"profanities" poems
Born into a world of deception,
Embraced in a life of abuse,
Tormented by a state of abandonment,
Betrayed by parents of youth.
Destroyed by words of profanities,
Tortured without excuse,
Alone in a house of misery:
Torn, battered, and confused.
Compelled to a life of insignificance
With their endeavors never seen,
Their family — a false reality,
Alone with only their dreams.
Assaulted with no explanation
By parents who destroy with their hands;
A child bruised and broken
Can only dream of oceans and sands.
Alone in a world with no one,
Their voice never heard nor seen,
Locked in a room of obscurities,
Waiting for death to set them free.
Violence speaks to this child
With no escape to be seen.
Alone in this house of tragedy:
Withdrawn, suicidal, and unseen.
© 2020, K. Saitta
Nov 11, 2020
Nov 11, 2020 at 4:01 PM UTC
When he left my mother told me something.
She said it's okay and this will pass
He's nothing compared to you
But as I laid there
On my bedroom floor
In the room where he claimed me
Where little girl dreams were shattered
I didn't believe her
Instead I screamed about how I hated life
How he left me like dust on my fingertips
Like the ash of my burned down home
Two weeks later and I'm a shell
Of who I was
Of who I am
Of who I'll ever be
My ribs poked out like piano keys
Just waiting to be played
And my collar bones
Oh they were waiting like glasses
Glasses expecting hard liquor
That I of course drowned myself in
The day her name left his lips
I was done for
I wanted to become nothing but earth and essence.
But my best friend cradled me
She promised I would find love again
That this hurt, no matter how bad it is,
Will only be temporary
I didn't believe her
So I rebelled against them all
It was only me
4 months later and I'm sitting in the car
My best friend sits beside me
I'm genuinely laughing
And she looks proud
Then she tells me how he's talking about me.
From my big black boots
My infatuation with peaches
To how I harbor guitar pics on every inch of my body.
I relapse into him immediately
I wanted him so bad
6 and a half months later and he tells my best friend
That he hates me
My name swims out of his mouth on a raft of profanities.
But it didn't hurt as much as I thought
I think I grew
Little by little I became the new girl
The one that writes again and breathes the air a little deeper than the others.
6 and half months plus 3 days
I caress my fingers over my body
The shower beats down on me
"I want to be your friend" I whisper to myself.
He was nothing but a thunderstorm
But I am more than he
I am the sun
The moon
The stars
I am the heavens
I am the thing everyone revels in
And I made it through hell and back
And now I can finally say goodbye
Dec 4, 2017
Dec 4, 2017 at 11:15 AM UTC
—for Mariel
She sells 2 sole paltas beside street
vendors who whistle at crop-top-clad girls,
spewing profanities complete
with broken English. She has four girls
hungry at home. They dream of science, stars,
constellations that spiral and sparr
with particles that make us what we are —
interrupted by howling dogs, the 5
AM tamale man, and stray **** crows.
Amid dust-clouds of Zona D, the sun arrives
over the peak Luis claims once exposed
his innocent eyes to an angel: one
tale of faith raised on culture come undone
presently. Poet Andrea Gibson
writes, “I said to the sun, ‘Tell me about
the Big Bang.’ And the sun said, ‘it hurts to
become.’” At dusk, Mariel takes a Combi out
sixteen stops from Quince, up 302
steps to a turquoise shack and a red rose
garden, and plants avocado seeds at her toes.
Poco a poco, se anda lejos.
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 10:59 PM UTC
A head, gnashing and screaming
Forgiving my unknown hospitality
Pretty is weakening
I'm a fatality deemed
Obnoxious is my scene
The mocking and mimicking comes easy for me
No secret, I envy the earth's energy
Depressed, sitting in my fancy dress
Shoving and tugging with desirable credibility
I ravish my personality
Amused?
As I show my tender meat bleeding
Kissing, authentic generosity
A bit suggestive
Confidence in deranged descriptions making others nervous
Excuse me, I must leave my head is blistering,
Popping,
Gushing and oozing profanities
Dented durability, consume me
I love the fact I'm lacking
Becoming one with the barbaric queen
May 28, 2016
May 28, 2016 at 1:06 AM UTC
Trying my best to do a job
And follow rules set in place
And peoples attitude
And entitled egos im supposed to just take
Because hey
“The Customer Is Always Right”
To give service with a smile
Even to the one screaming profanities
To reward bad behaviour
And give in to such insanity
But hey
“The Customer Is Always Right”
To be nice to the creeps
That come in every week
I already told you
The answer is no!
So please leave me alone
But hey
“The Customer is Always Right”
What happened to honor?
Dignity and Respect?
I’m horrified at the lack there of
I know im not the only one
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 3:01 AM UTC
Baby Panda
You called me
A pussy-bitch
When you woke
And I smiled
In response
Baby Panda
When eating
Fruity pebbles
With almond milk
You croaked like
A frog, croak
Over 20 times
And got up
To spit in the sink
Excessive saliva
In between
Each bite
I asked you why
You croak
wha?
I smiled
And say
Never mind
Baby Panda
You ran to me
Sobbing as if
The world was ending
My socks!!!
No more clean
**** I forgot
To dry them
You pace
Uncomfortable
As you're forced
To go barefoot
*Feet ****
For longer
Than an hour
Baby Panda
I return to
You're stash
Of a room
And picking up
Your pajamas
I smell an
Accident
Of both sorts
Soiling your
Clothes
sorry
Red faced you enter
I smile and
Remind you
To let me know
Next time
And not to
Throw it on the
Wooden floor
Baby Panda
Socks on smooth
Shoes tied with
Quadrupled knots
You head to your
Room, radio blasting
Some radio talk
Station about comedy
Until 8:21 rolls around
And you run
Like a bullet
To the bus outside
Our house
I smile as you yell
BUS IS HERE
No matter what room
I'm in
Baby Panda
I worry for you
The second you walk
Out the door
Because you have such
Big, terrifying emotions
Yet a small filter
On your words, thoughts
Of your own body
Despite the fact
That you're turning
Into a real teen
Before the summers end
Baby Panda
I wish I could help
In ways I cannot
I can't read your mind
Though you think
I should
Know how by now
I can't make socks magically
Not hurt, or have people
Not get ******
When you randomly shout
Profanities
When your last conversation
Was regarding food
And I can't
Stop the madness that
Overtakes your body
Every time you get ill
Physically, mentally
But Baby Panda
I love you now
And always will
Feb 8, 2018
Feb 8, 2018 at 12:07 AM UTC
The empty air has a bitter tone
When it bites at my fingers
And yells profanities in an unrecognizable tongue.
It stings when it sings.
It has an aberrant gait
And a detached mien,
This lack-of being.
The tempest’s strides jounce its overly-wide shoulders;
Its prominent brow sends an antagonistic shadow
Cascading down its lip and jaw.
This active silence whispers age-old secrets
Its fingers tousling the amber leaves
Of my autumn’s long-dead trees.
The sound resonates,
And this taunting, all-knowing,
Omnipresent, nonexistent-but-still-there wind
Smiles at my naïveté.
Weary under the weight of the world
And the smog of self-importance.
Its eyes are clouded with grey rain,
Its teeth sharp with a bitter resentment;
“I’ve disliked you since the 1700s,” it breathes,
Throwing an airy, acrid gaze at humanity.
(“I’m sorry, but it is you who made me this way,
With your scornful industrialization.”)
Its eyes are frigid, piercing,
Wicked, yet reserved.
Cruel in their taunting assumptions,
Yet,
In those forget-me-not eyes
I found the sky.
May 8, 2010
May 8, 2010 at 5:36 PM UTC
WARNING
*Extreme use of profanities
and Gods engaged in an **** of lust
Apology in advance for any offence caused*
SL
At Freyja's Table
******* Gods everywhere
******* here
And ******* there
They ******* **** and ******* ****
Some ******* clean
Some ******* muck
They **** in heaven
And in **** in hell
Cupids got them
under his ******* spell
With ******* arrows
in their ******* hearts
******* priests
******* tarts
******* freaky super powers
******* torrential golden showers
The ******* sparks
******* fly
******* ****** in their eyes
******* Eris causing troubles
******* Bacchus blowing bubbles
******* Sif is ******* Thor
More and more
On the ******* floor
******* Gods everywhere
Tied up with their golden hair
Freyja clears her ******* table
Grabs any God that she's able
And ***** and *****
And licks and *****
******* breathless
Who ******* cares
******* Gods are everywhere
Discarded robes
that lay beneath
******* horns
and clenching teeth
They ******* ***
They ******* squirt
They *** again
Until they hurt
Steaming bodies
Sweaty hair
******* Gods are everywhere
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 11:11 AM UTC
How strangely coincidental,
it is, how nothing inspires you
with age,
that a shy, withered leaf parting sedentary waters,
is dewy-eyed dead yet unconsciously graceful;
such profanities of nature,
no longer expands your soul
like a burgeoning bubble which whisks you to write
carelessly-composed poetry over forgotten dinner plates....
it's a tragic symphony of desperate piano keys,
a blurring condition of blacks and whites,
age, and nothing but overused, age, is.
And so on lonely train journeys,
you craft a smattering of shorthand poems,
about how crackled, aged people on trains only have capacities
for whimsical jokes,
and nothing but dear,
dear whimsicality as life's
gilded philosophy,
when their bodies are no longer covered with
magic leaflets of hand-strung poetry,
for they are barren,
and if gods were gods of stanzaic hymns,
they'd open bloodless wombs of literary nymphs,
or so boldly believed,
the aged once-artist say.
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 9:25 AM UTC
**** them all
I'll wear what I want and my nose ring too
that principal ***** is scared of me anyway
she looks every direction except mine
I try to walk near her in the hall
so she'll see I've busted the dress code
she's good at getting really engrossed in a conversation when I'm near
like the waitress at Applebys that looks right through me when I wanna order
people are so good at looking right through you it's scary
I can't look through anything
I see it all
I see my footprints on the sidewalk
fuckin' followin' me
I see fuckin' atoms splitting
I see all the colors of light in the air
but sometimes I just see black
I go to fancy department stores
just to pull out clothes and let 'em drop
nobody fuckin' looks at me
except they're wondering if they'll have to call the police
maybe someday they'll have to call the police
then they'll see me
maybe for the first and last time
**** them all
sometimes I walk behind someone and grunt at 'em
I giggle when it scares 'em
but they always step aside and don't look at me
I just keep walking with those footsteps followin' me
and those colors turned to black in my eyes
I do like the **** who knocked me down that time
instead of steppin' aside
I like him fine
at least he saw me
at least he looked at me when he punched me
even if he did give me a nosebleed
and I lost my ring
tore it right out of my left nostril
and now there's a fuckin' scar
the janitor bandaged it up for me so I could go to class
I love that janitor dude
he's fuckin' awesome
he gives us *** and has a black cape hangin' on his wall
we can put on if we're in that kinda mood
it feels good to wear that cape
like Captain Fuckin' Invisible
sometimes it takes the black away
sometimes the *** brings the colors back
I'd rather skip class and smoke *** with the janitor
but we're reading The Metamorphosis
now that's a fuckin' great book
a fuckin' nobody who becomes a monstrous vermin overnight
nobody's gonna forget that that's for sure
I wonder if Kafka locked himself in his room
like I do
I could turn into an insect and no one would know
since they don't look at me
well if they do look they don't see me anyway
I guess I am a vermin to them
the principal who doesn't wanna see me
and my sister who pretends she doesn't know me at school
and even my mom who only looks at me
to make sure I'm not wearing profanities on my shirt
**** that
fuckin' big huge vermin fuckin' creepin' up behind you and grunting
and nobody even sees it comin'
that's a giggle right there
nobody sees it comin'
'cause nobody sees me
nobody sees me at all
Dec 17, 2012
Dec 17, 2012 at 4:06 PM UTC
**** you
It sounds so bitter coming from a mothers mouth
If I have a daughter I will only tell her sweet nothings about how wonderful she is, how beautiful she is and I will never spew the profanities that you've shouted at me because I want her confidence to be as high as the skyscrapers that just skim the clouds so she knows that nothing is the limit
Darling, I will tell her, if someone thinks you're too big for them then they obviously don't have the equipment for the job anyway instead of tagging along on a shopping spree where the only thing I tell her is how that top brings out her belly rolls and how that skirt shows her love handles, I will handle her with all the love I have
I will promise her that I will never say I told you so especially when her first love cheats on her and she comes to me in tears wanting nothing but a hug, I will supply the chocolates, the rom-coms and teach her that the only men you need in life are Ben & Jerry
If I have a daughter, I will never compare her to her brother, I will never brag about only one of them to people I meet on the street, I will never tell her that she should be more like him because he's perfect at everything she's not without even trying...I will tell her she's good at everything I will say she's the best at having the worst coordination, like her mother, I will tell her she's the best at being who she is, I will tell her she is the best at stealing my heart away every time I look at her
So thank you Mom...for teaching me what not to do, for showing me how to break down your daughters confidence, thank you for teaching me what a hypocrite is, thank you for all the 'I told you sos' and thank you...for teaching me how to be a mother
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 11:32 PM UTC
The subtle words spoken were not subtle..
The soft touch was not very soft..
****** profanities never heard?
Yet I climb this mountain under your river
I dive from the loudest intersection
into a reality pictured only by you..
Feb 11, 2012
Feb 11, 2012 at 2:59 AM UTC
I cannot be seen with a pear.
Not in this environment.
Where opinions torment
And my affections lay dormant.
My view of you is tainted
What was once reasonable restraint
Is now repulsion and complaint.
I am sorry, dear friend.
But I cannot stand the sight of you.
I wince at the thought of what we used to do.
No more Frank. No more Dean
I want my memory wiped clean.
I cringed when I remember the times you touched me.
The smack of lips is the worst.
From my mouth profanities burst.
It is a shame to think that of my first.
It was pleasant at the time.
But I have to draw a line.
Now I bare the burden of these visions in my mind.
Your smell still lingers.
That stupid ring on your finger.
No wonder we were terrible swingers.
I can bare to text.
but I refuse to sit next to you.
I am sorry to say
Away from me you must stay.
I don't want to see you anyway.
I could never be seen with a pear.
Because I'm superficial and I care
About what people think.
No, it's not fair.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 2:42 AM UTC
You hold me close as I cry
Telling me that this may be my first heartbreak
But it won't last forever
I think back to the constant arguments
Complete with screaming, lies, and name calling
But these are not the names that flew around the playground
No these are much worse: selfish, irrelevant, useless
There were no profanities but they weren't necessary
You got your point across just fine
Telling me that my feelings didn't matter, this was about you
But I'm the selfish one right?
And you do so much for me how dare I not show my appreciation
You say that you deserve respect from me
But I lost that several verbal beatings ago
This is not the abuse that people give you pity for
But I wouldn't want that, you thought I was already looking for pity
I threatened to leave and you threatened your hurt feelings
And every time I walked away
You somehow drew me back with your 'love'
So I looked you in the eyes and said
'He wasn't the first person I loved and thought loved me too.
Because, dad, my first heartbreak was you."
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 10:37 PM UTC
there are holes in my body where i was pinned to the stars
my voice cries out to eternity
begging for silence
don't tell me i'm overreacting
when my eyes are bloodshot and blackened
when i'm clutching my knees as i shake
screaming profanities and nonsense and numbers
and how dearly my soul misses the galaxies it's travelled
when i'm begging for peace
whilst waging a war against the dissonance of my thoughts
don't tell me i'm overreacting
when fever dreams are my only escape
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 12:29 AM UTC
The absorbent two-ply quilted southern sky
was soaking up the pre-dawn rays
as we were pushing our broken green four-wheeled machine
southbound on Bruce B. Downs
taking up the curbside lane
Our shirts were becoming stained with humid profanities
despite the fan blade traffic throwing a slight breeze
We were slurping brackish blacktop steam from the air
plodding like the Hillsborough toward our destination
My mind was already sauntering back toward a broken green futon
sitting in the section-eight, eviction evaded, apartment
Out the window cross-bred ducks were lording over
scrawny, pseudo-feral worm host cats
for which the knockabout neighbors kept a litter box outside
Jan 20, 2011
Jan 20, 2011 at 6:45 AM UTC
Listening to them
Arguing
Swearing at each other
She criticizes his every move
He can't do anything right
He screams unforgivable things at her
She cries
And he never cries
But he leaves
For hours
Grudging
Clearly upset
I inherited her inability
To ever let things go
And when I get angry
Just like her
I scream profanities
And say what's on my mind
Letting it all out
I also inherited his grudging nature
I never forgive
I leave when I am furious
And I don't come back
I never accept an apology
I never give one either
Both traits I inherited
From each of them respectively
Are horrible characteristics
Will I be twice as bad
When I am married
If I am married
Will I fight like this
Say hateful, awful things
And never say I love you anymore?
I don't want to end up like that
I know it won't be sugarplums and glitter
I am not that delusional
But I believe
I can make an effort
To keep the romance
Alive
Even when
I have promised forever
And I hope
My relationship
Never descends
To what they have
because what is worse
than hurting
to one you are supposed
to love?
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 10:57 AM UTC
[9: 15 p.m.]
for some reason, my ribs ache when i think of you
they feel incomplete like gaps in between teeth
empty spaces where a heart should keep pumping
then i imagine you next to me and it skips a beat
or maybe two
[10:32 p.m.]
normally it's the chase that gets me most thrilled
i heard once that lions sometimes hunted for the hell of it
but i can't seem to find heaven tangled in these phone lines
it is better to back down before i get myself wounded
or even worse
[10:49 p.m.]
tear stains seem more permanent than ebony ink
so i wrote you a song on the tip of my eyelashes
but you couldn't remember how to read the music
a few violin strings and promises were broken
in the process
[11:56 p.m.]
they say drinking hot tea creates the same effect
as physical closeness, the touch of human warmth
i settled for coffee and the heat of a texas summer
but it wasn't the same feeling as when you held me
in my dream
[12:11 a.m.]
there are so many wasted nights in the wastebasket
of poetry written about love and loss and anger
and not enough about the indescribable feeling
of staying up at night just to hear your voice
for an hour
[12:47 a.m.]
there was a time when i got sick at the sound of laughter
sunshine gave me a never-ending, piercing migraine
i stared into the dark and screamed profanities into my pillow
because i wished i could be content alone and without you
for one second
[1:21 a.m.]
someone once told me i have the memory of an elephant
but i forgot to tell you that you give me the strangest euphoria
like eating gas station sushi on long trips to my hometown
or wearing mismatched socks underneath my favorite shoes
and autumn nights
[2:13 a.m.]
sometimes we focus too heavily on the tiny details
to realize that if we step back for a second, we will see
a beautiful masterpiece right in front of us instead of
mistakes under the guise of "amateur brushstrokes"
and "just friends"
[3:30 a.m.]
there are times where i can't distinguish
between tachycardia and a broken heart
but i do know that i love you in some way
and if i never told you that before now
well I'm sorry
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 3:33 PM UTC
How ironic to not seek the tools yet drool on them
To see the instruments and break down like a phlegm
How naïve of us to use the gym as an excuse
To prolong it, as if it were drug use
Some call it dopamine others call it clarity
Most see an opening to showcase their barbarity
Called less of a man to those "better off"
Called less of a woman to those showing pictures with their sweater off
Lust driving companies to show children compromised
We see these plaything while revenue boosts the enterprise
Anime, video games, novels and Tv
Nothing seems too extreme for these mediums
Beheading, shredding, **** and made "Dream-like"
Topics have been explored beyond their tedium
**** is accessible and Ai makes your dream man
Merge yourself with your idol beyond the imagination of a regular Stan
Be praised for wearing Japanese *********** and condoning said behavior
Treat somebodies feet pics like your very own savior
The beast wins not with wit, but with a pattern
To catch us in the act frozen still like Saturn
Internet connections show us the milky way
And your hands remain adamant, your mind filthy
The beasts doesn't care of November, nor valentines or about your crush
It waits to clamp you, and turn you into dust
Too ashamed to seek humanity, too far gone to find morality
Repeated until insanity, Your mouth blurting profanities
And yet we blame the beast when our relationships end or we cant break a ***** habit
Then try to pray to catch up to the Sabbath
Why Lie to the beast and to ourselves?
To those who use their hands or run to cheap hotels
Is *********** more worthwhile than redemption?
The beast is with me as I type this, judging my every move
It laughs, uses slurs and denying my attempts to improve
It lives in you, no matter how content you are with your sexuality
And does its all to destroy your Mentality
Nov 13, 2023
Nov 13, 2023 at 8:41 AM UTC
Sometimes I am so sick of this town.
I am tired of the way the young people twist and pull time to make it seem that they are years older than what their life conveys, and use large words that they only know half the meaning of,
and oh, "darling" "lovely"
we'll maybe I want to be called *******
"Wild" "untouchable" "agressive"
"Manipulative" "weird"
"Fire filled crazy eyed brown haired ***** footed mess of a girl"
I don't want to be "lovely"
I want you to tell me I am insane, and say it to my face.
I am bored of everyone buying so many large books that they will never read, only look at with some false, faraway nostalgia when their friend comes over with their favorite vinyl.
I don't want to be "sunny"
I am not "happy"
Or "a nice girl"
I am a confusing like a labyrinth of contradiction,
And my emotions move inside me like a hurricane.
I have no time for big words anymore, or long poetic musings.
I want you to scream profanities at the top of your voice, filling your lungs with every bad word in the book.
I want you to etch bold letters in illegal places, I want your words to be direct, quick like fire. Tell me exactly how you feel.
I want you to be clear, straightforward, I have no ******* time to be called "lovely" and asked if I want a cup of tea.
I want *****
and I want it now.
I don't want to be asked if I am awake at two a.m.,
I want to be asked if I am alive.
If I'm being rude, I want somebody to hold my face still and talk to me while looking at my eyes and say
"You're being a real ******* ***** quit it."
Instead of some ***** with hurt rotting inside of them, digging an early grave due to the inner decay of unspoken words.
I'm tired of people feeling obliged to say Bukowsi was an *** but a good writer, "but oooh Nerudas good"
I'm sure Neruda could have been a **** too.
Stop pretending to like Shakespeare and really strong coffee and stop trying to force yourself to read really long confusing poetry.
Life isn't supposed to be a metaphor,
It's a ******* moment,
So seize it,
You don't have time to be complicated and fake.
Be raw and real. Be vulnerable and strong.
You are young,
You are at the prime of your life,
So yell off the ******* rooftops,
And scrape your knees a little bit,
And rebel a little bit,
And get a black eye sometimes,
And get angry a little,
And kiss people with soft lips sometimes,
And tell people exactly what you feel when you feel it,
And make mistakes,
And get drunk,
And do weird things sometimes,
You are ******* young,
Stop pretending.
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 1:17 AM UTC
The big teetotum twirls,
And epochs wax and wane
As chance subsides or swirls;
But of the loss and gain
The sum is always plain.
Read on the mighty pall,
The **** of funeral
That covers praise and blame,
The -isms and the -anities,
Magnificence and shame:--
"O Vanity of Vanities!"
The Fates are subtle girls!
They give us chaff for grain.
And Time, the Thunderer, hurls,
Like bolted death, disdain
At all that heart and brain
Conceive, or great or small,
Upon this earthly ball.
Would you be knight and dame?
Or woo the sweet humanities?
Or illustrate a name?
O Vanity of Vanities!
We sound the sea for pearls,
Or drown them in a drain;
We flute it with the merles,
Or tug and sweat and strain;
We grovel, or we reign;
We saunter, or we brawl;
We search the stars for Fame,
Or sink her subterranities;
The legend's still the same:--
"O Vanity of Vanities!"
Here at the wine one birls,
There some one clanks a chain.
The flag that this man furls
That man to float is fain.
Pleasure gives place to pain:
These in the kennel crawl,
While others take the wall.
She has a glorious aim,
He lives for the inanities.
What come of every claim?
O Vanity of Vanities!
Alike are clods and earls.
For sot, and seer, and swain,
For emperors and for churls,
For antidote and bane,
There is but one refrain:
But one for king and thrall,
For David and for Saul,
For fleet of foot and lame,
For pieties and profanities,
The picture and the frame:--
"O Vanity of Vanities!"
Life is a smoke that curls--
Curls in a flickering skein,
That winds and whisks and whirls,
A figment thin and vain,
Into the vast Inane.
One end for hut and hall!
One end for cell and stall!
Burned in one common flame
Are wisdoms and insanities.
For this alone we came:--
"O Vanity of Vanities!"
Envoy
Prince, pride must have a fall.
What is the worth of all
Your state's supreme urbanities?
Bad at the best's the game.
Well might the Sage exclaim:--
"O Vanity of Vanities!"
1.6k
The big teetotum twirls,
And epochs wax and wane
As chance subsides or swirls;
But of the loss and gain
The sum is always plain.
Read on the mighty pall,
The **** of funeral
That covers praise and blame,
The--isms and the--anities,
Magnificence and shame:--
'O Vanity of Vanities!'
The Fates are subtile girls!
They give us chaff for grain.
And Time, the Thunderer, hurls,
Like bolted death, disdain
At all that heart and brain
Conceive, or great or small,
Upon this earthly ball.
Would you be knight and dame?
Or woo the sweet humanities?
Or illustrate a name?
O Vanity of Vanities!
We sound the sea for pearls,
Or drown them in a drain;
We flute it with the merles,
Or tug and sweat and strain;
We grovel, or we reign;
We saunter, or we brawl;
We answer, or we call;
We search the stars for Fame,
Or sink her subterranities;
The legend's still the same:--
'O Vanity of Vanities!'
Here at the wine one birls,
There some one clanks a chain.
The flag that this man furls
That man to float is fain.
Pleasure gives place to pain:
These in the kennel crawl,
While others take the wall.
She has a glorious aim,
He lives for the inanities.
What comes of every claim?
O Vanity of Vanities!
Alike are clods and earls.
For sot, and seer, and swain,
For emperors and for churls,
For antidote and bane,
There is but one refrain:
But one for king and thrall,
For David and for Saul,
For fleet of foot and lame,
For pieties and profanities,
The picture and the frame:--
'O Vanity of Vanities!'
Life is a smoke that curls--
Curls in a flickering skein,
That winds and whisks and whirls
A figment thin and vain,
Into the vast Inane.
One end for hut and hall!
One end for cell and stall!
Burned in one common flame
Are wisdoms and insanities.
For this alone we came:--
'O Vanity of Vanities!'
Envoy
Prince, pride must have a fall.
What is the worth of all
Your state's supreme urbanities?
Bad at the best's the game.
Well might the Sage exclaim:--
'O Vanity of Vanities!'
1.6k
take three hours of low-quality sleep,
and sprinkle lovingly with the midnight threats
of the racist and schizophrenic Madam Crazypants who lives on the next floor up.
for milder taste use the glowing red profanities that she hollers through the vents at the Mexicans who aren’t there.
for more spice use the white hot suicidal screams that saturate the night sky like streams of lava that shoot from Kilauea.
call the cops when she threatens to jump.
their lights and sirens will render waves of space
into solid panes of ice that smash into your head in surges.
go to school and simmer in silence until it’s execution time.
while the blood is still flowing from the bullet holes that you gave yourself,
pour on half an hour of "constructive" criticism from your professor
which will burn like lye or battery acid depending on the day of the week.
wash down with caffeine. simmer for three hours in a soulsucking class.
go home.
drink beer.
play Halo.
bury your anguished cries beneath your vice
and that secret codeine
and the bottle of wine you sequestered
and the cough syrup
which makes the world warm and salty and drippy and noodly
like a good bowl of pho.
let it sit in the oven
but don’t turn it on
and then pull it out on Monday
wrapped in a cotton blanket of cold *****
bleeding from the brain and fingers
empty of meaning.
and when the sun blows a fuse
well I guess then you can eat it.
Aug 7, 2013
Aug 7, 2013 at 4:46 PM UTC