"outpaces" poems - Hello Poetry

Infinity is finite to an extent of infinity, For rises it infinite and falls it infinite; But Time is the only other immortal born, That outpaces the pace of infinity, forlorn; But if Time was born and so was Infinity; Perhaps, they are finite in their own vicinity.

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Sep 12, 2015

Sep 12, 2015 at 12:36 AM UTC

arkane

Time and Infinity

Infinity is finite to an extent of infinity, For rises it infinite and falls it infinite; But Time is the only other immortal born, That outpaces the pace of infinity, forlorn; But if Time was born and so was Infinity; Perhaps, they are finite in their own vicinity.

6

Good morning! You have been greeted by pink and orange roses this time. Do you mind? We actually have everything here! They shape as we wish under colorful prayer flags. Flags receive their color daily fresh from rainbow harvesting lands. We have dots of hopes breathing inside. Look! here is one drawing, etched by a child for you. She says it is you and her walking hand in hand entering a building which would look like home for you. She says if you look carefully you won’t feel lonely here. They do shine really these dots of hopes She too is a dot of hope. You just don’t need to think It’s that easy so they can outline with you even almost literally A cool warm indigo spot hidden behind the imaginary walls of an igloo. An igloo is made of living frosted color glass We call them our red blue green recharge huts similar to your dreams: it is something like when you would see a remote tea-light with the side of your eye and make it an ardent nautical sign of an early morning that fades to a call of a nameless well known yet unexplored future memories while it is still so still slowly then yellow catches up our sun outpaces dawn and mixes up jazz an ensemble we are then something similar to your differentiable landscapes but ours are nowhere-differentiable so please hold that little girl’s hand now She will teach you home this time.

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Dec 11, 2014

Dec 11, 2014 at 6:13 PM UTC

dnalumuland

Homunculus

Good morning! You have been greeted by pink and orange roses this time. Do you mind? We actually have everything here! They shape as we wish under colorful prayer flags. Flags receive their color daily fresh from rainbow harvesting lands. We have dots of hopes breathing inside. Look! here is one drawing, etched by a child for you. She says it is you and her walking hand in hand entering a building which would look like home for you. She says if you look carefully you won’t feel lonely here. They do shine really these dots of hopes She too is a dot of hope. You just don’t need to think It’s that easy so they can outline with you even almost literally A cool warm indigo spot hidden behind the imaginary walls of an igloo. An igloo is made of living frosted color glass We call them our red blue green recharge huts similar to your dreams: it is something like when you would see a remote tea-light with the side of your eye and make it an ardent nautical sign of an early morning that fades to a call of a nameless well known yet unexplored future memories while it is still so still slowly then yellow catches up our sun outpaces dawn and mixes up jazz an ensemble we are then something similar to your differentiable landscapes but ours are nowhere-differentiable so please hold that little girl’s hand now She will teach you home this time.

53

Flickering like a tentative alpenglow corraded from profaned time A whisper jostles through a crowded rumpus prescient of teleology and design Jolting with pangs of panic a screech emanates from the brontides of tomorrow A chagrin outpaces the gingerly apprehension of a peevish sorrow Among the ruffled plumes quaffed from pedigree and put to disuse A banausic electricity galvanizes the ****** of the amalgamated acuity pinched from the sordid, the obtuse Refracted like off a darkened moon that clenches the darkness in an abstruse tomb Combs through sentience of Saturn presiding over ineluctable doom A silence louder than a plangent ****** of phantasmagoria debased A looming victor erodes with the putrefaction of sworn and utter distaste How to obtrude on the evening with triaged fulmination Is an affront to the rudders of a piecemeal civilization in tatters with exacting doddering calculation Graveyards bustle with the eidolons of scurrilous spite Congregating around a blackened epitaph on an alabaster palace gilded in the swanky pinnacle of light Scuttling the outmoded flanks of an abortive war Against a henchman of state too ostentatious to hardly ever ignore We clamber with insistence hoping on fortuitous deliverance Yet we are deranged of the clasped distance between the crevasse of the clerisy and the satisdiction of futures passed with meticulous diligence Absconding with furtive furrows on a wizened guild an entrusted world we helped build We witness the silence creep over us like a trepidation contained as lethal killers of the cartel willed That which frightens a self-fulfillment is a fatalism gone awry Someday soon omens excavated from immolated tombs will beseech a more universal backlash, an alienated sorrow that will one day cry But until that fetched disaster occurs Let us meditate only on the process of emanation among wayward words That dance with a destiny that the hegemony of momentary circumstance much prefers

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Feb 16, 2018

Feb 16, 2018 at 2:19 AM UTC

iamslegend233

Triage with Predestination

Flickering like a tentative alpenglow corraded from profaned time A whisper jostles through a crowded rumpus prescient of teleology and design Jolting with pangs of panic a screech emanates from the brontides of tomorrow A chagrin outpaces the gingerly apprehension of a peevish sorrow Among the ruffled plumes quaffed from pedigree and put to disuse A banausic electricity galvanizes the ****** of the amalgamated acuity pinched from the sordid, the obtuse Refracted like off a darkened moon that clenches the darkness in an abstruse tomb Combs through sentience of Saturn presiding over ineluctable doom A silence louder than a plangent ****** of phantasmagoria debased A looming victor erodes with the putrefaction of sworn and utter distaste How to obtrude on the evening with triaged fulmination Is an affront to the rudders of a piecemeal civilization in tatters with exacting doddering calculation Graveyards bustle with the eidolons of scurrilous spite Congregating around a blackened epitaph on an alabaster palace gilded in the swanky pinnacle of light Scuttling the outmoded flanks of an abortive war Against a henchman of state too ostentatious to hardly ever ignore We clamber with insistence hoping on fortuitous deliverance Yet we are deranged of the clasped distance between the crevasse of the clerisy and the satisdiction of futures passed with meticulous diligence Absconding with furtive furrows on a wizened guild an entrusted world we helped build We witness the silence creep over us like a trepidation contained as lethal killers of the cartel willed That which frightens a self-fulfillment is a fatalism gone awry Someday soon omens excavated from immolated tombs will beseech a more universal backlash, an alienated sorrow that will one day cry But until that fetched disaster occurs Let us meditate only on the process of emanation among wayward words That dance with a destiny that the hegemony of momentary circumstance much prefers

25

September now, and the year outpaces me I race it but can't catch my breath and coming up,fast from behind,riding a bicycle though he's blind is death,with fingers cold as ice, and you thought sweating wasn't nice,let me sweat, let me get a bit more time to end this race. Death, please turn and face the other way beat me to the finish line another day and death just nods, two sodding dogs which lag some where in the rear,bark to let me know the end is near, I howl they growl, a sound that no one should ever hear. September now, and how I've loved the months before,been up and down and loved them even more. September Autumn song, so long I won't hear you again won't see leaves fall or feel the rain for I am chained to destiny,her and me, a fait accompli,the ally,she cracks the whip and I comply. September now,how I wish it wasn't so.

0

Sep 23, 2013

Sep 23, 2013 at 12:28 AM UTC

john-edward-smallshaw

The passing

September now, and the year outpaces me I race it but can't catch my breath and coming up,fast from behind,riding a bicycle though he's blind is death,with fingers cold as ice, and you thought sweating wasn't nice,let me sweat, let me get a bit more time to end this race. Death, please turn and face the other way beat me to the finish line another day and death just nods, two sodding dogs which lag some where in the rear,bark to let me know the end is near, I howl they growl, a sound that no one should ever hear. September now, and how I've loved the months before,been up and down and loved them even more. September Autumn song, so long I won't hear you again won't see leaves fall or feel the rain for I am chained to destiny,her and me, a fait accompli,the ally,she cracks the whip and I comply. September now,how I wish it wasn't so.

16

latent ***** stripped worldly bearings dizzy not catching spiral then seconds multiply not dodge or burn but grow where it all often slides and I palm groove it rolls inside as memoir with new car smell epiphanic brushed script in hallowed blues & pinstriped opal my vibration outpaces the weight of existence cuts it off around my bending center stills enough to catch glinting dust before I turn to it

0

Nov 26, 2017

Nov 26, 2017 at 11:14 AM UTC

everlastingcherry

blue opal

latent ***** stripped worldly bearings dizzy not catching spiral then seconds multiply not dodge or burn but grow where it all often slides and I palm groove it rolls inside as memoir with new car smell epiphanic brushed script in hallowed blues & pinstriped opal my vibration outpaces the weight of existence cuts it off around my bending center stills enough to catch glinting dust before I turn to it

22

only this passing moment matters, the past soon outpaces sight, as life occurs it scatters, no lucidity; try as I might. decisions made without conclusion, affecting a lost timeline, resigned; with no delusion, that I could alter this life of mine.

0

Jan 23, 2025

Jan 23, 2025 at 12:39 AM UTC

algernonmoncrieff

now and never

only this passing moment matters, the past soon outpaces sight, as life occurs it scatters, no lucidity; try as I might. decisions made without conclusion, affecting a lost timeline, resigned; with no delusion, that I could alter this life of mine.

8