influence

but sending me a love poem of WCWs that isolates my locale, my intended inebriation status,
and is addressed to me personally (“you”),
that’s just creepy

so charged am I, obligated to oblige,
to counter-compose a love song of mine own,
under the pinot “influence,”
(in a manner of speaking)
which a love taught me to love

what if,
a new love song ecrit,
to an old and loverly land,
a woman-land designed to be desired,
no difference -
kissing a new girl first time,
a wet and unforgettable
compote
when falling
on the neck of your one beloved anew renewed

now I tremble-tread
for the line of great predecessors,
“the land lover scribes”
skilled in natures homaging,
is like a line out the door,
around the corner as if
a new flavor ice cream
has just been isolated and mined and I...
<•>

I,
but a novitiate
in a far away, wild untamed world
where my nature taken by her nature
cannot deny paying my just due:

selvage
late middle English, from self + edge

how perfect!
“an edge,
woven on a fabric during manufacture,
intended to prevent unraveling”

the pacific coast air
the irregular shoreline - expanding/receding,
god’s own forestry reserve,
the cascades, a goal on the horizon,
country roads where ancient wheat stalks grow wild
all a tonic intermingled, an alcohol to
imbibe through mouth nostrils eyes and skin

all will be my own selvage!
preventing the eastern unraveling disease,
a nearly incurable permafrost low grade
kate spaded infection,
brought along with me for decades,
my loon June companion, now stalling out,
lost from my happy head

a vineyard on every corner,
marijuana growing next door,
rivers that change like children growing up and down,
cheek to jowled property line
live the berries and the hazelnut groves,
god’s hay bales wrapped in plastic
like marshmallows dotting the landscape


all daring you to say

I could
love
it  here
A Love Song
William Carlos Williams, 1883 - 1963

I lie here thinking of you:—

the stain of love
is upon the world!
Yellow, yellow, yellow
it eats into the leaves,
smears with saffron
the horned branches that lean
heavily
against a smooth purple sky!
There is no light
only a honey-thick stain
that drips from leaf to leaf
and limb to limb
spoiling the colors
of the whole world—

you far off there under
the wine-red selvage of the west
Hal Loyd Denton Apr 2013
This great white wolf made for traversing wilderness giving it the most identifiable sound for its
Wild uncompromising soul beautifying the night wind adding an extra chilling effect but giving
Unspeakable comfort too it tells of freedom and possibilities latent in us all but he is reduced to
Confinement in a small enclosure pitifully no larger than a small yard his is a life sentence with
All these noble creatures that is at hand what would be so awful to set him free after five
Years and replace him with a kit a lot of his five years would be in youthful play and when he
Did mature and the wear begins then repeat the action we ourselves have and experience this
Fate we have a great white pure spirit that longs to be masterful but our eyes and the things we
See deface and scar our opportunities that are innumerable but dark bars hold us in pens their
Shadows show on our fleece that is white as snow there is the outward physical blackness but
Of the greatest sadness it burrows into the sacred hidden places of the mind this is a tether
Most cruel but outwardly we convulse with misery but can’t clearly identify why misery and
Sadness hounds us without end we all desire love but we practice selfishness and try by greed
To use others to give us what we think will make us happy what darkness grips us what light
Would be found and we would emerge from deep pits if we understood giving helping others is
Where satisfaction out weighs gold and its benefits are perpetual well being to making the soul
Gleam as white as brightest day and this will not become cankerous and subtly start to shrink
Your heart to bitter ridicule of your own self you can go forth groaning or singing blackness
Befalling you at every turn or your heart will be leaping over fast moving streams that have
Depths of joy they rush over your feet and then swirl upwards from your feet all through your
System until your head is invigorated and swimming bestowing on you pleasure your heart will
Leap like a hart you truly will be the envy and guide to others that you unsuccessfully sought at
Other times in devious ways and you were so misguided you were plagued with a unreachable
Denseness you fight with such fervor but it cost the loss of everything but by simple obedience
And surrender to the much over looked and demeaned golden rule all it asks is love your
Neighbor as yourself what a healthy and wise statement love yourself without restraint now
Just go and double it by giving the same consideration to your fellow man and then vanquish  
The darkest and most powerful restraints by confessing I see deaths grip it has perfected traps
That are mine alone and it is not in our power that we can break free but His power is without
Equal why should I languish in this black dungeon when on white wings as an eagle is my true
Potential I was made to fly in bluest skies and to match the cool moist clouds I was made to
Make a show only to be sky bound not locked in myself and become hidden by my black
Outlook that obscures what love I am capable of

Bonus
Imperfections
The kindest evidence the savior passed was the marks he bestowed in the most gentile articulation in this
His wise choices matched imperfection to our needs. One of the most telling attributes of women can be
Her hands but what if they are slightly marred the grace only flows to a deeper level quickness is
Replaced by deliberate action slower more thoughtful and profound a touch placed with this kind of
Feeling goes to a measure instantly felt it is not just the ordinary but a thing of force that unravels
Trouble mysteriously it finds the hidden knots looses them allows love to flow wide and full. Perhaps a
Man no longer strides with a power that has an assurance maybe he is depended on a stick for support
Where power is diffused it only changes channels it makes the heart stronger the eyes feel it too
Humanity in others is recessed the blunder the self efficiency drains from boisterous streams into calm
Assessment a flow that harnesses possibility not vain bravado that can at times wound those who are
Weaker and that are struggling. If times try men’s souls then imperfection can be a clarion call the
Placement of virtue at the lead where sometimes pride is the driving force this writing came from seeing
A woman walking in a sunny scene and she had a blotchy spot on her arm others could observe this and
Be to one degree or another repulsed but to the man who loves her it is a special calling card it
Touches makes the forces revel in a display that sets her apart from all others an instrument of sound
That separates from the den isolates carries a marker that generates tenderness, esteem, and honor
Thou art the tune and sound of a masterful violin play nothing else in my presence nothing else will do
Your imperfections makes another whole don’t ever fret over your special make up it is the breath and
The visitation of the divine in the human form boldly brushed in the shadow perfected by sun light
Skia Kyria Jun 2014
Numb feels ineptly
Nobody
Nothing
Empty.

Numb has a feeble spirit
Numb is numbing

Numb
******* needy
Numb
It runs swiftly
Flows freely
Numb
approaches the needy
  Ever so quickly.
It thinks of him
And deprives me
Of breathing

Numb watches.
Stares.
It  separates me, isolates.
Numb never cared.  
Makes the bleak confiscate
Everything I hate
It thinks of him
And unnerves my limbs

Numb will find it
I cannot quit
The nowhere is near
Numb brings it here

Watching.
Sickly it's ever wanting
So enchanting
Why is It still alive?
Numb will realise
He must  die

For me to be alive

Numb unfolds
Clamour of a dormant soul
The pleads
The need
Numb ever succeeds
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2014
one more for Pradip...
"Poems...are never short or long, they're only more. Thanks Nat for ever filling the less."



firing up the poem kiln,
this intriguing provocation
insistent of deserved consideration,
after all,
it is thy stories that these days inspire,
my own stories are relentless
grey, old, cold, and to my eyes,
coded repetitious...

neither a chaster or a chastiser,
(You could look it up!)
confessing readily to sinning against humanity
by ecrivezing poems of length considerable,
the Mexicano from Indiano
releases a shotgun blast
to all those whose attention spans last,
to ten words or a single stanza...no more...

but this not the matter of import,
no, no, it is the
more and the less
that makes poetry the best,
no matter the length or the heft...

in each of us
there is a more and a less,
in cycles individual that are not bound to
tides, weather, or any effect natural,
but product of our own amber waves
of chemical imbalances and mental auras...

all my days have I rode waves of
well hid hills of mania *** depression,
contented moments surrounded and cosseted
by wails of worry, sorrel colored sorrows,
making the scientists amazed at the correlation
of the macro and the mini,
the precision of my indecision...

in sixty seconds, in sixty days, in sixty years,
have I battered and battled the disequilibrium
of more and less,
disallowing a pilloried intervention,
will likely do so until
that day when my pen
has bled its last...

this theme haunts,
for but a day ago,
a bus poem was blurted out,
that concluded thusly:

to survive,
to justify,
to mediate
between these un-counterbalanced weights,
I write poetry


here I am stunned that Pradip
with but a handful of seeds,
exactly isolates the genetic implanted notion
that I struggle to define,
knowing only that my poetry fills my less,
when the all the rest is just
another fine mess

we fill the less with our wit,
we top off our souls with writs,
we are more for having scribed,
one read or ten thousand,
it mater matters knot!

look upon the pages endlessly bearing
the ephemeral heavy-handed weight full of well crafted words,
the good, the plenty,
the sad, the sorry,
the trite and cranky,
those misted musty,
the light and the careful,
the bad and merely awful,
even the drip of torrential love stories gone dry

what matters not
any of this over sighted analytics,

each and all and everyone
a success,
for each poem makes someone's less lessened,
and someone's more, more,
and by this

**ever filling the less...
this is also about Robin Williams suicide which impacted me deeply but could not find the words...a bus poem is one composed on my trip home from work in thirty rocky minutes on the M31...you could look that up too! The one that goes to the Andromeda Galaxy, and not the MTA 's midtown local affair....
Trevor Dowe Nov 2018
I don't want someone to settle for me. I want the beautiful, talented, and amazing women I know to be happy. And I'm afraid that I am not good enough to bring them that joy and that I will hold them back if we were anything than friends. Yet, I, like most people, crave love and affection -- the simple romantic in me falls in love so easily. The classmate who were supportive of my fiction and always left smiley faces on their critiques, the one who went out of her way to drive me home when I was struggling with money and who always encouraged me and told me how amazing my wiring was. Or the one who trusted me with her vulnerabilities without expecting me it asking for my help, just telling me that it existed so that I could better understand her. Or... Or... Or...

But, too afraid to cause pains that had been caused to me and too afraid to get hurt again, I shut myself off from all but the minimum or safest of social requirements. I secluded myself and retreated into isolation -- which inevitably lead to more insecurity and more despair.

As I've grown older and understood myself more, I've learned that I'm polyamorus, that I can be in love with multiple people for different, but equal, reasons. This further isolates me because our society is only just starting to accept polyamory and it's easier (but worse) for me to just stay secluded and cut off from love.

If I don't try then I can't be hurt, right?
If I don't put myself out there then I can't be rejected, right?
Rochelle Foles Mar 2019
if
          she let go oooooooo

the grand canyon
                                   would overflow


so she painstakingly
         bloodredbrickbybloodredbrick
                                            
        
built

        an impenetrable fortress
        to guard what once was
                        
                                           an open
                                           freely loving heart

parapets and towers abounded
        
        higher ground
        first sight
                              
                                          smoke billowed
                                          in warning

                                          gates barred
                                          archers flaming lethal weapons
                                          poised and ready

                                          catapults silently loaded
                                          and aimed


intuition hyper vigilant

                                         as she isolates herself

                                         prepared to ward off

any

                                        perceived enemies
                                        whose intent
                                        evidenced by ropes and picks

is to

                                       stealth fully cross the moat
                                       scale the tower

                                       and unloose the chaos she so vigilantly protects










[wonder


victorious
       or
   victim?]
look a little deeper, ask the hard questions.  you can never tell from the outside what is taking it’s toll on the squishy parts of a person.
GGA Dec 2014
Pushes and pulls.
Isolates and attaches.
Separates and unites.

A drug problem it is not.
A substance issue never cured.
A relationship that destructs.

A heart problem.
A relationship problem.
A self-esteem problem.  

Heal the heart.
Repair the wound.
Build your self-esteem.
Liam C Calhoun Aug 2015
Morality isolates and fenders bend.
Circumference learns, “half-way” but fails to take the name
“Radius,”
And when she lay a meter nigh
With child, my child;
I still and will feel horribly alone.

Curse my iron fist and rusts the middle knuckle,
When another weeps, not for I, not for you but the gods assumed,
“Heaven,”
And 3 floors above my own;
Tucked lies the pain, regret fills fetal;
I still and will feel horribly alone.

So comes the autumn, the fire prior, “Styx,”
Upon borders that could only separate, “fatherhood,” so partitioned,
“Winter,”
And 3 floors below her own –
A pillar wrought persistence and abandoned, my hedonism;
I still and will feel horribly alone.
A transition from born-after-divorce-bachelorhood to fatherhood; it all began with a knock at the door. All's good in 'da hood now.
Helen Murray Jan 2014
Black holes in the human psyche –
Depression in the laughing space –
Hopelessness amongst us rising,
Shadows illustrate disgrace.
All we’ve put our faith in fails us:
Reason brings its power of war,
Unity of hearts eludes, thus
Severed isolates we are.

Most of western humankind
These days prefers the company
Of dogs or cats to people bonds.
They do not bite.  Well, not many.
If nothing else this observation
Clarifies the entropy
Of this rational thing called reason.
When, of such, shall we be free?

One tenth of the human brain power
Is the maximum we use
If we are to credit science.
“What if…”  What is our excuse?
We can wonder what if we had
All the other nine tenths  too.
Would we not be chuckling, die-hard,
“Just Neil Armstrong on the moon?”

Where would lie the great credential
If a man could understand
How to implement potential
Past this morbid limit land.
P’rhaps we’d learn to live together.
War would now no longer rule.
No starvation, lonely fever,
Intimacy no more a duel.

Man has known, since history
Began to make its mark on time,
Of the other world of spirit.
Some are terror, One sublime.
One there was, who visited
This planet in the days of yore,
Astounding elders with His wisdom
At the age of twelve – no more.

He grew on, no less inspiring
Thousands with His repartee.
Everywhere He went they’re gathering
Immeasurable compassion He.
Miracles his feet accompanied.
Where He trod served love profound.
Yet His voice sliced through the need
To self-promote with loud resound.

What had He that every other
Man throughout the history
Of humankind could find no brother
Quite like this?  Who could He be?
People fight, Him to discredit.
“No man could perform like this.
**** Him off.  We’ll simply edit
Him from all our histories.”

So they did.  Or so they thought to.
But the grave could not defeat
This super human. Think we have to.
Human brain is now complete.
Jesus had the Spirit intact -
Mind and Truth now entertwined.
Change to holy human impact.
This is HOW WE WERE DESIGNED!

If we ask He gives His Spirit.
We can entertain His heart
Overflowing with the wisdom
That the Spirit can impart.
Yes we too can yet experience
Life in full 100%.
Well, nearly.  Falling short of holy
Puts a smudge on every sense.

He empowers with His Spirit
Settled in a human heart,
Livening up the old grey matter
So it works in every part.
Exchange misery for gladness,
Shadows for a radiant light,
Thrown those lies out with the garbage
And the long depressive night.
I'm seeing so many poems about depression, misery, suicide on this site.  Believe me I understand this scenario but there is a way to deal effectively with it.  My destiny is not depression, or the black dog, but the Light of Life.
Hal Loyd Denton Oct 2012
The kindest evidence the savior passed was the marks he bestowed in the most gentile articulation in this
His wise choices matched imperfection to our needs. One of the most telling attributes of women can be
Her hands but what if they are slightly marred the grace only flows to a deeper level quickness is
Replaced by deliberate action slower more thoughtful and profound a touch placed with this kind of
Feeling goes to a measure instantly felt it is not just the ordinary but a thing of force that unravels
Trouble mysteriously it finds the hidden knots looses them allows love to flow wide and full. Perhaps a
Man no longer strides with a power that has an assurance maybe he is depended on a stick for support
Where power is diffused it only changes channels it makes the heart stronger the eyes feel it too
Humanity in others is recessed the blunder the self efficiency drains from boisterous streams into calm
Assessment a flow that harnesses possibility not vain bravado that can at times wound those who are
Weaker and that are struggling. If times try men’s souls then imperfection can be a clarion call the
Placement of virtue at the lead where sometimes pride is the driving force this writing came from seeing
A woman walking in a sunny scene and she had a blotchy spot on her arm others could observe this and
Be to one degree or another repulsed but to the man who loves her it is a special calling card it
Touches makes the forces revel in a display that sets her apart from all others an instrument of sound
That separates from the den isolates carries a marker that generates tenderness, esteem, and honor
Thou art the tune and sound of a masterful violin play nothing else in my presence nothing else will do
Your imperfections makes another whole don’t ever fret over your special make up it is the breath and
The visitation of the divine in the human form boldly brushed in the shadow perfected by sun light.
Writam Allan Ray Jan 2014
Pain became my friend today
She showed me how to hide
She’d been watching from a distance
Every tear I cried

Pain became my friend today
Reached out her hand to me
Then pulled me into darkness
Introducing misery

Pain became my friend today
She’s emptying my heart
She’s now my constant companion
Tearing me apart

Pain became my friend today
She isolates my soul
Now without her I am nothing
In her I’m consoled

Pain became my friend today
Saw me kneel down and cry
Then she lay down right next to me
Kissed my joy good-bye

Pain became my friend today
Acquainted me with sorrow
Who showed me how to dwell in agony
And fear the break of tomorrow

Pain became my friend today
She’s making my heart cold
Pain became my friend today
The only hand I hold

— The End —