"paralysed" poems
Mistah Kurtz—he dead.
A penny for the Old Guy
I
We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats’ feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar
Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;
Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom
Remember us—if at all—not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.
II
Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death’s dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind’s singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.
Let me be no nearer
In death’s dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat’s coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer—
Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom
III
This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man’s hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.
Is it like this
In death’s other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.
IV
The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms
In this last of meeting places
We ***** together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river
Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death’s twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.
V
Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o’clock in the morning.
Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom
Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
Life is very long
Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom
For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.
17.9k
I though he carried the light
where words would illuminate
driving me to a euphoric ******
a man without a face or a trace
unhindered in a double live and lies
a bubble of psychotic psychic surety
his passion was an addiction
my reservations moved a notch
addicted to a body of ideology
the stances of philosophical terms
uncovering ancient possibilities
the unfelt mysteries of history
veiled in icicles of pretence and lies
as if a Marxist, a closet bourgeoise
The stoicism of present bargains
questioning Socrates and morality reasons
a fatal dose ,examining the unexamined
as colourful as his mind blew my inner glow
he was lost in sad and low dialogues
afraid to face the earthly shallow shadows
yet his spirits moved deep within mine
and it paralysed and fed on my energy
and his delusion became my seduction
but he woke my inner poetic tongue
letting it caress all his inner wounds
A shadow hiding behind Frankenstein’s
a sly monster who lied to my eyes
ghosting in with the a pen that weakens
romancing with letters of a fiery doom
a penpal whom I met within my lowest
but whose words lay in a deep unending quarry
his warmth I could never ever tell
his kiss only a draft on the dewy grass
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 5:29 PM UTC
standing in the middle
my mouth paralysed
I can't get my words out
Surrounded by hurtful words
One thing on my mind
Run away.
Run away, to poppy fields and mocking birds.
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 2:46 PM UTC
So winter closed its fist
And got it stuck in the pump.
The plunger froze up a lump
In its throat, ice founding itself
Upon iron. The handle
Paralysed at an angle.
Then the twisting of wheat straw
into ropes, lapping them tight
Round stem and snout, then a light
That sent the pump up in a flame
It cooled, we lifted her latch,
Her entrance was wet, and she came.
5.7k
My ink bleeds when I give words to your silence.
My ink bleeds when I complement your presence.
My ink bleeds when I'm depressed by your absence.
Your eyes hold mysteries that I would love to untangle.
Happiness fills up the space inside your heart.
Until it finds a way to crawl out.
And beautifully express itself as a paragon of art.
It's amazing how these simple words mean so much.
Eyes close then lips gently touch.
I have no need for poetry when I have your touch.
Your love shows me how simply beautiful you are within.
I'm captivated by you - your lips, voice, smile and grin.
And ever since I met you.
I define beauty by only you.
In the rain of your presence my words form a rainbow.
My heartbeat has been replaced with the sound of your name.
Your love dissipated my pain.
Happily looking forward to the memories I am yet to gain.
I'm left paralysed by your voice.
Still amazed by your poise.
I found my true happiness in your eyes.
I hope you won't mind if I stare.
I hope all the beautiful words you yearn to hear.
All make their way to your ear.
My ink bleeds when I'm depressed by your absence.
My ink bleeds when I complement your presence.
My ink bleeds when I give words to your silence.
My ink bleeds when my heart experiences an emotional violence.
My ink bleeds.
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 7:34 PM UTC
Etched in his mind,
The internal war,
Haemorrhaging blood,
Hidden once more,
Slowly he’s dying,
His body too weak,
Paralysed lips,
Unable to speak,
Traumatic life,
Slipping away,
His heavy soul,
Aching today.
He witnessed it all,
The burden unseen,
Screaming their names,
Tortured in dream,
His cries settle,
His memory fades,
Wiping the tears,
For former comrades.
(Repeat)
Oct 29, 2015
Oct 29, 2015 at 7:27 PM UTC
We lied we need change
When all we feel is rage
For the government we create
Who don’t feel shake if the economical price inflate
*
We lied we are happy
When we hide in the bathroom; crying
We lied we are living
When we are striving for surviving
*
We lied we are grown
When we are yet to be birth
We lied we are strong
And here we are; paralysed
*
We lied we are in traffic
When we’re still on our bed dreaming
We lied we are set
When with default setting; we’re breathing
*
We lied we want about-move
From politics of Jong-Un
From government of John Bull
And parliaments filled with masters of Kungfu
*
We lied we are in love
When the only thing we feel is lust
We lied we are loved
When the only feeling we procure is hurt
*
We lied we are loyal
When we lust only after the royal one
We lied we are loyal
And when the ox is gored; we run
*
We lied we are in paradise
When in filthiness we dine
Stuck in a big mess
Living in hell; but not minding our business
*
We lied we are responsible
When at the sight of challenge; we flee
We lied we are smart
Whereas we are trickening; coz at the sight of themisticoles; we flee
*
We lied we are beautiful
When our heart is filled with greed and hate
We lied we are pretty
When the pancaked look on our face is manmade
*
We lied we are the future
Saying we are the leaders of tomorrow
We lied; saying we are injured
Whereas we’re completely trapped in hollow
*
We lied we’re from the hood
So no one else to talk to
Coz our lifestyle is not good
And that leaves us in bad mood
*
We lied we are good
When at the depth of our heart; we’re bad
We lied we are confuse
When we’re stuck and which way? We cant conclude
*
We lied to survive the tide
And from the real part of life; we hide
Tell the truth’ man; be freed inside
Oct 21, 2019
Oct 21, 2019 at 11:37 AM UTC
i wish
i could give you the earth,
because you mean so much more
than it to me.
at night,
skin-to-skin we lay
our souls unite,
we were meant to be
i was falling asleep
when i heard you say
“are you awake?
i love you.”
paralysed by comfort,
but still half-awake
i replied in my mind
“i love you too”
Dec 23, 2022
Dec 23, 2022 at 8:20 AM UTC
I remember the first time I **********
I thought I was having a seizure-
or that I had somehow malfunctioned the Matrix
and had broken through
a fold of reality;
some white-noise ladder to greater plains,
throbbing, animal convulsions,
and a peak that only death
could overpower.
I remember crashing into shame
upon my return, versus the smug welcome
of oxytocin and my adult life;
not knowing to what extent
my ***** would dominate my mind;
you know, I cannot write a poem
without noticing my loneliness,
all the ******** I have left behind.
For that moment, in my New Found ******
I was paralysed at the thought of a sober life,
and ever since that moment,
ever since that night,
I have been searching for those higher plains
in the lowest branches of myself.
Now I smoke my fill and redden my eyes
to bleed out old anxieties,
dry up old tears whilst softening scars
that I have collected over years
spent indoors, hiding from danger.
I remember the first time I **********
how it came to me by accident,
a repeated motion of unknown emotions;
the undulations in her breath;
even now I still sit by myself,
and make love out of whatever is left.
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 5:21 PM UTC
I’ve been watching the seasons change
from this lonely little bus stop shelter.
Waiting in limbo,
as the leaves turn from an animated green,
to the frost bitten crunch
of once was.
The landscapes danced dynamically before.
Trees swayed blissfully
over the vibrantly brushstroked canvas;
yet now they stand still.
Motionless.
Paralysed, like a Polaroid picture.
But in this time of waiting;
my momentary detention of movement;
a suspension of my heart’s desires.
I’ve observed as the scenery
turns to the deceased.
The dead.
The diminished.
And returns back
to the living
as it always does
and always will
eventually.
Jan 24, 2019
Jan 24, 2019 at 3:56 AM UTC
As i lay asleep last night
my mind wondered through the window and out of sight
catching a ride on a passing crow
it went places i’ll never go
Gliding it passed over palms and rivers
swooping under waterfalls left me with shivers
rising on a warm sea breeze high
it watched the golden sun set and with a sigh
Returned begrudgingly to where bedridden i lay
paralysed, a vegetable as they say
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 2:10 AM UTC
As the poison ran through her veins
She started to lose control
Couldn't breathe
Couldn't talk
Couldn't move
Couldn't think about anything else.
The worst part is that she poisoned herself.
But she won't die, nor will she be okay.
Because this poison is a different kind.
The poison is hopelessness
Being let down
Negative thinking
This poison is her own creation
Specific to her
And the people she cares about can poison her just as easily as they can breathe.
Now she's sitting
Motionless
Speechless
Thoughtless
Breathless
Because the poison has circulated
And it's reached her heart.
But she won't die, nor will she be okay
Because this poison is a different kind.
She physically feels sick
She wants to die
To **** herself
To cut
Drink
Drown
Hang
Shoot
Break
And cry
But she can't.
Because this poison has paralysed her.
This poinsion has taken away
her will to breathe, not her breath itself.
Her will to move, not her mobility itself.
Her will to talk, not her speech itself.
But it has replaced every thought with that of a blade
Or a rope
Or a gun
Or a bottle
Or a pill
Or a lake
Or a building
This poison has polluted we mind and mingled with her blood. The will to **** is a part of her now and there is nothing she can do to escape that.
Despite wanting to sleep for eternity six foot under
This poison cannot **** her
Only she can
And she is close
And willing
And weak enough to attempt.
She cannot think of anything else
And it's all her fault
She created this
She started it all.
If she had succeeded last year, she wouldn't be around to have created this poison.
So until she has hit rock bottom and has a chance at succeeding
She will try to drown her demons
Suffocate her demons
Bleed herself dry of the poison
Consume enough alcohol to alter the poison
But she won't die, nor will she be okay
Because this is a different kind of poison
And she is already dead inside.
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 10:24 AM UTC
Aye, Montecelli, that's the name.
You may have heard of him perhaps.
Yet though he never savoured fame,
Of those impressionistic chaps,
Monet and Manet and Renoir
He was the avatar.
He festered in a Marseilles slum,
A starving genius, god-inspired.
You'd take him for a lousy ***
Tho' poetry of paint he lyred,
In dreamy pastels each a gem: . . .
How people laughed at them!
He peddled paint from bar to bar;
From sordid rags a jewel shone,
A glow of joy and colour far
From filth of fortune woe-begone.
'Just twenty francs,' he shyly said,
'To take me drunk to bed.'
Of Van Gogh and Cezanne a peer;
In dreams of ecstasy enskied,
A genius and a pioneer,
Poor, paralysed and mad he died:
Yet by all who hold Beauty dear
May he be glorified!
2.6k
In Morrissey fuel
and cigarette vice,
a map pinned up
with dreams of travel,
in eyes darkened
and swollen wrists,
in paralysed belonging
to established hypnotists
of hunger, of servitude
and self-discipline,
of not nurturing the childhood
nestled within,
and of friends now fable,
and of friends ill-spent,
now is the time
for the young man's repent.
Feb 2, 2014
Feb 2, 2014 at 9:37 PM UTC
So I just sat there and stared at the stars as the clouds rolled in to take it all away.
I saw it crumble apart in my hands, paralysed, yet so moved. There was nothing I could do,
I saw the fear in your eyes, a fear I'd never seen before, just as like in the realm of my nightmares.
Nightmares that plagued my mind, these nightmares showed such relevance to the thoughts
I've conducted like a symphony.
Mar 18, 2010
Mar 18, 2010 at 12:11 AM UTC
"Sit down boy, you're tired and you must sleep"
The voice said to me as I walked the city street
Fuzzy steps taken to a bench I saw over yonder
Sleepily wandering, the streetlights I ponder
Passive disorientation, I'm lost it would seem
Consciousness becomes a trickle, as opposed to a stream
Dragging myself over shards of glass, paralysed and sleeping
A shadow 'neath the moonlight seems to be steadily creeping
Isolated in this park in the darkness on a sigma plateau
Dextromethorphan hallucinations are a spectacular show
I'm indifferent to the stranger, drowsy as he appears
Isolated in the nighttime winds, apathetic to his tears
Uncoordinated my head falling he takes a seat softly
Dissociative disorder makes me seem awfully frosty
Speaking of lands where the populace truly is free
Speaking unintelligible words, indirectly to me
The intrinsic disconnect of this generation scorned
As the sun rises in the sky, glittered clouds adorned
My head lulls lackadaisically, I'm feeling unwell
But my stomach is eased when I think of sweet Maybelle
[Hers is a Nabokovian tale of passion in proto-dystopian wastelands
The first time we kissed, I held her soft head tenderly in my hands
The serenade of rain pitter-patter on the ground, like her feet when she's near
and hearing her name is as cathartic as those old jazz records I hold so dear
But, oh my pretty Belle, your age is a concern to me (and the eyes of the law)
So to forget your sweet face, I pop pills neglectfully, passing out on the floor]
Lifting head slowly from the rough ground dampened
Four years passed and I'm wondering what happened
Fuzzy headed blues, clear my mind with OJ and ******
Walking fast to her house, cannot wait to see her
A rap-tap on the door with thoughts of romantic enumerations
What she said and what I saw defied every one of my expectations
My innocent Belle, with her cheeks rosy red,
looks me in the eyes, and wishes I was dead
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 7:08 AM UTC
One fine day in the middle of the night
Two dead boys got up to fight
Back to back they faced each other
Drew their swords and shot each other
One was blind and the other couldn't see
So they chose a dummy for a referee
A blind man went to see fair play
A dumb man went to shout "hooray!"
A paralysed donkey passing by,
Kicked the blind man in the eye ,
Knocked him through a nine inch wall,
Into a dry ditch and drowned them all,
A deaf policeman heard the noise,
And came to arrest the two dead boys,
If you don't believe this story's true,
Ask the blind man, he saw it too!
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 5:50 AM UTC
Only four walls
They all drown me inside
The fear of no escape
My head begins to break
The walls trap my thoughts inside
I'm completely unable to hide
My anxiety strangles me
What if my claustrophobia finds me?
My legs begin to tremble as I'm stuck in this space
My heart begins to pound as my eyes see the crowd
I wish I could run but I can't find an escape
Now my fears holding me hostage with tape
I can't seem to move
I've become paralysed
My body starts to shake
My eyes see weird shapes
I'm trembling with fear
I feel my cheek wet with tears
Now I'm laying on the floor
My claustrophobia found me with it's claws
Feb 18, 2019
Feb 18, 2019 at 8:13 PM UTC
Swinging on a pendulum
back and forth and again and again
Forever wandering in the hallways of monotony
Paralysed by my own indecisiveness
perhaps I should pause
before I dive in.....
Into the wilderness of reality
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 2:24 PM UTC
Your eyes.
Ooh those eyes!
The gates to my soul
They melt my tough disguise
They reveal my lies
For I cannot lie to those eyes.
Those eyes.
They hypnotise
leave me paralysed
and small in size
Those eyes.
Oh when I look into those eyes
I am instantly stripped from my disguise
And my ego dies.
Ooh those eyes.
They **** me.
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 12:04 AM UTC
Crouching in the rotted dust,
Covers covet the light;
Dull, discoloured dust jackets
And wrinkled leather hides
Of the books that moulder and muse,
Ruminate and render themselves
To dust, as everything must,
Upon long-forgotten shelves.
Becomes the perfect breeding ground
For shadows, for sickness, for sin;
The ladies are seen to turn away
With tarnished faces and tattered gowns,
While the hero remains anonymous,
A nobody about the town.
A plot studded with lacunas
And paralysed on page one,
Words grown together in intimate embraces
Never to be undone.
Thin volumes of poetry
Shiver with the poison of years,
As passions freeze and snow falls in May –
The daffodils die a beautiful death,
The clouds are mottled and grey.
A teardrop hits the page.
Jun 19, 2012
Jun 19, 2012 at 2:00 PM UTC
Farouche outline,
melting into the stool.
Slippery palms, flavoured beef and onion,
now it's 5 o'clock.
Hands turn.
Willing a pint to be half full, not half empty.
Slumped since 1978, timeless as the wallpaper.
Hands turn.
Mustard teeth to compliment his tongue.
Paralysed from his lifting elbow down.
Hands turn.
Jutting cigarette from blubber lips, burnt out.
Spitting in the ****** ritual, it's good luck.
Hands turn.
Lucky he's got time then,
Read behind bloodshot eyes.
Ice in the cider, it'll last longer than him.
Hands turn.
An echo, I think it's a bell.
You're out, he knows.
Hands turn.
Cold bites at the door, he huddles out.
A lighter lost, a bottle-top gained.
The wind taunts the black velvet sheet of white pin ******
Hands stop.
JWS
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 6:50 PM UTC