"lifelessness" poems
a connotation of infinity
sharpens the temporal splendor of this night
when souls which have forgot frivolity
in lowliness,noting the fatal flight
of worlds whereto this earth’s a hurled dream
down eager avenues of lifelessness
consider for how much themselves shall gleam,
in the poised radiance of perpetualness.
When what’s in velvet beyond doomed thought
is like a woman amorous to be known;
and man,whose here is alway worse than naught,
feels the tremendous yonder for his own—
on such a night the sea through her blind miles
of crumbling silence seriously smiles
76.1k
Waiting for spring to return this winter’s day.
Straining to touch warm breezes of the past.
Caught in this prison of gray and white.
Wishing to break these dark chains that hold me.
Remnants of fall, crumpled like brown paper on the ground.
Straws of pale brown growing up through the snow, ******* it dry.
Seeds and freeze dried fruit lay scattered about under trees.
Bare limbs and stalks drip with liquid glass.
Trees hanging bare, gray in lifelessness.
Winter birds call out, single in their pursuit of leftover meals.
Tracks of animals unknown dot the landscape with patchwork.
Waves of ridges etched in white lead off to nowhere.
Sparse, sun filled days bring brief glimpses of hope.
With the promise of warmth waiting to banish the cold
that holds me to my past and this existence;
waiting for spring to return and thaw this frozen heart.
Aug 20, 2012
Aug 20, 2012 at 9:29 PM UTC
You gave
strength to my
weaknesses
Power to my
helplessness
Purpose to my
lifelessness
Something to my
nothingness
©
Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 5:29 PM UTC
Christmas is upon the masses
The white flakes fall, but
Hanging
Swaying,
Dripping
Upon the crisp white
A puddle frozen of crimson red,
Baubles of the deceased
Upon a branch, eyes bleed
Baubles,
Red,
Sightless
Eyes, cracked within, as blood
Drips between the cracks,
He hangs them with tinsel rope
Glistening in the sun,
Inscribed,
"Merry Christmas"
Still fresh from the cut
Blood like a leaking tap
Drip,
Drip,
Drips
Upon pristine snow,
"He is the tinsel hanger"
He waits until the white covers
Then he begins his
Christmas list,
He thinks them naughty in is eyes
So they now sway above the ground,
There is not always one,
For what is a tree with but
One
Bauble
Hanging,
More must adorn a single tree,
"Happy Christmas"
"Died Smiling"
"Jolly Dead"
Were his trademarks upon dead flesh,
Birds perch upon limp shoulders
Pecking, upon the dead,
The last things heard,
As he records his crime,
*"Please don't **** us"*
"Have a heart"
"A heart"
"A HEART"
Pleeeasss....
And then there is but muffled sound
"Thump"
Lifelessness now upon the ground,
Another Bauble
For him to hang with tinsel
Above the freshly powdered ground,
He is the Tinsel hanger
He thinks the white gives purity
To his twisted deeds
Pray* that your not just left
A Christmas bauble,
Hanging,
Swaying,
Lifeless
Above freshly white snow, because
You'll not be alone this cold night,
Family will also be hanging around, tinsel shimmering off moonlight.
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 6:32 PM UTC
No more guises,
Just look into my eyes
Every word said from now
Will not be a lie
But every word about to jump
From your lips shall die
Because your carnal cravings
Will eat them alive.
I’m slowly dissipating
But I know you can revive me
A fallen tree, I sleep here
Slipping into lifelessness
But I feel so ravenous
And I know you can feel
The thumping of my heart
It’s eager; deeply.
You crawl up to me
With a different face
Different intentions
Breathing different air
I inhale your energy
My longing embraced
I want every trace of innocence
Completely defaced.
Overpowered
By this yearning
We want, we crave
And we’re still learning
I cannot feel a thing
But a burning hunger
You cling to me
I invite you in
Of course, I do, I crave your skin
It’s a liquid I wish to immerse myself in
Your scent rinses me
Keeps me within your carnal hold,
Let the numbing begin.
Apr 2, 2018
Apr 2, 2018 at 4:11 AM UTC
**What a day!
Oh what a tiresome day!
A guesome hurdle
A dire way,
As afternoon embraced,
The lights all fade,
So does the sparkle in her
little eyes..**
*oh how pretty she were
How her tiny feet ran all over the place,
Made me smile
A little gay,
Her nose so tiny,
it fit in as my thumb,
Her tongue so pink
Even strawberries
Looked shy..*
But oh! Her jibber jabbering,
Her questions,
Her answers!
Her shouting,
Her cry!
What a sly thing she was,
You know?
she hid behind sofas,
Scared me to death,
**So I thought of giving her
a taste of lifelessness.**.
*but, she,
she,
Was my princess,
My beauty in petals,
Her funny giggling,
Made everyone laugh!
Oh such a cherry
Skin like honey,
Her hair amber,
Like wings of burterflies
Flying across the sun..*
Oh! But she ****** the life
out of me,
Everyone praised her,
But me,
they said what a lovely
Little thing she is!
The irritation!
The moral dissatisfaction!
She made me look old!
and ragged,and torn,
Frustration!
*but how could I cut her
Feeble hands?
Hold her so tight,
That she couldn't breath,
how could I?
How?
after all I was her mommy,
The most beautiful
She considered..
How could I not think about her once?
I gave her life and in
3years I took it back!?
Forgive me lord
For I have sinned,
no how can you forgive someone
So heartless,
so mean,
Such a hippocrit!
such a ***** person?*
But who cares?
when I have my life back,
**To start anew,
Never look back,**
Yes I hit her,
Hard and numb,
Made her blood,
Come till my feet,
but she was the one who wanted forgiveness,
yes she,
So I gave her
What she wanted,
freedom was my forgiveness,
Stains of her,
still stick to my life story,
but I don't care..
*you,fair little fragile thing,
You made me do that to you,
Had you not come,
I never would have been,
An inhuman,
A mother,
A disastrous
Murderer..*
Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 9:45 AM UTC
Welcome to 4 A.M.
Where almost nothing ever happens and the universe sits mostly still, where indie music is life and where photography is heaven. Where silence is golden and life is absolute. Where we all wish to be, and where only a select few of us can go and handle it.
Welcome to 4 A.M.
Where we lie in limbo, waiting for the sun to come up, the moon to go down, the median between life and whats left of the dark decay of lifelessness. Where Your eyes open wide, where your thoughts wander into the void of the infinite. Where we wait to see the beginning, the middle, and the end.
Welcome to 4 A.M.
Welcome to the dead, the living, the mourning, the crying, the sad, the happy, the over energetic, the under enthusiastic, the over enthusiastic, the insomniac, the insane, the beautiful, the quiet, the peaceful, the thoughtless and thoughtful, the kind, the caring, the listeners, the wonderful and magnificent, the open minded and wide eyed sleepless.
Welcome to 4 A.M.
Where we wander, searching for answers in our sleep. Where we wait for contact and a view into what we think is the future, and where here, we wait for the future. Where we sleep only to be dreaming of our answers we are searching for and never getting the full answer to questions like-
"Who am I?"
"What am I?"
"Who do I love?"
"Who loves me?"
"Why am I here?"
"What awaits me today?"
"Who thinks of me?"
"Who are my friends?"
"Who are my foes?"
"Who are the friendless?"
"Who am I to judge someone?"
"Who are they to judge me?"
"What is left for there to question if I already know the answers to my questions?"
This is what we ask, and wait for...
Welcome to 4 A.M.
Where our mindless infinite, grows! To be ever infinite into the oblivion of exaggerated proportions and ridiculous time! Where everything meets the beginning, the middle and the end. Where life dies, starts, and lives once more for us as humanity to enjoy through one more day, for us to catch our breath, and to breathe the dead and living. For our eyes to capture the very beauty of life through blinking as if our eyes where the lens to a camera and our brains the film to feed it.
All in one quiet, peaceful, beautiful, and insane, hour. Everything lives, dies, and starts over again.
Welcome to the beginning, the middle, and the end.
Welcome to 4 A.M.
Welcome to life.
Good morning.
Dec 6, 2012
Dec 6, 2012 at 9:27 AM UTC
We all write wistful poetry
About wings to help us fly
When all we really need
Is to simply close our eyes.
Out of lifelessness or bliss,
We would still be
Sky high.
Jul 5, 2015
Jul 5, 2015 at 8:24 PM UTC
I sit here on the Edge of Reality
Lonely, searching the Galaxy
People think I am losing my Sanity
Or my Mentality is something to not be entered
Everything seems bleak and hopeless
and my body is trying to pull my soul from lifelessness
When the world heals; my scars shall not
The world covered in disdain and “grace”…
The saint like people are ignored by the famous
Cookie cutter everywhere, Originality is nowhere
Where everyone is money hungry
Where everyone is *** hungry
Where everyone is hungry
Two are fueled while the other is left in the dust
I’m not trying to make a fuss maybe some just
Trying to allow people to think, with their own mind
to see what they can find
to open their heart and be kind
With limited time
We are at a bind
How Can we see when we’re blind
So Tell me what you know about dreams
Tell me what you know about feeling something can’t even touch
Tell me what you know about reality something you can’t see
While the bumbles bees bee and the tree throws apples
When the Govern govern and then Reality is ****** into pan
And When people act like you’re Stan
When addiction isn’t a fan and you're
Trying to stop the Cars
But you’re being held back by bars
as the Cars fall off the Edge of Reality
you realize all the duality but its too late
Your head is being ripped off...fatality
Now when the World's Ablaze and you feel Sub-zero
Courage is their doing charades trying to show you their is more
So get up and grab the stars and nothing is stopping you
As more people get up and grab the stars left by you
So Don’t be the bad guy thats make fun of people that die
Be the person who can show the message of truth
Be your own person
The person who is not manipulated by things like the fox
as the Donkey and Elephant duke it out
for the final bout, The person who thinks of something higher than reality
With the People who sit there on the Edge Of Reality
+-
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 7:16 PM UTC
Wood of crimson & bone where the dead
lie still, leaves are their burial
Rites they fall from life to
Canvas,
Shroud,
Envelope
The flesh, for the fallen are the
Food of the wood, new life
Reaches up, Roots entangle
Around every bone,
Interweaved,
Disordered,
Chaotic
Lifelessness now scattered
Among the roots of this linage
Of old, new saplings
Now sprung forth from the
Leaved burials that litter the floor,
They call this forest, leaves of blood
As all leaves that grow forth are
Crimson,
Burgundy,
Blossoming
Forth, as if each leaf has life of its own,
Each of the branches growing
Resemblance of ***** fingers reaching
Out to a world, wisps
Encircle,
Envelope,
Halos
Of white mist greet all trees,
As if the souls of the departed
Sleep silently around this gravestone
Of wood, And leaves one again
Fall, not all just one, and this tree with
No leaves, now resting upon the floor
Like the features of bones grow out and forth
As some where in this
Forest of crimson and bone,
A body now rests in its tome of red
This is the home of the dead, where the trees grow.
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 6:35 AM UTC
I'm hopelessly lost without you, Lord
For I know that my life has been an utter mess
And, with You, it can always have new beginnings
New life breathed into the lifelessness that I've felt
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 2:12 PM UTC
We are not scarecrows.
We know this, and yet
we can be mistaken for them, on
dark nights when legal actions ****
We are not scarecrows, because
Scarecrows are used to scare crows and we
are used to scare someone - ourselves - into staying silent.
We are Not scarecrows, but someone passing by would see
both in an equal light, not quite human but trying.
We are not scarecrows, because at least we can
Vote where scarecrows only stand but Scarecrows are not told they
Can't serve their country or use the correct locker room.
We are not scarecrows because scarecrows can't hear
Slurs and whispers behind them like caws of a bird who only needs to survive.
We are not scarecrows but maybe we are,
Reduced to sacks of lifelessness that may as well be hay because it's a lot harder to find a story with me in it then a story with scarecrows.
We don't want to be scarecrows.
Nov 12, 2018
Nov 12, 2018 at 5:48 PM UTC
There is a transect from colour to colourless,
There is a traversing from sunup to sunset!
A track from vividness to lifelessness!
****
Morning brings colour to life
Birds sign and fly, hark back splendour of work,
Butterfly invigorate redden of existence
Existence of life in the doodle nature
Every one blossom for breathing!
****
But we are waiting for dusk
Becoming everything murky
Than eliminate nature from life
Carnage everything with our manliness
and swollen with pride!
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 11:04 AM UTC
On the streets of heat and movement
lie the evidence of pain,
she walks, he talks, the children run
throughout the burning rain.
I can smell the smoke of lifelessness
along the living death,
we talk, they walk, the sirens wail
today may rob our breath.
In the rooms of waste and apathy,
sit silent the insane,
she writes, he writes, the samll hand ticks
the hours fast away...
Jun 29, 2010
Jun 29, 2010 at 10:56 AM UTC
It’s a race to the bottom of the bottle
between sanity and sober realization
to every impaired negation and how to
alleviate and mediate the dependancy I
place on finding new routes to the
end of the flask. —
The hands of the bottle hold
dreaded burdens above my head,
bringing life to each morrowed breath,
and write hyms towards yearning
a long awaited wish for death,
sobriety weaves this addiction
of solitude through each thought of
halted life, and pushes it’s back
as it’s heels leave crevices to follow,
a view of darkness to come,
with turning back placing another knot
down a throat with attempt to swallow.
as each run of whiskey drips down the
walls of my throat the sinking ship within
my veins finds strength to stay afloat.
a Wiser whisper tickles at the anticipations
towards taking another sip,
the Hennessy tendencies stutter
a ****** equilibrium captivating
and inching my sanity towards
a shot of sequel librium. —
As ***** spews and consumes
the inhabited ground, a paroxysm
of unconsciousness feels
mentally sound,
blacked out with the following
morning full of acts to repent,
the monetary blackness
proves to be nothing but content,
recollection of priors
seem to fade with the desire of
sobriety and eliminating any hope
towards thoughtless propriety. —
Momentary happiness through
intoxication provides no mediation
between a sober fight for death
and a drunken one, the wish for
lifelessness is just subdued by
stumbling to bed and the inability
to steadily hold a gun to my head.
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 7:56 PM UTC
Sometimes LIFE stands for
L-lifelessness
I-irritation
F-futility
E-emotional disturbances
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 10:18 PM UTC
The Natural World is not so benevolent.
Though, I don't mean that it is malevolent,
but with things like Disease, Entropy and Radiation,
I would say that the odds certainly are not in our Favour.
Yet, here we are.
An act of sheer Defiance
to an otherwise inanimate Reality.
A Being of Reason, Creativity, Interpretation, Intuition and Consciousness
observing the cold assumed lifelessness of the Crystallization of this Epoch of Energy.
I speak not of the benevolent and malevolent Energies
which perhaps permeate and flow through this Reality,
but those, to me, don't necessarily qualify as "Natural" in this sense;
they are super-natural, para-natural, or hyper-natural. Pre-natural, even.
I speak of tangible, scientific, here-and-now "Reality"; whatever that means.
Matter and the Energies we know of that are subsets of it.
Gravity, Electromagnetism, the Strong and Weak Nuclear forces.
This Physical Prison of Godself; like a physical Dream
from which One cannot awaken until Death.
Perhaps not even then? Who knows?
Who are we, who yet live, to say?
Maybe it's a case-by-case basis;
but, in any case, I digress:
The Natural World is a Force to be reckoned with;
it holds the Powers of Sustenance as well as Annihilation
yet we so take it for granted and **** pillage and plunder it evermore systematically
That's just bad form.
Conciser Reverence
though not religiously so;
merely giving Thanks to
the Forces which sustain us.
Respecting
the Forces which sustain us.
Earth. Sun. Water. Air. The interplay of these things.
The Plants that give themselves to us as nutrients
as well as the Animals that do the same.
The fact that you have a left and a right Brain. A Body and Mind.
That the Sun rises each Day and you're born anew with it in ways.
If we truly give Thanks
for all of these things and more,
our perspectives will enlighten a bit,
and Reality will become wholly Holy;
Holistic:
and we can finally begin, again,
to move on.
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 12:12 PM UTC
a connotation of infinity
sharpens the temporal splendor of this night
when souls which have forgot frivolity
in lowliness,noting the fatal flight
of worlds whereto this earth’s a hurled dream
down eager avenues of lifelessness
consider for how much themselves shall gleam,
in the poised radiance of perpetualness.
When what’s in velvet beyond doomed thought
is like a woman amorous to be known;
and man,whose here is alway worse than naught,
feels the tremendous yonder for his own—
on such a night the sea through her blind miles
of crumbling silence seriously smiles
E.E. Cummings
Aug 11, 2013
Aug 11, 2013 at 4:07 AM UTC
The first night we met, we walked through the graveyard.
Our blood coursed through our veins
as we felt the lifelessness surrounding us.
Tombstones followed us on every side,
reminding us of our mortality.
The world was asleep
as we basked in the glow of the moonlight.
We spoke of the glimpse of the life that we have left.
I took you to a solemn grave.
Alone it stood
while the others were cast to eternity with another.
Hidden and out of sight,
we laid on the ground,
reminding us that we too shall one day be six feet below.
But as the moonlight shone on you that night,
no longer did I feel so alone.
The graveyard is my solace,
a dwelling for my solemn soul.
But as we laid on the ground,
no longer did I feel the imminence of death.
For with you,
I feel the beauty of life.
Oct 25, 2022
Oct 25, 2022 at 10:45 PM UTC
it's elon musk
his stiff, frozen corpse hurtling toward the earth
looks like space flight wasn't as grand as an idea as previously thought
the virgins have gone galactic
branson's body as cold as his icy heart
and eyes to match his lifelessness
the bald headed freak's gone bug-eyed!
clearly unprepared for the speed his amazon basic space shuttle hurtles at
as shoddily made as the rest of their **** the cabinet begins decompressing
why go to the stars
what do you think it is you'll find up there
peace or contentment
are you trying to prove something
you'd think if you'd really want to help humanity you might start on this rock before trying to jump to the next
oh you'll succeed
while the planet you so desperately sought to escape is in the throws of death's spiral
i'm sure it stings your pride to know you'll die before that though
Jul 19, 2021
Jul 19, 2021 at 1:43 AM UTC
Quite a draining journey
traveling through this drainage tunnel
groping my way through the disorienting darkness
arms of lifelessness reach out from the walls
constantly tugging at my shirt
it's my health that they hurt
when I try to run
they grab and stun
forcing me to buy movement
at the price of energy
they hold tokens in their hands
inscribed with the drainage brand
like the hair from the drain in my sink
or the phlegm drained from my sinuses
I wade through the **** of stomach minuses
moving through a drainage tunnel death funnel
aches develop in my feet
as well as my back
I can't handle the heat
or how the inside is black
I start walking slower and slower
as the ceiling gets lower and lower
the backbreaking pressure
makes my height lesser
so I crawl through the filth
of all this drainage I built
the hands that hold me down
are now my only company
their frustrating grabbing
now feels like a lulling caress
coaxing me to stay in this tunnel
all other voices are muddled
because of the drainage in my ear
blocking communication with fear
a wall of wax
that won't collapse
creates an axe
to cut off my head
from suffering dread
wondering when this tunnel will end
because there's no light to be found
in this tunnel I crawl down
gagged and bound
from the hands all around
grabbing at my brain
to push it down the drain.
Jul 6, 2021
Jul 6, 2021 at 10:41 AM UTC
From a vague eye, looking up from earth;
I am a soft glisten.
Like the stars which gracefully twinkle on high above.
But study me, look further into my eyes.
And you will see the vastness of my soul.
You will notice the destructive explosions and super novas going on inside my mind.
The beautiful lifelessness that somehow brings life.
Notice how I constantly collapse into myself like a black-hole.
Notice how my atoms continously collide and fuse, giving birth and death to my stars.
Do not be misled by my softness.
I am the night sky
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 4:22 AM UTC
I wandered in on a world of dead rock. I laid with it. Smelt the essence together with carbon and metallic lifelessness.
To create a place of pretty. A sadness overcame.
I came to feeling. To knowing. Sentient.
A rootless contusion never ending.
A bottomless chasm of void.
The pit follows deeper and deeper it travels,
To the hollows of sorrow contempt I’m born.
I grow to feet from the ground where I lay,
As my body draped the floor sprawling and loose.
Upon these legs I rise, and so rise my eyes.
The hollow void I have lingers yawing in my stomach. Ulcerating my mucosal cavern.
What I see
Before me
On this road
On this desert of the necropolis:
Metropolis mass grave,
A mausoleum for civilization,
Möbius of war.
The reflective glint in my eye was of no mans eyes at all.
The death of hope.
Sea of sky scraping spires.
The dead hollow bones left after a city extinguishes.
Millions of towers with red glowing eyes, where blue life used to flourish, now twinkle in and out of this plane.
These giants graze, on the concrete and sway...with the wind.
Colossus of marble, petrified forever in granite with the internal flora that haunted their bowels.
They now have no agenda...city percolates to extinction.
They will forever amble with no purpose.
Once they housed the hearts and minds of microbes that built them.
The builders of hero worship.
They died in the 20's.
Left are the shells of a dream and a forest of buildings.
New York died circa 1900.
United States crumbles: 1776
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 11:38 PM UTC