"qualitatively" poems
Small ants scurry across the ground,
oblivious to the fact that they could be stepped on.
A teacher tells a student to pay attention in class,
to grasp the concepts being taught,
to observe...
Observations are personal views,
in certain perspectives;
how one can perceive any given situation.
There is no right or wrong,
in ways of how to observe things.
Teachers, professors say there is only two ways:
Quantitatively and Qualitatively
Everything observed seems to fall into one of these categories,
but can something break the boundaries?
Observations can form relationships,
but in the same instance- destroying them.
Qualities observed are picked;
only chosen to appeal,
but does that make them real?
Questions go along with observing:
how something came to be and why...?
But does anyone truly know the correct answers?
Observing-
in the end is only questioning the essence of things.
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 11:41 PM UTC
Sometimes I wonder what life have I given up.
Sacrificed.
What life of mine did I dearly own that I have given up?
The life with absolute liberty?
Or the life without consideration?
The life with complete control, or lack thereof?
Life.
And to whom have I given it up for?
How was life like for me?
What was life?
What is life?
The privilege to live?
Or the curse to experience death?
They said the biggest gift in life is to love and be loved.
Love.
How does love feels like?
What factors constitute love?
Is it really love or the mere pursuit of love in which the human race are after?
Is it really love or the abstruse mechanism infatuation brings about?
Love. Love. Love.
I grew up believing that money was the key to happiness.
Money was the passport – to live, and to love.
How ironic, money was also the solitary barrier.
Life. Love. Riches. What do I possess?
Qualitatively nothing.
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 12:11 PM UTC
If you ask me how deep a love should be
Don’t seek an answer quantitatively.
Love’s to be measured qualitatively,
Except that I love you infinitely.
If each love is its own variety,
Which one is the one between you and me?
Is it type one or type one hundred three?
My love for you is love infinity.
If you ask how much love I give to thee
For fear love might exceed capacity,
Man never loves to his ability.
Except me—I love you infinitely.
If you need me to love descriptively,
Each day I love you more infinitely,
I need new numbers mathematically,
For I love you more than infinity.
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 2:41 PM UTC