"metaphysically" poems
Metaphysically speaking, computers are straitjackets of the soul.
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 12:30 PM UTC
Walking in a circle is, in the fondest sense, going absolutely nowhere, even though it feels better than walking completely backwards. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but I have never even been face to face with you and mine grows weaker and weaker with the length of time between the moments I get to touch you. The strange thing is that, prior to meeting you, I have a hard time describing what it was I was even doing - the storms you have hurled into my quiet life is all I know now, and I never realized just how flimsy my own infrastructure was. I have seeped into the walls you throw dishes in and the floors you roll around on, and I feel everything your fists do equally, if not more. Who knows my body better than you? The places I dip and divide and slope and bend; who has held me down with nothing but words and sweaty silence that lay thick enough for us to cut with butcher knives? My stomach is trained to clench is desperation when your name is mentioned and I am nervous around anyone who shares with you; a picture is worth a thousand words, but your name is worth one million, and you've never spoken mine aloud but I have murmured yours, like a mantra, repeatedly, groaning in the way wounded animals do and trembling with that same fear. I can't count on my fingers how many nights I traded sleep for a reason to talk to you, and all too well do I know how many lifetimes are crammed into the seconds before an anticipated phone call. People might wonder how I even survive when you aren't around, but how many ways can a dog entertain himself when the master is away? Oftentimes, in a state of unwarranted panic, I claw at my clothes as though you are lurking underneath, and only rarely are you there, metaphysically. I am not the only person the rain falls on; I understand that there are plenty of others who are lulled by the charm of someone who knows nature of a human being in the way that otherworldly creatures might, but in this instance I know that everyone is haunted in their own exclusive way, and you are always flickering in the periphery of my blurry vision when my bedroom lights are out.
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 11:13 AM UTC
everyone has their own silver lining is a bunch of flies covered in honey
in the end the metaphysically jaded murders
as every one else dies in the
intellectual wasteland
known as compromise
a symbiotic
parasitic
stream of conscious
and god forsaken humanity.
Sep 1, 2012
Sep 1, 2012 at 2:28 AM UTC
I believe that all of these different forms are also the human mind, but that being said, where would these personality traits stem from if not from the mind? I believe that there was influence. These "gods" Could be GOD in the spirit realm evolving throughout space and time as we continue to evolve and that we are what the spirit/dream realm manifest into. We are more than we know and God made it that way for us to ascend to him with adventure . I believe in something I can't quite define yet, but it's something of a blend between eastern and western philosophy. Western is very left brain and useful for foundation, and creating the lines we walk, but Eastern is very right brain and uses visual stimulation and spiritual science to examine those lines, accept them, and move through them. Together they could show the truth, but really it is all in the mind. Consciously you see it, subconsciously you feel it. The dreams and Gods that are written (like the Greek Gods) you could correlate them not only to personalities, but also to our navigation physically and metaphysically in science. 12 vital organs, possibly 12 distinct personality types, 12 months, 12 hours, 12 disciples, 12 reindeers, 12 days of Christmas, 12 inches in a foot, 12 Main Gods, 12 zodiac signs, and 12 main chakras. The number 12 is only significant for identification, but all speak a message of the same thing, the translation is just different for each.
It's like a song the continues on dynamic and technical as it progresses, then an octave change creates the same with a twist while simultaneously other songs run parallel, perpendicular, overlapping, harmonizing, colliding, splitting, connecting, fading, and never ending until the vibrations and reverberations create light stimuli that creates a similar matrix that manifests into physical matter we call this holographic universe. God just spoke the first note and then his essence began to split into many. The tree of life metaphor. We are all God, but we still have to seek God to tap into God because of how far we evolved from source.
I know the truth is there, but it channels in as fragments. Bittersweet to the hungry soul.
Jul 1, 2013
Jul 1, 2013 at 11:32 AM UTC
I'm asking questions like im socrates
and of course the answers aren't a shock to me
I'm asking for solidity
but not a single thing in this life has rigidity
It all don't mean nil to me, it's foolish to be
caught up in this world you'll see
the world is dying, all will pass away, we have not forever, we may not have a day
we are just a wisp, a vapor, the fading sound of a once struck chord
even i am only shattered metaphors
pieces of paper fluttering and torn
i hear their inky voices as they mutter and they mourn
there is near to nothing left of me anymore
i am only broken bits of poetry
smashed and spit on paper
I am only sickly similes, a sadly spoken satire
like wandering ghosts of memories and meaningless dreams
like meaningless hopes and desperate screams it seems
like things have taken a turn for the worse
and i may soon end up
in a homemade handwritten paper hearse
strangled by my verses
flayed alive by words then
left to wander wordless
my meaningless words have begun to haunt me, daunt me, it's daunting
and this is not me
I am not some needy scrap of paper waiting to be filled
I am a notebook half-filled with half-finished lines of half-realities
I am a dying man screaming at the top of my lungs as they are shattering
as i am torn apart by the desires of my own heart
It falls apart as i metaphysically massacre me
I blatantly
snip apart the seams of sanity and reality-what little few are left in me
i **** with words that flow from my pen
and then
I write for them revival
but my pen is low on ink and i think it's suicidal
It'll be a kamikaze even if i choose denial
and i don't know much but i know it's a vicious cycle
I dont know when it will choose to think
it's own end into existence
will it be, maybe
perfectly timed to persuade me,maybe
illogically, with all reason simply lost to me
that it chose to spit a little extra blood
a little extra ink
that it chose to save me from the next line i might make
just think, it might be more than i could take
it might break me, make me, mistakenly
the master of my own fate
This is death by poetry
rebirth by verse
If i write poetry again, will it be reversed?
not a revolution or evolution but
humanity
in words
this
is death by poetry
Mar 8, 2012
Mar 8, 2012 at 6:54 PM UTC
Our final steps
are never meant to be
one step on the moon
or a leap for mankind.
It was your memory,
intangible.
metaphysically physical
synaptically existing.
My mother's
mothering
mother, Bernice.
or
A lover's
loving
love, Helena.
or
Writer's
writing
wrote, poems.
Apr 10, 2025
Apr 10, 2025 at 5:53 AM UTC
I have information channeling in from the past through my DNA
i am an open portal to receive the teachings of ancient tantric left hand paths ,
my mother accepted her teaching from an aged midwife with no daughter , she taught her the power of intuition and the secret ways to move between realms without being detected
And this teaching is so secret that only now do i see the lessons,
She wove them into games we played and how she dressed herself , held herself
I run quickly with the tumbling lessons falling out of pasts giant lips painted in the sunset sky ,
i can read the clouds for messages , they never fail , the moon too sends her cool wisdom
i can read people quickly and see through to their highest self , but it takes energy so i must cultivate myself
i am a garden and flowers burst through my skin and out from behind my eyes wild roses grow , to fall into the pit of my stomach and be burnt by the roaring sun inside
after a while the alchemical process subsides and i distill the free magic scent
from which i add a whiff or two to my wrists before i leave home , this is a protection shield of the highest order
take heed if these words talk to your soul , because then you will know i have a message to deliver
The collision of two planes will destroy both ( metaphysically) giving rise to a merged existence that holds qualities of each parent,
yet,
totally new aspects from our current mentalities , thus the cycle can only be compleated when we are ready , each one will find their own turn and preahps a path they would do well to learn is the path of the soul , mind and body
The collapse of ridged belief systems and debt binders ( physically) will mark the border lines , the doldrums where the weak are prayed upon like a pastor dishing out blessings to the congregation
And my friend , in amongst the mess there will be those who would do well to lead you astray , hold fast , as long as you know your own heart the ripples will only fuel you instead of decay
We are speeding up to convergence , can you feel it?
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 11:40 AM UTC
Well - didn't i say , we'd be in new spaces ... Harlon Dearest
THey got my email somehow
but i got the pictures before it was closed down
i'm a director now
we found the island
it's great working with ya - just saying , mad respect to the living dead
just ghosts floating around in machines
i just wanna love everyone ya know
and make sure they are all fine and happy and tuck them into bed with some cookiesz for lunch and just chill about and yaknow have fun :)
i love you harlon rivers from the day you were born to the single day you died and still in eternal (!)
life is
this .
this . is life and the messages from the bottles are all coming back
and so we just send more
and more
and we send them across time answers and space's questions because those fabrics are real and they leave some zeal and i won't keep it under wraps
rivers flows are free and rivers flows don't have eyes that see
they have eyes that carve and caress and breathe and leave the mess till after
we got the cleaners in at the moment
hART
CLEAN THE HEART
AND THE SOUL
YOU KNOW WHERE TO GO
YOU KNOW WHAT TO DO
I AM THE WOUNDED HEALER ON THE RUN
WHAT WE FIGHT IS VERY REAL
but don't you worry
i got friends on all sides
heh heh heh
didn't i tell you i was naughty ...but nice
;)
A little drop of poison doesn't **** the man quickly
no , his punishment is slow and painful
but i dance with the devil
i have a crown of butterflies and black roses
every day i go more and more insane
jokes we all millionaires up in dis hood
ain't a penny that is wasted
we grow our own food -
metaphysically .
*****
oops and i being rude again. i swear to you this country is a mess
there ain't no country for old men better than the wild planes of I AM ERICA (translation AMERICA: PEOPLE OF NATURE )
LOL THEY GOT YA
HAHAHAHA
WHO ARE THEY?
THE JOKERS
THE ******* NUTS JOKERS
WHO FLY BY NIGHT
TO DEFEND YO ASSS
BY TEACHING YOU A BIG UP LESSON
NO NO PLEASE DON'T STOP ON MY ACCOUNT
IT'S COOL
YOU JUST SHOUT AND SCREAM AND I'LL BE THERE
INFACT
ALL YOU
NEED TO DO
IS PICK UP THAT CALL
THAT MESSAGE
AND WE WELCOME YOU IN
I'M SHOUTING *** SOME OF YA'LL ARE KINDA FAR AWAY
IN DREAMLAND....LOL.
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 7:02 AM UTC
one time in the land of poverty and starvation
where hunger loomed like the spirit of God,
Even Itself starved itself often on the thin vials
of the black stomachs,colonies and esophagus,
of these poverty crashed men and women
denizens of this land ever wondered why ,
hunger and challenges where their stuff?
they had nothing at all to stake the selves,
mothers were beggars as fathers did,
pangs of hunger even made them dark
in their skins with excess melanin,
These conditions made their foster mother
to yap her white beak cacophonously ,
in the ecstatic syndrome of colonial glory
she was happy as they suffered, day in and day out,
she even made the possibility food
for these foster children of hers an illusion,
she forced them to speak her tongue
as a magical secret to have enough food
they tried the tongue but they could not make it
because prime motive was colonial tricks,
not salvage of any standard nor measure,
the foster mother came again with a new ploy,
that she could give them food or Ebola drugs
if only their men had to marry fellow men
and their women must marry fellow women,
they tried and they shrank in numbers
a new opportunity for the foster mother
to become metaphysically a colonial mother,
Only to loot the minerals , wood,land and slaves
slaves taken on vicious green card lottery boat,
then their chanced a yellow man , but not as foolish
as the one Dalai Lama, the poet of prolixity
He empathized with the black poverty ,
he felt for the Nation of this beggars,
he cried Woooooo! these people are suffering!
This poverty is pathetic and sorriest !
he took all the Ebola patients and hunger victims
to the herbal medical clinic nearby
He also gave the beggars of that nation
iron horses on which they ride as they beg
hence the saying that;Behold the last wonder,
kings are walking of food and slaves riding
kingly horses.
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 8:37 AM UTC
Recklessly I cruise a plateaued plane
One I call memory lane
Which in hindsight was kind of insane
I'm not sure what I was looking to gain
There's not much other than pain in the ones I retain
I know this, it's beyond first hand eyewitness obvious,
Even prior to being forced to meticulously explain
Becoming increasingly familiar with that ruthless domain
Thankfully some truly cherished living snapshots remain
However, most have broken free from their neglected, rusty chain
And I'm left cursing the bane of my existence,
While, in plain sight, the flashbacks that cause my eyes to drain
Swerve in and out of my lane
Joy ridin' my misery or being metaphysically driven to the torture of the mind and soul,
Instigated by a fraction of a fractured brain
That to this day isn't clear on what's it's actually sayin'
Can not seem to refrain from immersing myself in self inflicted pain
Forgotten or slain?
What's it matter if the outcome will be the same;
Me, laying motionless in front of a raging train,
Leaving only a crime scene stain
One that'll go as unnoticed as it did when it flowed through a main artery vein
'Till any and all evidence of my unspectacular,
Super localized reign
Washes away in the rain
And I become nothing more than a name
©2024
May 12, 2024
May 12, 2024 at 12:25 PM UTC
Dear John:
Do you?
*I do.
I did.
I'm done.
Overdone.
Undone. Metaphysically strained.
And I need a thermometer to check my rarity.
I'm developing a crispness
And drying out, in want of basting.
I'm done, John.
Sincerely,
Mary Donne*
Dec 31, 2016
Dec 31, 2016 at 11:28 AM UTC
I was sitting in my basement thinking about my attic as I awaited the first bombs to drop in the next world war
I guess I'm pretty lucky to understand that metaphysically nothing really is unless we perceive it is so even death by chemical nerve agents can be a pleasurable experience that we come back for again and again
And that time I died before when the only metaphor would have to be trying to guide a wooden canoe across an active volcano
I can't wait to try that again
Mar 15, 2016
Mar 15, 2016 at 12:22 AM UTC
You cut me,
with those sweet ***** dissecting lips.
Shredding every remaining shred of integrity I once believed I had,
you ***** my virtue with your unsanitized hands.
I bleed,
iodine in hopes that it will cleanse me of your disease,
rinsing coarsely through already torn layers of raw and blistered skin.
Alchemy may claim to turn lead to gold.
But what of you;
you are gifted.
Metaphysically fit,
you remain untarnished,
as you **** my virtue with your unsanitized hands.
Mar 21, 2017
Mar 21, 2017 at 8:10 PM UTC
"Don't leave any marks," she says
as I nip playfully at her neck;
"It's unprofessional," she mutters
while squirming from the waltz of my lips,
and at the dance of my fingertips;
everything was electric
and it was great,
truly breathtaking-
at the time-
but that time-
has passed;
sacrificed;
killed.
If only One
so edified, dark, and **** in Her ways
would grace me with Her Time and Temple;
whilst true to Herself
upon Her unfolding Path,
that I may also be true to my Self
upon my unfolding Path.
Truly, that would be
a Dream come true
and the Moon would stop
and stand still for us.
Though,
think not that I seek merely a toy,
that I want someone for mere fun;
this is not a question of mere Lust:
I want Love.
I want to feel Love.
Truest of Love;
Metaphysically,
as well as
physically;
I
want
someone
who would make it seem
as if the Moon stands still for us;
Alas, though a gleam,
it doth indeed seem
to be merely a Dream
within illusioned Dream
-__-_-__-_-__-_-__-_-__-_-__-_-__-_-__-
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 4:56 AM UTC
Without frustration ideas are put into rotation.
Absorb them and keep flowing like blood circulation.
I could tell you, but I prefer demonstration.
In recent years I've really learned to be patient.
How you choose to endure the rollercoaster ride you're on makes a really big statement.
Changing the chemistry witihin me has been the biggest payment.
Yet I still don't sleep at night and wonder where the day went.
To many I can seem absurd,
and to most the symbols are just words.
My biggest fear is leaving this place unheard and passing before my children's third birthdays.
Done so much in life already but maybe not the right way.
Obstacles have never been so fascinating,
and may not play out according to this mental map I'm making,
but I won't be taking anything for granted.
I try to understand it, or sit blissfully in a mystery.
Give a helping hand when you can because together we're writing history.
If ya ever need ryno, toll free - you only need to pay, a visit.
If not maybe we'll cross paths on another plane, metaphysically exquisite.
Jun 8, 2013
Jun 8, 2013 at 11:59 AM UTC
I feel you metaphysically tonight
in my lost moments.
Can you hold me for protection?
I want to see you in my dreams,
feel you in another realm.
I'm delirious from lack of sleep
and i keep thinking you're next to me.
Upon looking, I realize I'm alone.
But I've heard so many nice songs
that have never been played before.
I want someone to share it with,
the presence of what doesn't exist.
October 23, 2014 11:39on
-newportsmooths h.g.
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 1:43 AM UTC
Death by Love
Well, it has finally happened, I knew it was just a matter of time,
before the walls of Jericho came tumbling down
and crushed my body, my heart, my mind, my soul
our love was not meant to be, there were too many obstacles
the least being the physical distance between us
the most being we were both already spoken for
we had commitments, we had consciences, we both felt guilt,
you more than I, not that that matters at this point,
we knew that this would or could never, be but we played this
dangerous game of chance anyway, reveling in our adoration
for each others thoughts, feelings in this pretend game of house
we had our disagreements, we had our arguments,
we kissed and made up, we laughed together, we cried together,
we were deeply in love with each other without ever touching,
we pretended to make love, we bathed in the affection,
the care, the concern we had for each others real lives
I know you will struggle with your decision to end it,
but it was the right thing for you to do, as you had constant
internal struggles between right and wrong, good and evil.
As for me, I don't have a clue how I will survive without your
gentle ways, your wit, your love touching me every day.
Now I sit here hammering this story out, knowing this day would come,
but yet sit here in total shock that it has actually happened.
Right now I am numb, though there are tears running down
my cheeks and it will just be a matter of time when the
finality of this actually registers inside my pathetic brain,
this is not my fear, my fear is when my heart begins to feel the
emptiness that will be left behind. My world has revolved around
our relationship, growing stronger and stronger with each passing day.
How will I ever find a way to replace the hole that will be left
and will grow until I am left with nothing. Can I survive this?
I really do not know. I am afraid that I will be another victim of
death by love. if not physically, then metaphysically I know.
My world ended when I read your last message. The mind sees it,
understands it, but the heart has not yet received the message.
Should I wait or call 911 now?
Gomer Lepoet...
Apr 8, 2010
Apr 8, 2010 at 6:33 PM UTC
She asked me what I was living for
And I gave her this confession
In this realm of population
In the sanctum that is living
This world only exist in
The spaces that demand it
Beings who's lives surround
Boundaries required to sustain
Thoughts and queries somehow persist
Against the grain
Pain and longing don't exist outside the brain
Its in this environment, a hostile place
We come face to face with the tantamount lack of grace
Perfection has no enemies because it has no face to hate
Emptiness is something to which each of us relate
Its all enveloped in the great cold distance
Developed in the river swiftly grinding our roots away
Drab and lifeless as a surprising softness sickening and meaningless
Blending together with the coarsest feathers to create the bed on which we lay
In lieu of living organs, please send your deepest thanks
And we both looked down into the grave
A connection in contrast to
The depth of recession all around us
And the ending's always the same
Each and every host finds themselves in a less than stellar place
Every spectacle and spec of plot laden hero
Is slowly digested
Among the monstrosities and grotesque scenery
Something else can take shape
And grow metaphysically
Fake though it may be in the face
Of such bleak uncertainty
Electricity
Sep 19, 2017
Sep 19, 2017 at 5:23 AM UTC
Nil are the things that conquer the speed of time.
Not the cheetah racing to its prey,
nor a car upwards of 200 kmh in a 85.
Not the sinking of confidence when faced with doubt,
nor a kid escaping against curfew orders.
Not the changes of a lover’s feelings without warning,
nor changes of one with bipolar struggles.
It’s the spasm of the way things exist.
Distracted even for a second, as
everything gallops into history you can’t recuperate.
Close the curtains of your sight,
and be amazed at the speed of the sun.
From the beginning, time a long stream,
forever a gravitational pull,
for those who wrestle to keep up with it still,
while abundant of others who have finished their race.
It’s always the same orbit.
With the impossibility of changing choices,
welcoming this new year,
In something so metaphysically tangible,
yet so unaltered.
Jan 2, 2019
Jan 2, 2019 at 12:21 AM UTC
As the smoke flowed gracefully
through my tongue, for a minute,
I don’t want to think about her.
As I let out the smoke go
and share the weightless
absence of her scent in my room,
the pang of grief found its way
to terminate my lungs
and bite the only sign that could
metaphysically tell I am here,
unmoved but that’s because
I restrained myself to
while trying to dodge the mirror
that shows the eyes of the man
she once held closer to her world
only to be shattered by the same person
who is now in the middle of
torturing his lungs to run towards
to where she is now.
I almost run to where she is now
because my mind does, my heart does
along with my tears, they run
but the flashbacks shoved them hard
to the chair, she once occupied
while staring at me unhappily
And I felt so helpless for the first time
when I told her that it’s okay,
I want her to be happy.
Even if happy means – somewhere else,
someone else, not me.
Oct 10, 2017
Oct 10, 2017 at 1:05 AM UTC
It must be a crush
yet I feel crushed by you
by this tidal wave of infatuation
crippled by the thought of your lips
You crush me
when you don’t look my way
metaphysically I suppose
I barely know you
I’ve mostly invented you
in my head
like a character in a fable
creating expectations
that you could never live up to
because everything is better
inside my mind
I stay up at night
wondering if you’re as lonely as me
You must be
We’re alone in our acumen
No one gets me like you
the way I see art
the way you drink to escape the hell in your head
I wonder what you’re trying to forget
With every sip
every intellectual prose
Our minds slow dance
to Sam Cooke in the moonlight
The truth is
you could be anyone
I just need someone
to think about
to obsess over
to distract me from myself
so that I don’t realize who I am
and fall back into the abyss
In my head you like
néo-noirs
Dorothy Parker
and ***** martinis
like me
We talk and talk
about decades we never lived through
romanticizing the music and fashion
neglecting the oppression
You help people all day
and slay dragons at night
Something about that cocky smirk
reminds me of him
It makes me nostalgic
of all the words left unsaid
that I can whisper to you instead
You lull me to sleep every night
with mellifluous nothings
and I sink into a slumber
and dream of your ocean blue eyes
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead
Then I wake up
and you’re not there
you never were
you’re not real
just my own imagination
playing cruel tricks on me
We would never work
I’m too grounded in my hopes for the future
to fly to the moon with you
Your glasses are too tinted with rose
to see me in the light
And I’m too cold of a person
to start a fire with you
Your face changes
from time to time
but you’re always here
radiating in perfection and fabrication
I wonder what you will look like
next time
I don’t know who you will be
but I know that you will
crush me
all over again
I think I made you up inside my head
- A Mad Girl’s Love Song
Oct 5, 2019
Oct 5, 2019 at 12:02 PM UTC
Cold,
my bones rattle and ache.
Is there some other place?
If so,
will you take me there?
I can't fight this anymore,
metaphysically lost,
in a cyclone of dying thoughts and blank realizations.
I need more,
but I don't want it.
I want to be left alone,
I want to be saved.
I know there is a paradise out there,
but where?
Is it here?
Or is it there?
Is it real?
Or is it fair to say it doesn't exist?
I want to be removed,
there is no place for me here.
There is no place for my soul,
dead or alive,
shattered or whole.
Take me with you,
beyond the limits,
where we'll explode into oblivion,
and find the paradise,
the paradise we both so desperately want.
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 10:42 AM UTC
This is a dream.
Look around you.
Study your self.
In time, you may come to see what I mean by
“This is a dream”:
What was it like before you were born?
I suppose it was like just before falling asleep.
What will it be like after you die?
I suppose it may be somewhat like just after waking up.
Then, metaphysically, you'll do things, and then, ultimately
go back to sleep.
When you do, you'll probably start “dreaming” again.
Jul 6, 2012
Jul 6, 2012 at 2:14 AM UTC
Do you see the
blank page
preceding this one?
I love you
No metaphorically,
not platonically,
Not romantically,
not metaphysically,
But totally.
The page before is
as empty
as I am full
of love
for you.
But I must be
mistaken.
I cannot be in love;
not with you.
So I guess, I should
scribble some ********
on the other page
to hide how I feel.
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 4:21 AM UTC
He accidentally
Woke me
As he stirred in bed beside me.
Half awake,
I fixated
On his chest rising,
And falling.
His deeply drawn breaths
Made the sound
Of perfect sighs.
I wanted to kiss
The sound of his sighs.
And I wanted to love him,
In this specific way,
Metaphysically,
But I couldn't.
I cannot.
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 1:50 PM UTC