"nonbelievers" poems
I believe in non believers,
I believe that they believe that science is magic and therefore,
I believe in magic,
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 6:39 PM UTC
Heat
Calcification
Incalescence
Swelter
Suffocation
Arctic circle above 32 degrees Fahrenheit in December
Leaking lakes of Methane gas in Siberia
Scientific data to price
Changing 2 degrees
has caused mass extinction
Melting glaciers
Oceans 7 centimeters higher
Drought in the Amazon
Changes in migration
Disruption in pollination
Heatwaves:
high death tolls
Decreased plant growth
Zika in Florida
Ignorance from the government
Refusal of proof
Nonbelievers in the White House
Dec 16, 2016
Dec 16, 2016 at 12:12 PM UTC
Breathe.
Breathe deep,
and in between
those breaths
bring back
banished beliefs
buried beneath
beyond
broken bonds
and
burnt bliss.
Embers.
Embers everywhere
of emotions
expecting
Elysium’s
elusive embrace.
Roses.
Roses scattering
restlessly;
rarely receiving
reprieve;
reminiscing;
ruing
reproachful ravens
resting
rigidly;
rabidly reaping,
rending
rotten remains,
resenting rainfall
refusing remorse.
Nostalgia.
Nostalgia underneath
neon nightlights;
noticing
nubs,
noises,
nuances;
neither neglecting
nameless
nonbelievers,
nor nurturing
narrow-sighted
naiveté.
Asleep.
Asleep amidst
fleeting azaleas
acknowledging
an abandon
amplifying
already
almighty
affection;
almost
altering
ancient,
ardent,
adamant
air
as an
ageless art.
Loss.
Loss overpowering;
lost love,
lingering longing,
lasting laments.
Lachrymose lovers
left layers
of a
limited life
within
long-forgotten lore;
lest labeled
Loveless;
left
little
longer
living.
Yearning.
Yearning for
the warmth
of home.
Yesterday,
You
were
yelling
‘YES’
at the top
of your lungs,
and
it
was
enough.
Yet
Yggdrasil
yielded
yew
for years
and years;
young,
yellow yeggs
yanked asunder
Yin
from Yang
into the
ever yonder.
Night-time.
Night-time symphonies
nullify
nothingness;
nourishing
Nyx Nightmother’s
need
of newfound
night-thinkers;
napping
nonchalantly
now,
near,
and nevermore.
~D.C.
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 10:57 PM UTC
(*Maddy’s Music challenge:
“Write a poem based on three words from a song.”
Song: 'Words of love' by the Beatles 1964*)
I’m the harshest critic,
the truest of nonbelievers,
when words of love are used.
Soapy words will not deliver
so please stop trying to be smooth.
Don’t compare me to a summer’s day!
I know that’s from some Broadway play.
Waste not flattery’s rose
praise not my grace,
at least not to my face,
you’re better off praising my clothes.
Forgo sweetness, promise nothing
then you may be onto something
say it, straight up, I won’t faint
trust me, sir, I am no saint.
.
.
A song for this:
Words of love by the Beatles
May 31, 2025
May 31, 2025 at 1:43 PM UTC
I used to believe in innocence until I lost it.
Life isn't lonely but I am alone.
I used to be in love and full of love until I cut my chest open and watched butterflies come out then turn to rust.
They say if you're burned at stake, you're a witch, but what are you supposed to do when the nonbelievers finally believe and untie the knots from your stomach but you're still burning alive on the inside?
These thoughts run deep into my brain and down my spine and I'm thinking that maybe if I pull all the content out
and throw it into the lake where all my dead friends are staying afloat, it'll sink to the bottom where my hollow body is stagnant and put out the flame.
How am I supposed to sing the words of life to your songs when I don't even know my own? How selfish.
I am trying to be the bigger man but I am burning to the ground and my time is running out.
You said "there's no such thing as dying from a broken heart."
Well the next day I proved you wrong when I turned that graveyard into a garden.
It's easier said than done when you're not the one screaming into empty jars so your voice is muffled.
At least that's what it feels like.
Sep 24, 2015
Sep 24, 2015 at 10:23 PM UTC
A kiss from a firefly can cure a cynic of their cynicism, make the nonbelievers believe, help the hopeless grasp the illusions of hope, and even reveal the marvelous maps of the mind; because a kiss from a firefly (and what a brilliant buss it is!) steers one into a sloshy slumber that smears the line between deepest desires and fanciful fairytales:
The feisty fairy fights nymphs, trolls, goblins, terrible ogres, nasty pirates, talking elephants, one gypsy (mainly because she stole some pixie dust in attempt to fly away to her next destination), and two silver cats, who could read her mind and she did not like that; but the plucky pixie never did steer clear from the twinkling glitter-bugs who held the key to Wonderland:
She drifted off into a slumber and she dreamt of owning all the knowledge that could possibly be held and she dreamt about flying on the back of a dragon and she dreamt about walking on water and tumbling down the rabbit hole and she dreamt of sincere sorcerers and mischievous mermaids and pink penguins who could speak perfect Portuguese and she dreamt about falling in love and being a child again and she dreamt that her father could walk her down the aisle.
Oh, the wonderful whimsical kiss of fireflies killing the beliefs of nonbelievers who dare not dream of dreams, it’s a slippery slope for those who can’t dilute delusions—a glorious path of the glowing!—leaving them to wake with hopeless hope.
Oct 9, 2012
Oct 9, 2012 at 3:20 AM UTC
*Here's to the ones who loved and just forgot
Broken promises, easy endings, no tying the knot
Perhaps they lost before and that was their shot
Around and around they go, the ever loveless lot
Here's to the ones who never thought a thing
About heavens that soar and angels that sing
Gates up in the clouds and a heavenly king
Smothering the ungodly flames that hell bring
Here's to the ones who are above the rule of order
Steering clear and clever from the symptoms of cancer
Minding, winding their stories into their own favor
Rather than to the social systems they know better
Here's to the ones who are devoid of anything good
Whatever path they lead—will always be misunderstood
The eternal monsters and demons of their neighborhood
Not even the exorcists will save them even if they could
Here's to the ones who look at life with a skeptical screen
Something bad must have happened in between
Distorting their eyes once so pure like crystalline
Soiling them with a reality unmendable and obscene
Here's to every nonbeliever in this world both beautiful and sorry
Believing in their own terms glorious and free,
though rather* painfully
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 1:21 PM UTC
When my poems flirts, it can find a way to get into your heart
As it ****** you my audiences it’s becomes imagery and symbolism
The bouncer of the entry way, but somehow waltzes its way into the mind of the nonbelievers: activating the rhythm and rhymes
The language of emotions felt like a prickly face, against my long neck,
Every emotion has its place: like the smell of the bourbon breath
which make my pulse leap and my body tremble
"To dream of lust is to dream of me it whispered, so ecstatic!
Effortlessly, I tried so not to give in to the poetic teaser,
*I am the black child of a white father, a wingless bird,
flying even to the clouds of heaven.
I give birth to tears of mourning in pupils that meet me,
even though there is no cause for grief,
and at once on my birth I am dissolved into air. What am I?*
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 8:45 PM UTC
...I
amongst the nonbelievers
the infidels of your world
know and agree
in one thing
Both worlds
play chess to seek
the ace beneath the board
Adagio for strings
obra of the Devil
Arms to tomorrow
and the existence
of the bloom is
but a remnant
of a child's
conception of
Silence
The crescent moon
wanes with the truth
under the ground
like a forgotten bedtime
story...
Mar 3, 2013
Mar 3, 2013 at 9:45 AM UTC
God knows I'm a (ship)wreck.
But nonbelievers do not sink.
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 2:42 AM UTC
I am the Frankenstein
of my inspirations
A **** poor compilation
of yesterday's explanations
I shave with a meat cleaver
chop liver the nonbelievers
You could never save me
I'm where's Waldo against a backdrop of galaxy sized barber shop lollipops
Sep 7, 2016
Sep 7, 2016 at 9:17 AM UTC
dream weaver swinging a meat cleaver
sewing spells with stitches of fever
pitching fast ***** and low blows
to the sweating and eager
set the succubi on the nonbelievers
steal the dams and **** the beavers
heal the toe jam nightmare
with foot cream and elbow grease
press lilies into every open knee joint crease
call the landlord
sign the lease
the sole matron of the shopping mall
sifts flour in a sun dress
the screaming fire alarm goes off
breaking dishes
knocking down sprinklers
wreaking havoc
making a mess
let me jump down your throat
and swim in the abscess
infect your brain with chloroform and soda pop in excess
no manic pixie dream girl
no damsel in distress
a ferris wheel on turbo twirl
a gravitron programmed to make you hurl
your embarrassed lunch
pick me bunches of wild flowers
i'm open to sacrifice
scrape the back of your throat with a screwdriver
dutifully collect jars full of head lice
the meek mice of the holes in the wall
crawl out gleaming sweaty sheen
the expectant floorboards creak out mean greetings
the expectant backs preemptively remove their shirts to receive beatings
students scurry by
feet frantic
late for their meetings
through it all
the crows keep bleating
goddesses nestle in the clouds
and predators eat their young
rodents mumble songs unsung
and in branches where bodies once hung
dangle fruit and flower:
another season, come.
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 5:30 PM UTC
my favorite pass time
when i'm saturated in my loneliness
and the hands of the clock
tick, tick on by
and i've exhausted my
google searches
and facebook stalks
is to open
an anonymous
text chat website
and inquire into the hearts
of faces I have never
(and will never)
see:
*what do you think
the meaning of life is?*
I paste into every chat,
delivered to their
screens in less than seconds.
you can have the most
intriguing
eye opening
enlightening
conversations
with strangers.
because i get atheists,
and nonbelievers,
and pessimists,
and perverts,
and not one person
answers
the same.
and it's beautiful;
no life
could possibly hold
the same meaning.
Jul 19, 2013
Jul 19, 2013 at 12:20 AM UTC
She lives with her '70s condescending mom,
And her Gods are nonbelievers.
She sulks, swears 'n spits in air
Squandering in profound style
As she wears plaid shirts to
Jimmy Choos,
"feeds her cat, eats her dog",
Keeps a job, quits on true love,
Flirts in no faith with
the guys in the gym,
overlooks men at the bar,
Smiles at the kid in the park,
Laughs at celebrities' mishap,
Sleeps to Indie pop Rock
post two whisky shots.
But hey, she's too far from
any breakdown.
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 7:01 AM UTC
Densely fogged
under caked make-up from yesterday's tears
fakely disguised beneath the crowd
of masochists and nonbelievers
Hearts plead and bleed as one
based upon no one at all
seething fear pounded through fists of rage
anguish of lost hopes and lost causes
Where do I go
for whom do I show
should I grieve
for a land that is no more than make believe?
Despairing and looking for cheap cigarettes
they gather on their gravelly haven
spurning the world and hating
what it's become
nothing but **** and ***
Those who came before us
naive double standards fearing our new status
the putrid stench of change clings to our chains
burdened by the nonbelievers
Where do I go
for whom do I show
should I make believe
in the world we grieve
Jul 9, 2010
Jul 9, 2010 at 10:12 AM UTC
Word spread out quickly
Like a wildfire on a burning summer day
Gospel was caught taking a shower
With Old Testament right beside her
Jesus was the soap and God the Holy water
Ready to clean the mess they did themselves
or just cover up the details or the pages they wrote for themselves.
I followed a firefly late at night
It took me to a path that was rightful
And I was thankful
Cause where the firefly disappeared
A man in white appeared
Showing me his hands and feet
And yelling, "You NONBELIEVERS"
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 2:40 PM UTC
of course i wish i could create the words
to send shivers through your body
and rattle you right down to the bones
of course i wish i could pull gasps and cries from the crowd
and force tears down the cheeks
of even the most stubborn of nonbelievers
of course i wish i could make music with the way
i arrange 26 funny little shapes
or splash paint across the walls of every mind in the room
or at the very least, say something
but the truth of the matter remains
that i may never do that
and my words may never be anything more than words
and they may never mean anything
to anyone
but me
but maybe,
if it's not too much to ask,
you could take this little bit of me with you
fold it up small and put it in your pocket
or your wallet
or tuck it behind your ear
and promise me
that when the time is right
you'll unfold it and feel something
Jan 29, 2011
Jan 29, 2011 at 1:32 PM UTC
you are blood blood blood
hurricanes coming down in the midwest
and all i can think about are your hands
swaying like that on my hips
baby,
keep me like this
choke on my debts
choke on my regrets,
make me feel like a home again, and
maybe i'll let you in someday
baby, keep me like this
i like it when you kiss me
i wanna be yours
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 5:27 PM UTC
God's blessing is within us.
Life should be a blessing to all of us.
Love's surrounding you.
Believe in him.
Believe not.
Notice many nonbelievers can't explain simple things.
Scriptures points out there's a time for every season.
And we been taught God does things for a reason.
Life is about adjusting when they are born.
Life's about readjusting when they are gone.
Just as long as we remember, love's surrounding you.
The sun.
The moon.
The stars.
The rain.
The snow.
The flowers and trees that grows.
Love is surrounding us.
Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 10:15 AM UTC
I left a city of comfortable people
To experience God away from your steeple.
God is as vast as the clear, South Dakota sky,
Bigger than the sins of nonbelievers and their lies--
Petty problems tearing everyone apart.
He is greater than misquoted scripture,
Emotional phrases by judgmental hypocrites.
Yes, hallelujah to the Christ!
Go ahead and sing Kumbaya with all you've got.
You're trying to bring yourself closer to a God
Who is all around you.
Please stop to listen to yourself and your crew,
The truth is that you're limiting Him.
He's more than your facade and your two-dimensionality.
I'd rather believe in a God of mystery--
A God of gray.
I'm glad to have left your City of Black and White.
My God isn't boring,
He's infinite.
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 11:21 PM UTC
What would Santa Claus say,
I wonder,
about Jesus returning
to **** and plunder?
For he’ll likely return
on Christmas Day
to blow the bad
little boys away!
When He flashes like lightning
across the skies
and many a homosexual
dies,
when the harlots and heretics
are ripped asunder,
what will the Easter Bunny think,
I wonder?
“And I will **** her children with death; and all the churches shall know that I am he which searcheth the reins and hearts: and I will give unto every one of you according to your works.” (So much for grace according to Revelation 2:23, where Jesus, or someone speaking for him, vows to personally ****** children for their mother’s sins!)
Published by Lucid Rhythms, Poet’s Corner and translated into Czech by Vaclav ZJ Pinkava
Keywords/Tags: Santa Claus, Easter Bunny, Jesus Christ, Bible, Revelation, mass ****** serial ****** homosexuals, harlots, hookers, prostitutes, heretics, atheists, agnostics, nonbelievers, non-Christians
Mar 1, 2020
Mar 1, 2020 at 5:27 AM UTC
We are nonbelievers
Our skin sparkles in that light
We glow from past mistakes
And trauma fuels our fight
Never speak of pain
Or wear a wound on our face
We're better than that, mature
Mentality-a constant race
Emotions are a betrayal
Hints of suffering in our eyes
Pain dusted across our face
Lives being woven through lies
I am a nonbeliever
And with that, I stand tall
But a part of me decays
Every time I see another angel fall
Jul 28, 2025
Jul 28, 2025 at 1:33 AM UTC
Promote love.
Promoted it, promote it, promote it.
Promote Jesus.
Promote him, promote him, promote him.
Let both shine through out the universe.
We know, he's promote highly through the religious society.
Promote why?
Promote why, promote why, promote why?
We all have doubts like the nonbelievers.
But with undying faith.
God's son never fail to come through.
In those sad gloomy moments.
It's the Almighty God we talk too.
Who listen?
Who advises?
Who guide us through all crisis?
Promote love.
Promote it.
For it started with him above.
Everything, within scriptures isn't perfect.
But why should it be?
That's why we keep asking the Lord to keep working on us?
Just to end this.
We all know that God is love.
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 10:30 AM UTC
It's been said once and it will be said many more times before this world is no longer in existence: the demons in our nightmares our reflections of our own lives.
Taking in truth and lies mixed with 6 billion differing perceptions can create one hell of a gruesome monstrosity, potentially unbearable to the weak minded **** wandering this rock.
This timeline is nothing but a river; constantly flowing and moving forward,
teeming timelessly along and never slowing for anything.
Existing with the only purpose of not existing,
but a vessel for us to keep track of events passing;
never to return to, but always to dwell on,
forever until it's memory is in existence of no living person.
The stark maddening darkness as well as the blinding goodness of the light; these things exist because we have given them the possibility to.
It is because of us that we give these ideas of dark and light the breath of life. It was here before our carbon based meat sacks arrived, causing changes that WE see fit;
ignoring the higher power that obviously will infinitely hold more importance than we will ever understand.
That's why we ignore it.
If we can't see it, it doesn't exist.
But if one belief--one single slice of faith perseveres among the unimaginable number of nonbelievers can change things; turn the tables, change history...
This timeless river of existence; why does it matter?
So we can be immortalized into whatever form or idea we wish?
To make a certain history for others to either never repeat resulting in insanity--or to repeat in hopes of reliving the greatness of others before us.
If all of our solid nightmares became reality; if 6 billion individual demons constantly existed by our sides becoming physically a part of us and breaches the mental barrier, exiting the realm of impossibility and stepping onto firm warm soil and sand.
What the **** would we do then?
The river never flows over the same rock twice.
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 10:35 AM UTC