"primitivism" poems - Hello Poetry

This wilderness, I aimlessly wander through. A deep breath The air, it holds a tangible primitivism I follow a beated path along the brook As it guides my directionless saunter Stillness of mind and habitat coalesce. Dragonflies dance with my eyes As I ponder their surreal spirits Loneliness is liberated from every definition Identity is lost in the harmonies of every root and leaf and songbird Begone to all the names and labels, Now It comes in the abstract waves of shades and colors, Now This wilderness, One organic tellurian phantasmagoria. This wilderness, A warm ablution for the cold comfort of my reality As it humbly sits Just beyond my backyard picket fence Waiting.

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Jun 30, 2014

Jun 30, 2014 at 7:41 PM UTC

AtlasGruene

This wilderness,

This wilderness, I aimlessly wander through. A deep breath The air, it holds a tangible primitivism I follow a beated path along the brook As it guides my directionless saunter Stillness of mind and habitat coalesce. Dragonflies dance with my eyes As I ponder their surreal spirits Loneliness is liberated from every definition Identity is lost in the harmonies of every root and leaf and songbird Begone to all the names and labels, Now It comes in the abstract waves of shades and colors, Now This wilderness, One organic tellurian phantasmagoria. This wilderness, A warm ablution for the cold comfort of my reality As it humbly sits Just beyond my backyard picket fence Waiting.

22

You want a country to return to the past? You won't get it. What you will get is debris and mounds of earth soaked in blood and tears. You want a free country? You will get a country ensnared by primitivism and gory shades of belief the wind and rains, smell of blood and medicines. In Hospital. You want a country to speak of secularism? You will get benightedness and worrying things like high blood pressure and heart attack. Bury the wind, the smells and sounds. Bury the hiatus- fugitive truth. Break utterances, break the truth shackle the mortal spirit. Please.

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Oct 19, 2015

Oct 19, 2015 at 6:41 AM UTC

ananya-s-guha

Shackle The Mortal Spirit...

You want a country to return to the past? You won't get it. What you will get is debris and mounds of earth soaked in blood and tears. You want a free country? You will get a country ensnared by primitivism and gory shades of belief the wind and rains, smell of blood and medicines. In Hospital. You want a country to speak of secularism? You will get benightedness and worrying things like high blood pressure and heart attack. Bury the wind, the smells and sounds. Bury the hiatus- fugitive truth. Break utterances, break the truth shackle the mortal spirit. Please.

17

You lead a life which happens to be fallacious You live inside your head and happen to never travel far from it In fact, you praise the open road and travel, still you sit relapsing on obscure memories that only ever bring you to the borders of insanity No one could have dreamed this up but yourself The world continues to rival and thrive and wallow and rise from malign characters and sensibilities Or that so you think All you ever happen to do is not much but Drive your self dry in misprinted thoughts and distract yourself from the evidential truth Post-parched, you continue to further down a path which is only going to crackdown upon your world of disinfected affairs Soon, will the sooted streets that chafed your unworn boots collude And all that was ever known, even if it was but the faintest of an understanding as to how this time in space truly functions, Will soon perish in sanctuary Soon will contemporaries all alike Recede with tides anew Soon will it onset the primitivism Locked behind plywood doors Soon will you know unfortunate Tribulations beyond recovery Soon will you be segregated from Yourself, indeed Indefinite suspension will bestow a harrowing animation that will find Itself repeating until you finally cross the aforementioned border without any luck Of returning home to the sheer bliss that Was only good to you in youth Fair enough in the last years adolescence But unforgiving come the dawn of manhood And soon on

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Aug 9, 2017

Aug 9, 2017 at 6:56 AM UTC

lucca-roberto

Idenfinite Suspension

You lead a life which happens to be fallacious You live inside your head and happen to never travel far from it In fact, you praise the open road and travel, still you sit relapsing on obscure memories that only ever bring you to the borders of insanity No one could have dreamed this up but yourself The world continues to rival and thrive and wallow and rise from malign characters and sensibilities Or that so you think All you ever happen to do is not much but Drive your self dry in misprinted thoughts and distract yourself from the evidential truth Post-parched, you continue to further down a path which is only going to crackdown upon your world of disinfected affairs Soon, will the sooted streets that chafed your unworn boots collude And all that was ever known, even if it was but the faintest of an understanding as to how this time in space truly functions, Will soon perish in sanctuary Soon will contemporaries all alike Recede with tides anew Soon will it onset the primitivism Locked behind plywood doors Soon will you know unfortunate Tribulations beyond recovery Soon will you be segregated from Yourself, indeed Indefinite suspension will bestow a harrowing animation that will find Itself repeating until you finally cross the aforementioned border without any luck Of returning home to the sheer bliss that Was only good to you in youth Fair enough in the last years adolescence But unforgiving come the dawn of manhood And soon on

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