"rhetoricals" poems - Hello Poetry

Are we fated to dance to the same tune alone in our separate universes? Is it true that we must silently keep to our preordained curses? Are we destined to swoon at the beauty of the moon at differing time slots? Why were we given invisible ink to connect our lives' dots? Must it be that our lives revolve around the whims of the sun? Isn't it ludicrous that we won't see the intricate webs we've spun? Was it the plan that we exist only in our minds and hearts? Why do we have to tolerate starting when the other's ending and end at the other's starts? Has it been written that we can only afford to infinitely chase each others heartbeats? Was it foretold that we're trapped in a singular notion that never really fits? Is the game set as such that we can never emerge as winners? How is it that the ocean was made out of our tears that flowed from rivers? Why is it that with our entirety we believe but do not know? What's the reason for the path made clear but we're too afraid to go? What does it entail to possess the very least but yet you covet it the most? How do you pride yourself in something but not allowed to boast? Why do we frantically scramble to piece together jagged shards? Can't we just play this blasted deck of lousy cards? Is it destiny or cruelty to have found then lost? Why does it seem absurd that we have all its takes but can't afford the cost? Is it the thoughts that **** or the emotions that debilitate? Is it the challenges we take on or the curveballs we anticipate? Why bother when sheer folly is all it seems to be? Why tarry when the heart is free and the mind is ready? Is it ridiculous to have found myself still very bothered? Is it wrong to question fate that had always bound us tethered? Why is the good always bad and the bad becomes worse? Is it true that the harder we fight, the deeper we immerse? Has life turned to be but sad little rhetorics? Are we but performers on stages coerced into theatrics? Is it time for me to surface this one-man submarine? Will it be so that if I do, my journey would then begin...?

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Sep 30, 2014

Sep 30, 2014 at 8:38 PM UTC

ryn

Rhetoricals

Are we fated to dance to the same tune alone in our separate universes? Is it true that we must silently keep to our preordained curses? Are we destined to swoon at the beauty of the moon at differing time slots? Why were we given invisible ink to connect our lives' dots? Must it be that our lives revolve around the whims of the sun? Isn't it ludicrous that we won't see the intricate webs we've spun? Was it the plan that we exist only in our minds and hearts? Why do we have to tolerate starting when the other's ending and end at the other's starts? Has it been written that we can only afford to infinitely chase each others heartbeats? Was it foretold that we're trapped in a singular notion that never really fits? Is the game set as such that we can never emerge as winners? How is it that the ocean was made out of our tears that flowed from rivers? Why is it that with our entirety we believe but do not know? What's the reason for the path made clear but we're too afraid to go? What does it entail to possess the very least but yet you covet it the most? How do you pride yourself in something but not allowed to boast? Why do we frantically scramble to piece together jagged shards? Can't we just play this blasted deck of lousy cards? Is it destiny or cruelty to have found then lost? Why does it seem absurd that we have all its takes but can't afford the cost? Is it the thoughts that **** or the emotions that debilitate? Is it the challenges we take on or the curveballs we anticipate? Why bother when sheer folly is all it seems to be? Why tarry when the heart is free and the mind is ready? Is it ridiculous to have found myself still very bothered? Is it wrong to question fate that had always bound us tethered? Why is the good always bad and the bad becomes worse? Is it true that the harder we fight, the deeper we immerse? Has life turned to be but sad little rhetorics? Are we but performers on stages coerced into theatrics? Is it time for me to surface this one-man submarine? Will it be so that if I do, my journey would then begin...?

32

Dim Print… Left side to right side… “Where’s the error?” Right side to left… “What was right?” And the back and forth and back and forth and back and forth continues until the conversation fades into nothingness… A black void of pointless banter like a debate where there’s no winner Rhetoricals like a tennis ball or ping-pong match that never ends Background chatter… eyelids close… slumber… BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP snooze BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP snooze BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP Fine… I open my eyes and the dialog continues Slurping down the dark sweet brew hoping the bitterness will bring relief, but it does not. Substance whittled down like an old kook’s dead branch The shavings fall to the earth and rot into insignificance Such is life… Getting on with the day, with dreams that the work will now still the mind Clackity Clackity Clack on the keyboard… the rhythmic sound provides beats for MC Left side and Right side to lay their rhymes down Left side to right side… “Where’s the error?” Right side to left… “What was right?” And the back and forth and back and forth and back and forth continues Until the tête-à-tête makes its way onto the screen itself Frustrated, a third voice intervenes… Why is there a right? Why is there a wrong? Why do we continue this chat all day long? For the love of all that is free, let’s just agree to disagree. raise the roof in the veracity of the things that will be silence… still psyche… embark on a mindtrip blissfully

0

Apr 4, 2014

Apr 4, 2014 at 9:25 AM UTC

herbice

Dim Print

Dim Print… Left side to right side… “Where’s the error?” Right side to left… “What was right?” And the back and forth and back and forth and back and forth continues until the conversation fades into nothingness… A black void of pointless banter like a debate where there’s no winner Rhetoricals like a tennis ball or ping-pong match that never ends Background chatter… eyelids close… slumber… BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP snooze BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP snooze BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP Fine… I open my eyes and the dialog continues Slurping down the dark sweet brew hoping the bitterness will bring relief, but it does not. Substance whittled down like an old kook’s dead branch The shavings fall to the earth and rot into insignificance Such is life… Getting on with the day, with dreams that the work will now still the mind Clackity Clackity Clack on the keyboard… the rhythmic sound provides beats for MC Left side and Right side to lay their rhymes down Left side to right side… “Where’s the error?” Right side to left… “What was right?” And the back and forth and back and forth and back and forth continues Until the tête-à-tête makes its way onto the screen itself Frustrated, a third voice intervenes… Why is there a right? Why is there a wrong? Why do we continue this chat all day long? For the love of all that is free, let’s just agree to disagree. raise the roof in the veracity of the things that will be silence… still psyche… embark on a mindtrip blissfully

27

yeah i'm angsty, angst-ridden, angst-infested, angst-infected, weren't you (i leave the question marks off rhetoricals because it's only honest) no no no no no more metaphor. i'm crashing headlong into this one: i am a person. i write. i am a writer-person or maybe just a too-clever-person. my parents are in debt, and my parents' parents went back to work at eighty. my friends' parents are debtless and their parents' parents never stopped working. there may only be a year of water left in California, but i need water, i run hot and my skin is uneven from cracking. i'm tired from only resting one eye when i lie in bed, i sleep a solid eight hours each night. (just how sturdy is time)?

0

Mar 17, 2015

Mar 17, 2015 at 6:23 PM UTC

foxsuitpoetry

malaise

yeah i'm angsty, angst-ridden, angst-infested, angst-infected, weren't you (i leave the question marks off rhetoricals because it's only honest) no no no no no more metaphor. i'm crashing headlong into this one: i am a person. i write. i am a writer-person or maybe just a too-clever-person. my parents are in debt, and my parents' parents went back to work at eighty. my friends' parents are debtless and their parents' parents never stopped working. there may only be a year of water left in California, but i need water, i run hot and my skin is uneven from cracking. i'm tired from only resting one eye when i lie in bed, i sleep a solid eight hours each night. (just how sturdy is time)?

12

Mood needs trimming, handling, thought beseeches management, preventions of digression Yes, I know these abled tangents, -peculiar obsessions- how they float up, moon- mouthed, dream-lacquered vagrants, Superlative deliverers of profligate insistence Their cool what-ifs pontificate, the vacant-eyed rhetoricals, excited by this delicate existence

0

Aug 4, 2023

Aug 4, 2023 at 5:55 PM UTC

alistair-william-bullen

Schism

Mood needs trimming, handling, thought beseeches management, preventions of digression Yes, I know these abled tangents, -peculiar obsessions- how they float up, moon- mouthed, dream-lacquered vagrants, Superlative deliverers of profligate insistence Their cool what-ifs pontificate, the vacant-eyed rhetoricals, excited by this delicate existence

19