Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Breethyr Nov 2020
When i tell people about how i saw beyond reason, they tell me i'm not making any sense. Ironically, that's exactly the point. Something beyond reason can't make sense, logically, but it doesn't mean there isn't anything beyond logic.
We as people often act defying logic, although, arguably, the logic we live by is relative, and that leads to certain logical conclusions. What i am more interested in is, if all the relative points of logic can be seen as parts of objective, or even universal logic, then can i map it's boundaries? The answer is no. For the reason that if you can't see beyond a certain point you can't tell what's behind it. Say i stumble upon the logical end of my thought - it seemingly ends at a certain point, but what is beyond - i cannot know, that's why i can not tell if it's the logical end of it is relative to me or objective. But that is a logical mistake on my part. It's the relatively logical way to think, but objectively it's doomed for failure. For the same reason why we can't find the edge of our universe - not just because we don't see beyond the visible space region, but because it is impossible to reach such an edge in three dimensional space.
Allow me to logically explain why, on example of a two-dimensional space. Imagine yourself in a jar with water, you are swimming on the surface. The boundaries of the jar is your observable, or for better word - reachable universe. But the jar is not the entire universe, beyond the jar there is enormous amount of water. Whether it exists on a three-dimensional sphere or simply goes forever is irrelevant - you will never swim to the edge regardless. But if you were to be able to jump up from the surface of water then you would have understood that the true edge of this universe was actually vertical and you've just escaped through it into a new 3-dimensional one that is an extension of the two-dimensional one you previously were floating in. Now how do you then escape this 3-dimensional one you found yourself in? You know the answer, you jump into the 4th dimension - the logically only true edge of it.
Whether you can do it or not is irrelevant, what matters is what it tells us about logic - the exactly same thing - you can't reach the end of logic by simply looking around for it's borders, you have to fundamentally defy logic and go beyond it from the start.
Before we attempt that i have to lay down some things i kept secret from you until now. Why do i even chase the logical end? The answer is - i don't, i chase the fundamental understanding of the universe. "Whoah - hold up there" you might say, "what a perverse charlatan you are with your irrational methods, leave the universe to scientists!" And i will tell you - you are completely right. I don't understand anything a physicist or astronomer does when they examine what they can about the universe, but i believe, even though objectivity is not a matter of belief, to have a full understanding one can't study things from one aspect. Logic is the counterpart to fact, it is due to logic that facts exist the way they do, and it is due to facts available to us that we have the relative understanding of logic that we have today. Logic is the interpretation of the universe. And to reach a logical limit, in a sense, would be similar to reaching the limit of the universe. I can't jump into the fourth dimension of space, but i still i want to gain the fundamental understanding. I am desperate. That's why i will not stop until i have found it.
I have to derail from logic, and to do so i first need to deconstruct it. Construct is the foundation logic. By tying things into constructs, logic allows for interpretation of facts. Take for example the three dimensional space. It's construct is simple - it is existing in a three-axis fashion. There is left-right, forward-backward, up-down. Very simple, yet if need be it allows for great complexity, which can always be traced down to it's construct - three axis. To go beyond logic's very basic construct would be reaching my goal, but it is too early for that, as i can't yet pin-point what that is; i can do it for the relative space that i operate in, since with logic i interpret it, but to break down the very thing i interpret the world with is a completely different task.
Let's return to constructs. As i have realized, they are the foundation of logic. But further than that, they allow for existence of concepts. Now, beyond being a pretty word, a concept is something that we can logically interpret - understand, deconstruct or construct. Now not to play this game of terms any further, for the sake of logical simplicity i have decided that there are two types of concepts (and nothing further) - relative and objective. Relative concepts are understood in connection to other ones, while objective ones don't need the presence of others to still be ready for interpretation. The truth is, no one operates in objective constructs, because for that you would have to be outside of logic and universe, know it completely and wholly, only then would you truly be able to tell what constructs are objective. Even though relative to us, some concepts seem objective, for example - evolution, we describe it as the process of continuous adaptation. Seems very objective, right? But to proclaim such a thing is a fallacy - as even though it may be connected to our entire relative field of logic, we cannot tell whether is a fundamental property of all layers of the universe beyond our own. Another example - the concept of process. Well, time flows and with it something changes. Very objective. But time is relative to our perception of reality, there may not even be "time" at all and all there is is the way we experience the universe. What if we experienced time backwards? What if we experienced all time available to us at once? What if we did not experience time at all and stayed in a single "time-frame"? Is the concept of process still valid then? As such, all concepts available to us lie in the relative region of logic, and as far as we can understand, they don't stretch beyond it at least objectively.
Now that i have decided upon the features of logic, i need to derail. I don't know where to start so i will attempt to deconstruct a concept, and hopefully i will reach a logical failure - that will indicate to me that i have reached the limit to which i can deconstruct the concept, unless of course i have failed to stay true to logic, which seems contradictory, but really it isn't, as duality is the nature of the universe - even in logic.
If i have to "derail" then i will go with the concept of "a train". The one that travels on rails. What is a train? Is it a machine powered by fuel that goes on rails to transport someone or something, and usually consists of many connected wagons? Yes, but a lot of that is formalities, as how exactly a train works isn't a fundamental part of it's concept. The human idea of train can easily be seen in how we use the word alternatively - "train of thought". Fundamentally, it's something that travels to (hopefully)_a destination (but this train is doomed to fail). As such, i have discovered that "train" is only one of the faces for the fundamental concept of "transportation". Transportation is so fundamental to not just our existence but all life on Earth; because of this the invention of train by humankind was inevitable.
Let us transport somewhere. Conceptually, transportation means continuous movement of object by another. I want to go from point A to point B and i transport myself: i put myself in a cart and the cart takes me there. I want to transport a can of soda from the store to my fridge: i transport it there by carrying it in my hand.
I have realized that transport is a bad word for all of this, since it is not yet the most fundamental concept. What an oversight by me! Let's quickly fix this by proclaiming that more fundamental than transportation is movement. That truly is a great concept, as it is very fundamental, so please replace the word "transportation" for the word "movement" in the previous examples i'd described.
Movement is the primordial concept. I have arrived to such conclusion by thinking for an entire minute. If the construct of our perceivable reality is the three-axis, then by adding the concept of time and cause-effect into the mix, movement inevitably appears. Actually i have messed up with the terminology, so i will clean up the mess: construct of perceivable space is three-axis, but the fundamental construct of our relative reality also consists of time and cause-effect. In such a formation, movement is the primordial construct of this relative reality, as it is the most fundamental act. If you didn't know, non-movement is impossible in our reality due to the principle of relativity: even if you stay in place - from many perspectives you are in fact moving.
How does movement occur?.. What does it describe?.. A process of me moving from one point to another in a certain period of time? But what if it can also be reversed and describe me as moving in time in a certain length of space? Yes, it should, absolutely. Because from a detached perspective, it's the same thing. For me to move a certain distance, a certain amount of time has to pass; when a certain amount of time passes, i inevitably move a certain distance. I can't move to a certain distance without passing through a certain amount of time. I can't pass through a certain amount of time without moving some distance. In fact, i have an idea, i will move through time just because i decided to, and for that to happen i only need to go over a certain distance, or i may not even need to go, as i move through space all the time anyway. I still can only experience the time in one direction which is dictated by the cause-effect first being cause then effect in my relative perception of reality, but all it takes for me to go backwards is to turn around the cause-effect axis the same way i would turn around in the spacial three-dimensional axis'es. Everything would be exactly the same, just going backwards, and would make perfect sense once you apply a different logical interpretation strategy (with the effect being prior to cause).
Now i turn on the cause-effect axis in such a way that to my right is the cause and to my left is the effect. Time is at a standstill. I can't tell for sure but either i experience just one time-frame or all of them at once, but time no longer plays a part in my perception of reality, in fact now i see that to my right is the past and to my left is the future - it's frames like the one in which i currently am but slightly alternated, only if connected in a sequence they combine into time, but standalone they are like three-dimensional pictures.
I have experienced the world in a way i never had yet, but it still makes complete sense. I need to start removing parts of the logical construct. As i still witness past to the right and future to the left i decide that i can also see the alternative pasts and futures - all of those that intersect the one frame i currently inhabit. Why did i even decide i can do that? Because quantum mechanics told me i can, since according to their principles, universe is both deterministic and random - all effects occur from all possible causes and thus form infinite amount of timeline forks - all of which happen but a single observer feels like he only experiences one.
So i am an observer who turned perpendicularly around the cause-effect axis and decided that he can see what other observers he interconnected with experienced and will experience - them being technically other versions of me that cross paths in this frame. Now, when i say i've decided, you must understand, that even though factually none of this is possible, logically it is, just as much as you don't need to actually perform an action to sort of experience it - when you play a video-game or imagine things. Now, back to my experience of this ultra-reality, it is not very comprehensible, as it is similar to having not just one vision but 3 powered by infinity. I can't take it all in, but all my counterpart versions did come to this time-frame too, after-all. Which means that right here and now there's infinite amount of me, and all-together we can comprehend this mess of infinite pictures, one by one. This is definitely some sort of super-consciousness, made possible by all of us observers realizing that we interconnected from divergent paths in this one frame, which in turn was made possible from us rotating on the cause-effect axis. This is as close as it comes for me experiencing something truly divine. Not factually possible, yet logically experienceable.
Now i have seen it all - the entirety of my personal observable universe - or to be more factually correct - the entirety of my relatively available logic. Being only one of those infinite converging observers, i can't really tell you exactly what it consists of, but if you follow me in my previous steps you will understand it without me having to explain it.
Now only just one thing remains to finally derail - as i see everywhere i could ever see, and still wish to see what i could never see. Just like from that two-dimensional water i jumped into the three-dimensional air above it, i have to jump from whatever this thing i currently am experiencing to somewhere beyond it.
And i actually do so. In a way. I can't see **** here. Or at least, i can't figure out what i see, it makes no sense, it is beyond logic, beyond comprehension. Not even the infinite amount of my brethren can figure it out, it is on a completely different plane of existence, or maybe it even is unexistance, i can't know. It's completely quiet, even though maybe it is actually loud, just that the sound doesn't make any sense to me, so it's the same as if i don't hear anything. I just stare into it which is both nothing and so much everything to me that i almost drown in it. It pretty much ***** my thoughtful entirety into it much like a black-hole, it can't really do it but all my thoughts are attracted to it. It is to me like a great void that probably has lots of stuff inside but i can't possibly ever reach it, so to me it's a void. A void beyond logic, the delirious nonsense itself. I cannot reach it.
I get back from it to my plane of existence and turn around into the normal position on cause-effect axis of my relative reality. I really did it, i found that edge, that border. It's such a strange insight unlike anything else i have ever experienced in my head. I both know and don't know so much more about the universe - i experienced that black hole in my head, the end of the line for the train of logic, that drowns out into the vast void of complete irrationality relative to me. Now i know where and how to find it, and while it's not of any use to me, it brings me both despair and solace.
And did You find your end of the line?
Not a poem but a small personal philosophical absurd "treatise".
wordvango Dec 2014
a treatise on compatibility this is theoretically
presented
by a linguist with limited trigonometry sense
   and since the heart beats and is 360 degrees
I sought out a tangent to measure her with
    or sine to figure out logically
whether we were compatible
             like functionally
on a straight line or tangentially
    perpendicularly
in degree and cosines or measurement mathematically
similar
then found no co-efficient to portray
her smile
fell out of my array
with nothing else
to equal
her.
Ted Scheck Dec 2014
I was driving
And thinking
(Dangerous, I know)
Thinking, hard, fast,
And even, slow;
(Did I slow down)
That is a question
Best answered for
Another poem.
(My driving?
My thinking?)

You distracted me.
I wish you would
Please
Stop doing that.
Sheesh.

I was thinking about
Robbery.
Of the armed persuasion.
Why 'armed' robbery?
Weaponized sounds better.
More exotic.
Forearmed?
Elbowed?
Wrong limb classification.
Handed robbery, unless
Prosthetics are involved.
Hooked robbery?

Unarmed robbery-
(Unhanded? UnHAND, me,
Sir!)
Is that just simple
Theft?
And is a simple
Theft ever really
Simple?
Ah, the philosophy of theft.
I think I want that,
Therefore, I exist,
Because want cannot
Exist on its own.
(Or, maybe: Want
Has pre-existence;
It is VIRTUAL
Minus the virtue-part
Until it becomes…
ACTUAL)

I’ve stolen over
My years.
I’ve taken things
That pretended to belong
To someone else.
They belonged to me
Even less.
Ad Victorum Spoilas
(To the victor, goes the spoils)
Spoiled is right.
I still feel
Residual guilt over
These crimes.
I’ve never witnessed
A violent crime.
Never been in the holdup
Of a middle.
Never seen a man
Wearing a ski mask
Running perpendicularly.
(Why are women never
Mentioned running?
Away from the scenes
Of robbery?)
Heels.
(Men are, I mean)

Stanley Kubrick Scenes
Of Robbery:
The Shining: Uncut
Take 146:
“This time, Jack,
Pretend you're a ballerina
Holding up a
Leotard store.”

I cannot wrap my
Mind around the thought
Fathered by the impulse
Grandfathered by the
Desperation of needing
Wanting
Something so badly you’d
Wager your ability
To wander, to mosey on
Along the boulevard, up
The hill, past the
Graveyard that you only
Remember was the dead
Sleeping a mile past it
In the car with which you
Are legally able to operate.

Hey! I think I’ll grab
This gun, and put bullets
In chambers, and possibly
Hide my face behind
A silly mask, and then,
Possibly, point it at
Bank Tellers?
Pregnant Ladies.
Clowns.
Mimes.
OK, I can see threatening
Mimes.

Besides appearing to
Be the most harmless of
Professionals,
They get paid peanuts.
And they get guns
Stuck in their faces
All the time.
So step 1 goes with
Hitches, glitches galore.
Video surveillance.
Dye-marked money bags.
Security guards lurking.
Dudes with cameras.

So you’ve stolen
The public’s money.
You’re in the getaway
Car, ineptly named,
Because whatever the
Percentage
Of bank robbers who
Free, clear, and cleanly
Get away has to be
Impossibly low.
What do you have, now,
Now that you have
What you risked sharing
A cell with Bubba
To steal?

Sadness. Grief. Guilt.
Stained hands.
Equally stained heart.
(And oh yeah, lots
Of marked/unmarked
Bills)
Do you feel anything
Anything at all?
Having your fun
Stuffing bills into the
Garters and ******* of
Bored strippers?
Buying expensive alcohol
And, later, waking up having
Vomited and voided yourself
In the back of a limo
That has, on top of it,
A giant chicken?

None of us,
Not ONE of us,
Knows the time of
Our demise.
We will be gone
One moment,
And Here before Jesus
The next.
At the Foot of the
Judgment Seat of Christ
Himself. Almighty God.
Quaking, trembling,
Feeling the truest form of
Respectful fear,
Fearful respect.
Shed of our human skin
Our spirits filled with the
Substance from the choices
We omitted and committed.

I know Jesus Christ
As and Is My Savior.
The god of money
(Mammon)
Will not be there
To Judge me.
God has ears, eyes.
He sees, hears.
Every thing.
ALL THINGS.
Little gods are both
Blind and deaf
(If the blind and
Deaf can be said
To exist for non-
Existent things).

Jesus will recognize me
As one of his own.
Satan might be skulking
Around, looking for
Those who chose anyone
Else but Christ as
Savior.
(Like the green cottony
Stuff that many think causes
The world to rotate)

The sweetest words I’ve
Ever dreamt of hearing
I will hear from the
Mouth of the Man who
Created everything
By speaking it aloud.
The ore in the ground
That eventually went into
The gun that I never pointed
At someone else
While taking things
That didn’t belong to me.
The trees that yielded
Some of the paper
(Most of it’s linen)
That was the money
In someone else’s
Account
From the bank I never
Robbed because I was
Too afraid of the
Consequences
Of
Theft.
All estuaries flow eastbound, and the subterranean rail tracks keep forcing against the estuaries’ grain and dust foundations perpendicularly to them.*



How can a sane proposition -- a quantification of syntax execution (those squirming cuticles through bonds of regression)— an excessive reflection, reflexive inspection,

Prove its sanity through continued suggestion?



Deductive insurrections stirred in memory,

A rumble, causing sediments to crumble,

Wineglasses balanced atop countertops tumble.

Spilling contents upon the grained wooden, elitists' floors.



"Anesthetic, onsetting tuberculosis in breath patterns,

Gavels ringing on rigged tolling tongs in caverns,

Dark tolerances to Copernican astronomy in shadows,

And the handle grinds as boxcar wheels' flints and steels catch and spark in addled locks," I mumbled from a half-nap.



It was surgery, the smooth procedures on the moving trains,

The gains and plectrums scraped against the brains' spider veins,

To reorganize the sane, to bridge the broken definitions changed,

To prevent arguments' bone structure from fractures and sprains.



"Use gavels against the scalpels, sculpt with their judgment," a corona dream's habitant corrugated.

He pounded the gavel's end against the knife to chisel at the pituitary gland pulsing in his subject,

And her arms flailed like a horse's legs in heat-induced convulsion.
I thought it was done.



The Canson Merue train screamed in the night under earth to Yellowknife to meet Canadian soil as the Heavy Breather pounded his gavel.
Àŧùl Jan 2015
And then he coincidentally fell on his back,
All were up perpendicularly each of his paws,
They put a nameplate to him,
It was just the word DOG inverted,
People had never seen anything like that,
They tried to assert what happened to him,
Someone said, **"The animal has gone back to GOD, the creator now."
My HP Poem #736
©Atul Kaushal
In between the crevasse, the edges of *******,
Two boldly jutting stingers perpendicularly putting
A slick gripping upon a slim tantalum cigarette,
A discreet bayonette from weapons that should have kept

Their secrets, saved their wars, retained their scores
To themselves, mourned in their shells, sat in the corners of their skin and bone cells,
Weeping through fingernails.

The acid cannot wave between the lips,
Absorbed, contained inside their grips,
Decidedly encased inside like bottled ships
That cannot sail from inside a deafly, deathly speaking slip.

Those circled, muscled sinking feelings
Driven cold by air, the scarab dealings
Flying flus, thus rabid reelings,
Blades cantankerous on wings revealing.

Bottled, at stop, on gums that go.
Bottled razorlings, at stop, on gums that go.
Rip Lazybones Oct 2016
I have remained in silence and solitude for quite some time now. Yesterday, I encountered Pascal for the first time. I was so moved by him that I decided to murmur from the bottom of the well in which I currently reside. The following is just pointless minor thoughts about him and, the most hated form of writing. a haiku or two inspired by Pascal.

#1
Hands over your heart
Belly facing the moonlight
Back riding the tide

#2
Where do I belong
Does gravity have family
We get along fine

#3
When I look out past the moon, the things I see have already occurred. From the opposite point of view, have we already occurred? They told us to prepare for our future when we were growing up. Our time here is quite short, to describe it generously. I like to think that staring into the night sky gives my soul a chance to get a head start.  I hope it isn't considered cheating.

#4
We look up to space
It does not look down on us
But we are noticed

#5
Truth is just a definition. I never took the time to look it up in a dictionary. Every dictionary was originally created by a human. That means somebody was the first to define truth. I think I need to read the table of contents, maybe even the foreword. Who has a signed first edition?

#6
The sea pulls me out
Secrets splash into my  ears
The tide returns me

#7
"One pascal is the pressure exerted by a force of magnitude one newton perpendicularly upon an area of one square metre." He wasn't named after the complicated equation. I doubt he even has a water proof calculator.

#8
My rambling will seem utterly pointless to anyone, but myself. Worst part is that I won't even be able to see these from the stars, but I'll still understand my current self at some point. Maybe we can share perspectives, if you ever find me. Please don't search for me, search for yourself.

#9
No double digits
The silence shall continue
Thank you for living
"Man, the point where the ocean meets the sky. I feel I could swim between the two. I want to swim through space and learn its secrets, but the universe is so heavy with endless knowledge. And knowledge can be a burden on the soul. The more you learn, man, the less you know." - Pascal

"Heroes aren't necessarily the dudes who run into danger, but the dudes who stop you from doing the same." - Pascal

"Don't bottle up your feelings. It's bad for you, man." - Pascal

"Today is totally righteous." - Pascal, everyday
Alan Brown Jun 2016
Navigating his way past screeching taxis,
Unperturbed pedestrians,
And vibrant street performers in the city,
A young boy scurries down the street,
Smiling ear to ear.
He extends his arms perpendicularly to his body,
Propelling his body left and right,
Pretending to be a jet plane.

He is meeting a girl today.
And not just any girl;
An angel.
At least that’s how he sees it.

In his left hand, the boy carries a rose.
Grown from love, it’s dashingly large;
A symbol of his exuberant feelings,
It’s a gift for the girl,
And an invitation to a first date.

In his pocket, the boy carries an iPod shuffle.
Giddy with optimism and bliss,
The boy’s heart skips to a romantic pop song.
He proudly waves his rose through the air as he moves.
Holding it like a microphone,
And not bothered by judgement,
He sings the lyrics to the song aloud.
He’s in love,
And he wants the whole world to know.

As he scuttles ever closer to their arranged meeting place,
The boy grips the rose tighter now,
Guarding it with his life.
He sinks into a daydream,
Thinking about her:
The way the sun amplified her splendid complexion,
The satisfying fluidity with which she would say his name,
And how she giggled as he pushed her back and forth on the swings.

Nearly out of breath, the boy arrives at the street corner.
He spots the girl immediately,
And a thrilling tension condenses in his chest.
The girl bestows him a smile,
But she looks agitated and in a hurry.
Unable to contain himself much longer,
The boy extends the rose out her,
Revealing to her not only the gift, but also his feelings.

“No thank you,” she says lucidly.

The boy’s smile fades and his cheeks turns pallid.
Though in a state of disbelief,
He accepts her verdict with civility.
The girl offers genuine condolences, but shows no signs of regret.
Covertly, the boy holds back his emotions and bids her farewell.
But as he walks away, he’s overcome by an unfamiliar, rankling feeling,
And his heart plummets like a raindrop falling from the sky.

As he wrestles with his grief,
The boy begins to weep and loses grasp of the rose.
It tumbles out of his hand,
Only to be violently stolen by the wind,
Sullied by the filth of the sidewalk,
And trampled by people passing by.
Pieces of the night fly through the air;
And dawn on me did the dry morning;
A flaccid one with no creative fair
And, in that noise, I found myself drowning.

Where is my love and his madness young;
For all he thinks of has been lost long;
My ******'s soul has been provoked
So I must **** to relieve the shock.

With these vitriolic beasts by my side,
I can laugh but with a millstone heart;
And see them with a rancorous sight
In search of the poems t'at were burnt apart.

With the brutal sun upon my hair;
I can but think of drowning somewhere;
T'at some scorching fire shall eat of my remains;
I want not to live, nor t' be seen again.

Like a ghastly shadow, growing and fleeting and fading;
Like a curse t'at blows through my head;
Like there is stay no more, but escape
Like there is love no more, but ****.

Like there is life no more, but death;
Like there is hope no more, but grief;
Like life within the trolley of silence
Like joy within the cold arms of abstinence.

Like cries encompassed by withered tears;
Like a true love that has to crawl through sorry fears.
Like a ****** by that one insisting charm of thee;
Like the loveliness thou awakened within me.

Like a piece of letter so warm as poetry;
Like its magnificent sight, that is fuller than I am.
Like a snowfall whose beauty never dies;
Like the conceited sun, who shuts down in its own lies.

Like tears that have been too much;
And the delight that was once too brief.
Like my languid soul, feeling too short of breath;
Like a dead tree, not too content in its death.

Like summertime's egregious armour;
Who favours evil and amorous glamour;
I have always hated the sun, I truly have;
I detest it for its futile destiny and mirth.

I have always hated the sun's offspring;
For they are perpendicularly singing;
A song that my heart wants not to hear
A haughty melody I never wrote.

I have always hated its dull crimson lights;
And the yellow codes in its circles;
And so I'll never allow it into my heart
In life and in death, united or apart.

Like the heavens' bountiful delight;
I shall wait for thee in thy wise daylight;
I shall come again, I shall come back
I shall step up from t'is wretched wreck.

I shall return to my immortality;
Like t'ose in my dearest tales and poetry;
In the beauty of old stories told;
I am a creature of the night and cold.

But not that of the morning and sun;
All is folly by the sickly moon;
Pampered just like their sickly wordlings;
Evil in their mouths and wrongdoings.

To them there is no sleep between life and death;
Nor there is peace in their realms of slumber;
And their rivalry, which ends at their tombs
Among those who have retreated, back home.

Where is my lover now? My dreams are bad;
And so is my saddening soliloquy;
For it tells not of my solitary silence
I would want not to see it in person.

Where is my lover now? My dreams are mad;
There is no meaning within all these songs;
For my story lies just in thee
'Tis crying out not to them, not anymore;

Where is my lover now? My dreams are sad;
They could but here my hoarse voice;
T'is world is but vileness and evils
And the real me is not here, but there.

Where is my lover now? I am dreaming too late;
But that my heart shan't cry any more;
There are, though, more dancing legs on the moors
And so my gardens are by thy frozen doors.

I am trapped, but not afraid that it shall last;
For the ice and snow shall come to free me;
I left my sunny past and shall leave again
To meet you again in thy most beautiful seasons.

Below me, there is yet a tower fat and small;
But stands not in it a quiet reading hall;
Whose soul says as many lies as the emeralds
With such immeasurable words but false.

As my love for thee is the one wild reason;
For me to wait for the fall season;
In which the pink buds shall again turn grey
Like the love I've felt again for thee, today.

As my love for thee is the foolish sin;
For me to wait while 'tis not seen;
Where I but glimpse just the sunny leaves
That breathes not so long as poetry lives;

As my love for thee is the maddest thought;
For me to wait whilst there is no hope;
That I feel still, when my heart is broken
That I long still, when no love is given;

As my love for thee is the breakthrough;
For me to seek when I shan't see through
To long for fall where all is green
To dream of a far visage, unseen;

As my love for thee is immortal;
For 'tis love is as undead as you are;
And I love thee in each wind and breath
Just like I'll love thee in life and death.
wordvango Dec 2014
from a single voice I breathe
symmetrical and perpendicularly
when
from me, two lines meet, and I diametrically oppose
myself, interpret lines as flares or
fires, get eyes of worry
fuzzy visions, I stare,
into a mirror and stare back at me.
Such is the mirror of a tomorrow
That makes now’s theft no more than a borrow.
Myriad borrows without reflection
Gybe the sailor’s course beyond correction.
Sailing on the waves of a reworking.
Reinforcing winter’s wind’s inflection
To fill the world with a dire infection.
Yesterday left to cruel sorrow.
Winter prevails for tomorrow.

The fallen guide the vacuous minded.
They follow to their destiny of dead.
In eternity of eternal sleep
Blind to the reward they shall never reap.
Perpendicularly prevailing for
Fighting back with righteousness they shall keep
Until victorious they take the leap
To the promise that has been read
By those remaining sound minded.

Such was the mirror of that yesterday
That cleans the slate thereafter, ev’ryday.
Their dirges sound hollow when spring is here.
They’ll never return lest we forget fear.
We learn to reflect the heart of the all.
No more need we shed a single sad tear
For this, it is written, he will forswear.
Embrace love for there’s no other way,
As it will prevail forever and a day.
New sonnet rhyme scheme called the ‘Reflective Sonnet’ by Tom Lock, used for subjects involving self reflection, retrospection, and/or contrasts from one day (or time) to the next.

The meter can denote hopelessness or inevitable failure and is to reinforce the slightly uncomfortable read brought about by the last two lines curtailing the expected continuation of the perfect symmetry thus far. The fifth line behaves as the mirror reflecting the AA BB as BB AA. The last 2 line’s missing syllables create an air of malice as though the mirror is manipulating the truth.

Rhyme Scheme- A   A,    B  B,    C,    B  B,   AA
Meter- 10 10,  10 10,  10,  10 10,  8 8

The meter for the final stanza’s last line is longer than those previous to communicate infinitive perpetuation.

Final stanza - A   A,      B  B,   C,   B   B    A  A
10 10     10 10  10   10 10   10 11
JJ Hutton May 2019
You clawed your way past death
and clipped your fingernails in
that living room of overwhelming beige.
There were two couches that intersected
perpendicularly at the arms,
one for you, one for me.
With the sunlight scattering
through the blinds, we talked
less to each other and more to
the television. In an effort
to get enough sleep before work,
we'd retire to the bedroom.
Our legs would intertwine. Licorice vines.
I'd pleasure myself. You'd pleasure
yourself. I'd sneak your collar bone
a kiss and bury my sweating forehead
in the crook of your neck. Am I soft
enough for you? you'd say.
Time moved in such a labored way,
as each stained the other in an attempt
to stake a claim.
Stay awhile, I'd respond.
If you don't mind, stay awake a little longer.
Robert Gaddy Jr Jan 2016
I want to destroy what makes her beautiful
I want to dismantle the glaring features that make her superior
Her perfect symmetry that makes it ridiculous to concentrate on anything but her

Its torture

As she slowly picks up her water to drink
I envision her drowning in that cup of life

Irony that is just

Perpendicularly, She smiles and flicks her hair back
You smug *****
You idiotic Troll
Thank God My thoughts are not seen

I wake with this
I sleep with this
I bathe with this
I fight with this
I cry with this
I scar with this
I breathe with this

I do not regret many things

But She.

She

is one.
sandra wyllie Sep 2021
the size of the kitchen sink. Now I trudge
with every step instead of smoothly slink. Bending
from the weight pushing down on me I can’t see
straight. I see perpendicularly. It makes my gait

wobbly. So exhausted I can't sleep.  Every turn
I take the boulder barrels as a jeep, leaving tracks
upon my sheets. Run over by black lies and
used to bes I weep blood-soaked drops hard as

lollipops that break my teeth. The sun's a nun
that has to preach.  But this boulder only smolders
making me vexatious to reach. The landslide that is I
has blocked every street. This mountain has crumbled

at my feet. Today the streetcleaners sweep up
the rubble. How did this chip grow into a boulder? Or is
that I'm older I sunk in the debris?
Falguni Sudan May 2018
The bright of the burning sun
shoving itself perpendicularly on her wheat coloured complexion;
with the pitch black spot that she has right upon her cheek, the colour glimmered like fresh brass.
Jasmine new garnered, sailed at the waves of her black curls.
The sun so wild on her way made perfect amalgamation of colours in her long wavy hair, black and copper and brown and tin, every shade mixed with the other.
Her deep brown eyes which never seemed so brown, now seemed an example of exquisite beauty, the pupil shimmering against the shine of the sun, it looked amazing.
Her small pendulous lips, consisting the colour of dark pink and the tint of smoky black mixed with reddish wine at the edges, flamed up in the sun.
Her incomplete eyebrows, her messy eyelashes...
oh. how wonderful she looked. ✨
Thankyou so much for reading : ))
My terrifyingly-terrifical reality warps under therapies psychiatrical
& psychedelical like no Atlantic tuna fisherman's scale pentatonical
upon oceanically-flat, perpendicularly-level sea planes capitalistical
while birds fly lower in an arid-zoned Arizona that's deterministical
& esoterical as men push thumbs up girly ***** for hikes strategical
after circle jerking to shows that're less proctological than athletical
but rarely & lamely ever, hungrily-raunchily-anorexically bulimical
I fork pitches into threshed alfalfa hay bales like I am pyromaniacal
and susceptibly prone to no ills local nor core diseases xenotropical
Hey largish woman, let us fish for warm regards at Cold *** Harbor before our freshest blue turds are totally stolen by a bold **** robber whose pushers are burned crack hoes with clap & an old **** jobber
fishing for the corpses of Frisco floaters with a *****-slotted bobber
off the Golden Gate where gag-happy girls have sold spit as slobber
while each ***** pukes peat & tosses penicillin as a mold-pit lobber
on leave from a Georgia chain-gang as a queer, unshod clod hopper twice demoted from flat-ball spotter to broken Hoboken hobnobber
who, like Hillary, survives on gray, vomited Hoboken squat cobbler
in gay museums & ***** ***** houses as a snot-clobbered shopper
resigned to tease, displease & nonviolently seize Herr Alvin Toffler
Pay more at Mary Tyler Moore's fish store on the floor of the shore,
with Al Gore on his global-warmin' tour to make wealthy men poor
Against merry christmas premature blowout,
(or otherwise) ******* galore burnout,
hence I feel like the odd man out
neither yours truly, nor the missus
spends money and/or
time at checkout

avoid madding crowds like the plague
elbowing, hustling, jostling,
pushing, racing, shoving...
seconds before blue
light special closeout,
though neither of us

reformed practicing Jews, nor devout
mass consumerism capitalistic fallout,
we steer clear taking refuge within
our underground (arched)
all in the family bunker hideout
remain hermetically sealed

courtesy NASA tested grout
hunkering inside spatially
roomy subterranean getaway
created viz 3d printing
immediately after rollout
ready to take nesty plunge

steeply, perpendicularly, giddily... south
to go down rabbit hole,
where we carouse, cavort,
thermally heated cavernous redoubt
reaping efforts after donning
(MAGA) hardhats constructing roustabout,

whereby protruding innocuous periscope
allows, enables, and provides
mean ways to scout,
since Marshall Mathers Law
declared, mandated trumpeted
courtesy special ops stakeout

regarding our subversive
passive actions hashtagged illegal
if perchance discovered vis a vis,
we Americans express timeout
before changing role as seekers
playing wargames no matter

suddenly Nor'easter creates whiteout
futile search until spring thaw
melting snow exhumes
mister and missus Santa Claus
thank you climate change
regarding attributed drought.
✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪
My terrifyingly-terrifical reality warps under therapies psychiatrical
& psychedelical like no Atlantic tuna fisherman's scale pentatonical
upon oceanically-flat, perpendicularly-level sea planes capitalistical
while birds fly lower in an arid-zoned Arizona that's deterministical
& esoterical as men push thumbs up girly ***** for hikes strategical
after circle jerking to shows that're less proctological than athletical
but rarely & lamely ever, hungrily-raunchily-anorexically bulimical
I fork pitches into threshed alfalfa hay bales like I am pyromaniacal
and susceptibly prone to no ills local nor core diseases xenotropical
Hey largish woman, let us fish for warm regards at Cold *** Harbor
before our freshest blue turds are totally stolen by a bold **** robber
whose pushers are burned crack hoes with clap & an old **** jobber
fishing for the corpses of Frisco floaters with a *****-slotted bobber
off the Golden Gate where gag-happy girls have sold spit as slobber
while each ***** pukes peat & tosses penicillin as a mold-pit lobber
on leave from a Georgia chain-gang as a queer, unshod clod hopper
twice demoted from flat-ball spotter to broken Hoboken hobnobber
who, like Hillary, survives on gray, vomited Hoboken squat cobbler
in gay museums & ***** ***** houses as a snot-clobbered shopper
resigned to tease, displease & nonviolently seize Herr Alvin Toffler
Pay more at Mary Tyler Moore's fish store on the floor of the shore,
with Al Gore on his "global"-warmin' tour to make wealthy men poor
I don't puke anymore like I used to once in awhile never always did
'cause I gave up stinking diarrhea-sponsored rotten octopus & squid
that I inhaled like ******* on reduced food stamps when I was a kid
thrilling to vicious Johnny Rotten caterwauling over the bass of Sid
long before biddin' on the corpse of Jimmy Carter with a sealed bid
that I put under my fat folds where the fatty **** was that I often hid
so cops couldn't cop 4 fingers of ganjah rope that made for 1 *** lid
before I ride a homosexy unicorn that ain't by no *** queen been rid
Never have I wanted to scoop up the reekin' **** of an ill, zoo rhino
while I'm happy I wasn't born an easily-sun-burnt, pink-eyed albino
or a back-alley ***** in love with a stinking, Hillary-screwin' wino
whose drunken state makes him reply to cake, "Yes" & to pie, "No"
whilst he pees on California droughted pines from pine A to pine O
Look at me, I'm half stupid from being unlooped so long from here,
like someone unable to revive dead Sonny or disengage harlot Cher
from her lezzy-*** intrigues that Salvatore & Gregory couldn't bear
at the grimy Pittsburgh ****** for which sickly Cher did not prepare
for oozin' vaginal rifts that her gynecologist had to surgically repair
upon oceanically-flat, perpendicularly-level sea planes capitalistical
while birds fly lower in an arid-zoned Arizona that's deterministical
& esoterical as men push thumbs up girly ***** for hikes strategical
after circle jerking to shows that're less proctological than athletical
but rarely & lamely ever, hungrily-raunchily-anorexically bulimical
I fork pitches into threshed alfalfa hay bales like I am pyromaniacal
and susceptibly prone to no ills local nor core diseases xenotropical
Hey largish woman, let us fish for warm regards at Cold *** Harbor before our freshest blue turds are totally stolen by a bold **** robber whose pushers are burned crack hoes with clap & an old **** jobber
fishing for the corpses of Frisco floaters with a *****-slotted bobber
off the Golden Gate where gag-happy girls have sold spit as slobber
while each ***** pukes peat & tosses penicillin as a mold-pit lobber
on leave from a Georgia chain-gang as a queer, unshod clod hopper twice demoted from flat-ball spotter to broken Hoboken hobnobber
who, like Hillary, survives on gray, vomited Hoboken squat cobbler
in gay museums & ***** ***** houses as a snot-clobbered shopper
resigned to tease, displease & nonviolently seize Herr Alvin Toffler
Pay more at Mary Tyler Moore's fish store on the floor of the shore,
with Al Gore on his global-warmin' tour to make wealthy men poor
sandra wyllie Jan 2020
in my corner is
my corner, apart from
me. There are no windows,
only two walls that connect
perpendicularly.

The only one
by my side is
my side. I’ve four –
a left and a right
a front and a back.
No matter what
they seem to clash.

— The End —