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lX0st Oct 2014
Your lies could stretch for miles
And I'd still hang on your every word
As if your voice was a buoy
In my sea of senselessness.  
I long to love you
The way you should be loved,
But I'm not sure how you'd handle truth
If it were to wrap around your tongue.
the time is crawling
awaked in a painful dream
in this eternal dawn
inside a spiral i'm still sinking

under a senselessness life
wondering the smell of death
pretending i'm still living
but not alive, actually

the time is running
slipping through the maturity
drying the skin that covers
a portion of meat
that one day will stink
before feed some
worms and maggots
that probably ignore
the fact that they're alive
to be continued...
I want you to destroy me
because I know you'd enjoy it.

Rip me to shreds because that's what
I'll be if it means you loving me back together again.

And again.

And again.

What we've got is so horrible,
so painful, so honest, such a raw,
destructive, quality to what we call
"us" that it would almost be masochistic to go back.

Our brand of senselessness,
so alluring, and irresistibly passionate.

I cannot fathom the blandness of sanity.
bambi Mar 2013
On my darkest nights
I awaken in the ocean

your constellations branded
against the back of my tongue.

A bloom of tattooed moonlight
the senselessness of slumber--

though this ocean swallows me,
I will stay afloat.

Promise you will come.

When the light embraces dark
when the planets fade like scars,


So that we
might be the moment
of everything.
Oscar Mann Mar 2016
Strangers looking in my direction
Because I am strange to them
Their hawkish hostility
Meets with my awkward awareness

I clutch on to my pride
One of the few possessions I have left
My dignity is long gone
I feel bare on the road to nowhere

My feelings of hope
Have been pushed aside by hunger
The never ending guilt
And the gloomy sense of senselessness

We used to be alike
United in our pursuit of happiness
Once a human being, now a beggar
Bound to be a burden

From citizen to refugee
I washed up on these shores
Once a human being, now a stranger
To my hawkish, hostile hosts
Mary Balcom Jan 2016
Is a timely
Noun to consider
From the Merriam-Webster page.


Note (at bottom) the list of near-antonyms;
what is the opposite of trumpery?

[Popularity: Bottom 40% of words]

noun trum·pery \ˈtrəm-p(ə-)rē\

Definition of trumpery

a : worthless nonsense b : trivial or useless articles : junk <a wagon loaded with household trumpery — Washington Irving>

archaic : ****** finery

Origin of trumpery

Middle English (Scots) trompery deceit, from Middle French, from tromper to deceive

First Known Use: 15th century

Examples of trumpery

<claims for weight-loss products that are based much more on Madison-Avenue trumpery than on bariatric science>

Related to trumpery

applesauce [slang], balderdash, baloney (also boloney), beans, bilge, blah (also blah-blah), blarney, blather, blatherskite, blither, bosh, bull [slang], bunk, bunkum (or *******), claptrap, codswallop [British], crapola [slang], crock, drivel, drool, fiddle, fiddle-faddle, fiddlesticks, flannel [British], flapdoodle, folderol (also falderal), folly, foolishness, fudge, garbage, guff, hogwash, hokeypokey, hokum, hoodoo, hooey, horsefeathers [slang], humbug, humbuggery, jazz, malarkey (also malarky), moonshine, muck, nerts [slang], nuts, piffle, poppycock, punk, rot, *******, senselessness, silliness, slush, stupidity, taradiddle (or tarradiddle), tommyrot, tosh, trash, nonsense, twaddle

Related Words
absurdity, asininity, fatuity, foolery, idiocy, imbecility, inaneness, inanity, insanity, kookiness, lunacy; absurdness, craziness, madness, senselessness, witlessness; hoity-toity, monkey business, monkeyshine(s), shenanigan(s), tomfoolery; gas, hot air, rigmarole (also rigamarole); double-talk, greek, hocus-pocus

Near Antonyms
levelheadedness, rationality, reasonability, reasonableness, sensibleness; common sense, horse sense, sense; discernment, judgment (or judgement), wisdom
By: Robinson Bolkum
Lay with me,
between the sand
and the sea

weave my hair
between your fingers,
in time to the wind

kiss me, as if Monday's
don't exist

and we will make sense of
this senselessness
Loser Dec 2018
I wore my fathers shoes to a funeral today.

It took me sixteen years to get to a point where I could walk in them and truly say that they were a perfect fit.

It took me sixteen years to get to a point where I finally understood the senselessness  of death and the preciousness of life

It took me sixteen years to feel the gravity of death wrapping around my blissful yet ignorant heart, pulling me down to the knowledge of reality.

It took me sixteen years to not just know, but comprehend the fact that my time will pass me.

It took me sixteen years to learn all of these lessons, and now that I have I can start to live a life.
- K T P - Jun 2012
The crisp air engulfs my lung,
As I begin my downward run.
Trees whip by in an endless haze,
As I zip through their leafy maze.
Downwards I go, but to where?
Only to the depths of my own despair.

Fear scours from the brain.
Loss of sense drives me insane.
My body rushes to the end.
To an outcome no medicine can mend.

I hear the wind’s furious roar.
So loud, that I cannot ignore.
Like an eagle’s screech it sinks in.
Leaving me desolate within.
Slowly pain creeps into my ear,
Until even the raucous wind I cannot hear.

The wind is no longer heard,
Yet the scent of pine is still observed.
Natural incense accosts my nose,
In unending scented tidal flows.
As I ascend, their sweet fragrance drifts away,
Until the nose, too, loses its way.

Fear scours from the brain.
Loss of sense drives me insane.
My body rushes to the end.
To an outcome no medicine can mend.

The mute unscented wind enters my throat,
As I scream, its icy tendrils freeze within my moat.
The tongue becomes non-dependent,
As taste buds become less apparent.
Instead of the crispy icy-taste,
The wind-ridden flakes become a senseless waste.

As I plummet coldness baths the skin,
Damp snow covers me from head to shin.
The frigid warmth of its crisp flakes,
Causes my skin to numb as it chillingly bakes.
A tingling sensation flares through me,
Luring me to numbing amnesty.

Fear scours from the brain.
Loss of sense drives me insane.
My body rushes to the end.
To an outcome no medicine can mend.

All that is left is the sight of the trees flying by.
My vision blurs despite what ever I try.
Daggers of frost singe my eyeballs,
Crusting my vision of nature’s wondrous halls.
All that I see becomes opaque,
Leaving me in a deep black wake.

Here I am approaching the end,
While dreading the life I tried to mend.
I feel my ascent coming to a crashing stop,
As life ebbs from my body’s quivering top.
At last!!  Relief from the pangs of life!
At last!!  Relief from life’s endless strife!
I'm hidden, nothing but these scars,
These sheltered lives, in sheltered cars,

Speed to sheltered homes and then,
Speed to sheltered work again,

And speed right past this homeless man,
This human litter, crushed tin can,

This empty packet of a life,
What are my troubles, or my strife?

Keep living sheltered lives and then,
Have sheltered kids and start again.

And stop us shadows leaking through,
To sheltered lives, from scaring you,

From opening up these barcode eyes,
What is your life without it's lies?
To all those living in a daydream, I applaud you.
Ignorance truly is bliss.
Manonsi Feb 2015
I was told
   by a pair of pity-filled stares
   that simmered frantic shock and dared
That I could not have him. I rebelled,
   furrowing mutterings of what is fair
   while hope suspended me in whirling air,
    scenes of hush
    and quiet laughs.
Ironic, then,
  how indifference settled into his expression
  and met my joy with sarcastic aggressions.
Ironic, still,
   that I catch myself delving
     not in the sea-bound winds unravelling
     over the coasts of mythical lands,
But in the shape of your hands
on mine.
liakey May 2019
The darkest nights
Are always those you must face alone

No knight in shining armor
Will appear until it’s already dawn

You're your only savior
Must create sense of this senselessness
Answers only exist inside your own abyss

Depend on no one, dear
You’ll only regret

Yourself Is all you’ve really got
So never lose sight of your own heart

They’ll lie
They’ll cheat
They’ll steal  
They’ll die

They’re never really there

You’re all you’ve got, my love
Until time makes you see
The deepest beauty lies within
Your own insanity
Zajan Akia Jul 2012
Hanging around the old cabaret,
where nighthawks steal glances
at the curators of tired eyes,
the walking dead take leave
of their senselessness
entering blurred reality

Someone calls for another round
shouting fire down his throat as

A dart nicks the narrow space between
two fates and falls to the floor
avoiding both,
leaving him in a rage

She pockets the change they left her
or forgot, while
laughs infuse the acrid smoke,
ricocheting into nothing
Jr Jul 2012
Speaking with words of a thousand accents
Lost to a tragic void of human senselessness
That devours morality of Heavens sent
Lyrics turn to turmoil a prodigal life spent
Never to return in complacency or content
Injustice of the highest caliber we spend
Teaching immorality trivial aspects of human anger vent
Stumbled upon years of inconsitencies and torment
John Stevens Jun 2010
I sit outside the jail house, this Sunday afternoon.
I watch the parade of people, going in and out so soon.
The visits here, come and gone. Time swiftly passes on.
The sadness shows on each face for the one which they belong.

The mother walks with their child, quietly through the door
To see a father not coming home, for many days or more.
They sit and wait so patiently for their short time to be
For twenty minutes on the phone, their “daddy” they will see.

So close are they but yet so far, no touching through the pane.
Fingers spread, hearts are breaking, their future down the drain.
The question on the little lips, will daddy come home now?
Soon, we hope, my dear child, maybe next week, somehow.

The parents come to visit him, with thoughts of shattered dreams.
The hopes they had for many years, are gone, so it seems.
They put on a smile, push back fears, to keep alive some hope.
They wonder “why, what went wrong, how will we ever cope?”

The pain inflected, bad decisions, when drugs have taken hold.
Ruined lives of those around them, the broken promise told.
His family grieves the senselessness, of life’s potential lost.
Hope now seems a fleeting dream, the family pays the cost.

Then comes a chance from the judge, “six months” he did say.
“To turn your life around for those who care for you, today.
A broken promise turns months to years, so get it right this time.
Don’t let them down, keep hope alive, as from this hole you climb.”

A broken life, a shattered dream, seems lost in the eyes of man.
When darkness falls, and hope is gone, when all has hit the fan.
God can mend the broken life, He turns darkness into light.
Forgiveness comes to those who ask, through grace and mercy’s might.

For those who choose to dream a dream of a better life to see.
Those who choose to change their hearts, the chains fall off, they’re free.
They turn their back and walk away from the old life to sever.
Redemption is a choice away, where lives are changed forever.
© 02-13-05 John Stevens
Julius Jul 2011
Whirls of smoke have sidled our brains
Leaving emptiness
Nights of withering inconsequence
Tinted with ghastly strokes of melancholy wit
As we grasp for more, addicted
Believers in merriment, but to no end

Fooled. The past has gone
Ah! But we are stuck, bitter nostalgics
Laughing at the times past, when we strove
Happy, for entertainment,
And stumbled'pon narcotics
I feel I have seen the failures in our ways

We've no love like we did once
But you each remain
Staunch defenders, heads spinning  
Single minded in your quest
Sober you are morose, reticent
But what merriment is brought?

Why did I take this rending smoke?
For these tired looks, into nothingness
As we recede into bubbles of self-indulgence?
We disconnect, and throw away all reciprocity
As weeds paucity causes faces to turn yonder
Or to themselves in sadness.

Is it that we are dying?
Or will be be forever stuck, in this eternal stupor?

What can stir us from these technological wonders
That light our faces in our self-absorbed, transfixed stares?
With comfort paramount, and misery found
In repressed echoings of a warmer, better place, away
From the throes of competition fought with tooth and claw
For meaningless aspects

Far from the yelps of laughter
The endless, choked machinations
The giggles and dreams of helpless schoolboys
They are only found to us when **** is plentiful
Those days have receded, like us
Away from our sight and our thoughts

We don’t embrace the life we give eachother in company
As we could, no,
Stinginess and selfishness are first
We don’t create a sound
As much as we engulf others
In our stream of subtle consciousness
Is this what you wish for?
A world of these faces staring, cold, tired
Is this what you think of?
When you dream of some stoner’s Utopia?

Or does malice engulf us too much to look upon ourselves as we do others
With phased memories that act as barriers to progression
And our life.                                                            ­                                         My friend
Your flat face may turn from this to silent, personal mutterings
Of cursed levity
As you are cursed with a ghostly heart.
You should not utter a word of revile
Or turn yourself up in sneers

Trust in what I tell, with honest roused from my soul
And do not take it in passing
Like you so turgidly and heedlessly do all things
Crying hope shattered in these passing moments
With evil beyond compare,
Incarnate in your expression,

Do not, my friend
Look upon me with the icy malice of derisiveness
Nor with the shallow, empty eyes of hedonistic senselessness
No, brother, instead realize
With momentary individualism, the gravity, at least to me
Of these words. I speak morbid
Of my, our humanity, in our restless silence
And our uttered oaths and in our artifice of the tongue
And in all things that shiver my blood to even think of

If it is so that our acquaintance is founded on a passionate whim
On a fairy’s wing, on the smothered apparition of a dream
And not grounded in earthly brotherhood,
Reposed of efforts of the mind
Then this is the end for us, brother
For I will no longer cut my heart across this herb, turncoat
As you have, in its infirmity
And cold infer’nality
Dawn of Lighten Dec 2014
Shadowy showdown,
So slithery, slippery, snake stand.

Eyes yield eight years of restlessness,
While baggy eyes droop like mind stuck in senselessness.

Truly traumatic tales told tons of taints,
and trucking thoroughly through the thorns turn to turn.

Thus the mind shall riddle more maze like a mused upon mused,
for nothing shall keep a mind stagnant but the thoughts unamused.

Proclaim profound process profusely,
While prance protruding proponent proud processes.

Stand straight, so sight searing senses sought,
And stir strength seeping souls.

For truest of devotion must be expressed from the inner self,
even if slithery, slippery, snake, stand for a showdown!
I remember in an elementary class, one of the class assignment was creating a sentence using only the same letters per sentences! Thought I'll try to be creative, and express the thought lingering a ghastly shadow.
Claire Trafton Sep 2012
The night is closure for me.
Filled by the sound of piano notes,
Guitar strings warming the darkness.
Losing myself in the sound.

The light music plays softly,
But seems so loud in the closing night.
A background melody calms me down,
Composing the perfect tune.

I forget my surroundings,
Complete senselessness overcomes me.
A classic lullaby helps me drift,
I forget my existence.
Derek Yohn Sep 2013
What has become of my lost brothers?

Trimmareus, the insane voice of the sensual pig,
     who fled from his blue mural
     to the land of jazz and muffaletas
     only to discover the senselessness of clothes...

Peter, the pine tree apostle,
     who paved the way to indifference
     on a needle point, silently
     prophesying the burning of Atlanta (in Atlanta)...

Time Crisis, the first disciple of
     the salt or pepper Antichrist,
     who physically assaulted his mind
     in an attempt to defy gravity,
     finally settling for three
     squares and a cot...

Amante, the disturbed and uprooted lover,
     who, by some accounts, fancied
     urinating in the face of his

All of these brothers have fallen,
cherub wings or no, and the
meek are left behind in
quiet speculation of our vain attempts
to ***** out these small campfires
of insurrection.

We have taken the low road,
carrying our hearts in wicker baskets
and our monkeys on our backs,
spitting and cursing about
time love money *** school work
life the safety bar money ***
violence apathy love and time
when we discover we do not have
the ones we feel we need.

          (do you want peace?)

We cried over the death of the apostle
knowing he had martyred himself
for no particular reason, and
after vilifying his role and path,
attempted to follow his lead
into the night regardless

          (I make peace.)

We vomited on the lover's dossier
in response to repeated professions
of innocence and conspiracy
at the hands of the merciless
system (created by sensuous hands).

The outsiders can see the dragon,
rising out of the depths
and whispering our demise like
sweet nothings in the ears of the
desperate hopeful;

          (Come and be free in my sunshine.)

the beckoning of the crashing surf
and the beauty of the half sun
radiating and filtering our
reservations into happiness at the
acts we commit in its name

          (Sacrifice to me your children's tongues and hearts,
               send them away bleeding and crying.)

We are the pure of heart in
this sick land of Golgotha,
where the rain is only the urination
of our higher powers, the
soap we cleanse our souls with
and witness to others so
that they too can enjoy
this ancient bliss.

          (Visit my website and see...)
MJ Jan 2015
For the past seven months I’ve been crawling around on my hands and knees, blindfolded, with cotton in my ears. My movements have had no real direction, I have gone where I felt pleased to go, where the ground that touched the bare skin of my knees and palms felt somehow softer or more interesting. And yes I was blind, and no I could not hear; it was all done by heart.
Some choices I made were complete mistakes, and these wrong choices of direction led me to sharp floors which happily left my body bleeding, without bandages to stop the draining, and it weakened me.
But some places I wound up were surprisingly wonderful. They brought me laughter, ***, adventure, trust, new companions.
I’m in one of those places now where the ground is soft and it is calm, which I am thankful for, but it is dull.
I go to sleep almost every night unconvinced, unhelped, wrapped in sheets of ice and misinterpretation. I want more emotion-- the sting of rejection or the dizzying effects of nervous stimulation when taking a chance on a half-stranger at a party. I don’t want the same dry kiss placed perfectly on my bottom lip day after day. I want the kiss of someone who is dying to touch me, to make me smile, to see something new.
I want to know I have the freedom to swing one way or the other, even if I might end up bleeding. No sight, no sound, no sureness, just me and whichever way I choose to crawl in that moment.
Raj Arumugam Sep 2010
you know you take
words and some cement and glue
and you make them all stick together
into verse and poetry;
and you gather love like a rolling stone
and you blow wild seeds in the air
and you’ve got fine diction
and refined sentiments
and it’s made into a poem
and it all makes sense
oh baby,
it all makes too much sense

you work like Vivaldi
and make poems about seasons
or you work like Goethe
and pour roaring poetry
to outdo Shakespeare
and you frighten Edgar Allan Poe;
and you have great insight
like the Buddha or some Great Prophet
or Only One Savior
and you give us mighty fine inspired poetry
pure, pure spirituality;
or you just take Revelation
like the countless mindless followers
the Great Being has been plagued with since Inception
and you make verse
and oh, it all makes sense
it all makes too much sense
and you take my foibles, our foibles
and your poems
laugh at them
or you put fine words together and string beads of harmony
like a millions-dollar necklace
Richard Burton might have offered Liz Taylor
oh you know you make poems
that come across time and cyberspace
and they all maketh perfect sense
how about
you and me make verse
that knocks out sense and makes no sense?
poetry that takes the mickey out of meaning?
no, not for a change -
but forever?
no, not for entertainment
but for nonsense?
so that senses is knocked senseless
and we escape you and me
to North Caledonia
to Paradise of rhythm and senseless-beauty
and we have a beat
and we have a pulse
and the street gang says in awe:
Oh, hey
see these two babies move
they’ve got the style
they’ve got the swing
Yeah, they’re a fine couple of babies!
so we got no sense
and sense-less is meaningless
so we got no sense in nonsense either
or senselessness for that matter
we got nothing baby
(well, nothing on as well)
but plenty of rhythm and sway
we drop all fine subjects
that determine our lives
so we are all freed of lies maybe
(we don’t know what will happen)
and we got the spirit of poetry
beyond sense and line and word and form and intent and purpose
and that gets all the universe rocking
(no doubt, there’s enough rock already)
in one baby-making sway
how about that, baby?
you and me
abandon sense
and dance naked between planets and stars?
Megan Zhao Dec 2015
The Sun & Earth
23.5 tilted degrees
North Pole & South Pole
Tropic of Cancer
Tropic of Capricorn
and Meridians
Four seasons
Astronomical phenomena

Today at where I live——
On northern hemisphere
The Garden of Eden
A local Home Depot
The Sun will directly hit
The Tropic of Capricorn
giving us the longest night
and abandoning the North Pole
All it has remembered
is the pole on the other end
Where penguins, whale seals,
and albatrosses will bathe
whole day in full brightness
at -15 degrees Fahrenheit
What a chilling exhilaration!

Could I run away from
this so called winter solstice
this unbearable darkness
this senselessness of
obscurity and wickedness
Could I go to the South Pole
and dance with the penguins?
Edward Coles Apr 2015
When did loneliness in a crowded room become a goal?
Eavesdropping on inspiration; indolence.
Like my art, pockets of brilliance are found
in the wreckage of a market town
with nothing left to sell. All those discordant
ideals of escape and of nothingness.
Still waiting for that ***** of light
which must always break through.

Isolation becomes a component of personality;
a need for space in overpopulated surroundings.
Like my art, pockets of living
congregate in moments torn from the clock face,
in lines of laughter and grief; the five o'clock champagne.
All that revel in maladjustment,
all who laugh at death,
those who had given up on The Lie.

When did my life reduce to words and symbols;
stealing poetry from the street-preacher's leaflets?
Like my art, pockets of reason
form amongst the senselessness of meaning;
how love sits different on every tongue,
how wine hits sweetly only in the need to run.
I have grown tired of running away,
this stalwart need for acceptance.
A want for a panic room,
a need to fall to pieces, undisturbed.
My understanding of things, important things, has left me.
It doesn't make sense, to make sense of this
How can it be, how can this follow a plan?
There is no plan, no divine decree or meant to be.
There is no reason, not for this, not for this.
Can we ask, or dare we, who hurts more, who hurts most
It doesn't matter.  Heartbreak has no calculus
Apparently hurt, fear, isolation, loneliness, desperation, anger, and retribution don't either
I wonder if that's the the lethal parade,
and what's missing?
Abuse, neglect, weakness, genetics, propensities... Or just evil
Evil makes it simpler.  Evil makes sense.
I need someone to blame, i want someone to blame,
because I'm angry...
And I want to make sense of it
No wait,
I'm sad and heartbroken and bewildered,
     at the senselessness.
This just won't make sense.
But, I will awake tomorrow, my life, my wife and son and daughter, in tact.
What's left then,
     when there's no moral,
          no lesson,
               no purpose to it?
Just to love and mourn and feel, and cry...  For a while
It's hard to know, when there is no sense.
Wrote this the day after the school children and teachers were killed in Newtown
David Gonzalez Feb 2015
You don't need a reason to fall in love.
Emanuel Martinez Oct 2011
Crawling inside the depths
are fears of inadequacy and lose of hope...hopelessness.

Senselessness becomes rational where before it had no place.

Often when the spirit is momentarily uplifted
panic abounds of the ensuing crashing down by a broken heart.
Despite this familiar thought, right now this is not the concern.

Joy and harmony must rob the soul
of hurt, anger, and a shattered heart.

The tides of time do not stop for no one stone.
Take your stride soul; be as powerful as you can be.

Spirit be not afraid to kidnap this being
from self inhalation through self-inflicted pain.
Mend the leakage of this being's punctured heart.
June 2, 2011
Jillian Baker Apr 2015
Where marinated in our murky past
have we found justification for the travesties we do,
build prisons where our prejudice lasts,
and allow its prisoners to fester as they stew

I have felt this heat.
The flame which boils in the toils of others,
whose oils lick embers into wildfire.
And we fall back into the Dark Ages.

where minds who place burden on those with different skin
slink flicking flint to fire, raising from the earth
the walls we have spent decades taking apart one brick at a time.

one brick at a time,
comment by comment,
each passing moment
condone it.
ignore it.

passivity pays the builders of this monument.
who see no wrecking ***** to stop them.
passivity, fills the pockets of the petty
coin by coin collecting courage to speak
outwardly outrageous
slurred hate speech contagious
barbary amounts its fortress from our silence,
one brick at a time.

I have seen the origins of intolerance,
holding together the cinder blocks of utterance
all the moments we should have said something and didn't.
In my selfish silence I see senselessness slip past my snares.
In my hush I hear hate harrow the ventricles of hearts much weaker
than the speaker.

Loathing left untended like
loose mountain snow
will like an avalanche gain strength
in movement.

To you,
the architects of abhorrence
the creators of execration
I plead:  lay down your urban dictionaries.
Know that you lay a foundation
whose structure will build  up,
but whose existence will tear down.

To you,
those who watch the construction
and stare in silence sufferance,
know that although no sweat has fallen,
and no aid has been laid by your hand,
That this malicious monument is as much yours
as it is theirs, through your willingness to watch it go up
one brick at a time.
This was originally written as a spoken word piece.
Here's the story told to me about our glorious infantry.

Louts,rapscallions,friends battalions
arm in arm and full of glee
marching off to join the infantry.

In the rear lines drinking fine wines,hock,moselle,some burgundy
and some drinking ginseng flavoured tea from some far flung idea of Empire
while only half a mile along the road the whole world was on fire,
were the fat arsed generals with their horses, waiting on their second courses,
crepes and franzipans and to a man they didn't care that the war was waiting there,
'let the ******* wait',they'd say,
after all that was the gentlemanly way.

The bullets striped us left to right and falling into our own falling ***** we'd call for mum and dad
aye lads
aye lads
war is bad
but for the buggers at the rear who never so much as once came near the sound of a gun,
war was fun a chance to socialise,
society is full of lies and leaders they were not.
But death's got their number on his shell,they'll soon be joining us in hell,
so ****** them and sod the lot
were in a spot,we'll not get home,splintered bone and mangled limb and corporal thinks it's still a sin to swear
well ****** him as well,we no longer care.
As we share a final smoke,Johnny tells his favourite joke about three generals and some place called,but I forget the punch line as the time has come for one more bullet,one more gun and silence.

In Croydon,Roydon and North of Watford Gap,families are spoon fed some wholesome krap from drip fed Sergeants,battle,shield and argent,honour King and all the other little things that the senselessness of death brings home.
Let them keep their fields filled full with glory,we know the ***** **** filled story,
war is bad
war is bad
I'm glad that I cant fight no more.
Sofia Aug 2010
He breathes this life into me.

I come from far aways and swim in his ocean of Light but still I stray
from time
to time.

I seep filth and despair and wallow in the blackest of waves as I forsake the real Redeemer.
Where is my joy? Where is my belief in a hope that destroys all senselessness and brutality? All self deprecating and apathetic waste that I contain?

A heart differs so greatly than the other in each man and woman who has ever been alive. Prayer steadfast brings talents to the surface, and glorified by His hands we walk in a blinding outpouring of Light. Because we bear His name instead of a lie.

I tried in vain night after night, month after month, year after year to convince myself of the rightness of each word I say. Of each thought I think, **** everyone else, I was the wiser! I was the superior! I was the true victor of these broken homes we call hearts!


Try believing that you were once on top of everyone elses’ brains and yet there He was to steer your so-called mighty ship away from a sheer drop in the waters— turns out you captain a pathetic dinghy.

Now breathing slowly. I close my worthless eyes and see the speck of a fraction of His glory. I walk among a pasture where tranquility and serenity reign, and I? I am a fool. I am a wandering Pharisee with a lost mind and two empty hands. I feel a heart beat fiercly within me when I think of You, I feel my soul stir to a great storm of love and awe when I see You move in the earth and in lives so closely connected with mine. I love to see You work, Father, your craft will never be challenged in all of eternity. I would trade all I’ve gained in the world to become the best daughter in You.

I am a daughter of the Most High.

He knows how I dream. He knows how passionately I desire the richest life i was called to serve for the Kingdom. I was a blessed soul. He knows. He knows how I dream. He knows what I dream of and what I cannot begin to.

So I walk onward and can only gaze at the sky, as if the blue atmospheric sea is teaching me lessons on its own. I beg for an answer, the prayer i have uttered hoarsely for so many nights: “Where am i? Where am I on this map of Yours?! I am getting crushed by the world and these walls are closing in on me. I writhe in my own agony and succumb to so much pride. I am killing me. Where am I? O Father, where am I in You?!”

And He listens. And He knows. I know He knows, and carries me ‘cross chasms and whirlpools, even when I do not feel His embrace. Soon i know these times will come. I challenged the sky no more, and take a moulding hammer to my own heart, to shape for You. I will make You proud someday, I swear.I will make this life worth something… I then ask him if I was planned for anything great at all. Was my soul charted out to someday hold and deliver power and integrity in You?

And as I listen close, every fiber of my eardrums heightened, my soul stills as I hear one thing..
He breathes. And He breathes this life in me.
unwritten May 2016
step one:
do not look at their mouth,
for you will expect to see rivers flowing from it,
poetry slipping through the space between their lips
in the same way that the wind slips through the space underneath a door,
but instead you will only see spit and saliva
and a tongue too big for its home.

step two:
do not look at their hands,
for you will expect them to craft cities from marble right before your very eyes,
but instead it will be just the thumbs,
the twiddling of thumbs,
the aimlessness, the senselessness,
the lack of experience with building empires.

step three:
do not look at their eyes,
for they say that the eyes are the windows to the soul,
and when you see that the curtains have been drawn,
you will feel so very alone.

step four:
i did not love you.
you have to repeat it.
i did not love you.
i did not love you.
i did not love you;
i loved what i thought you would be.
i thought you would be eden,
but you were only the apple.

step five:
i suppose i am to blame here
for digging holes too big to fill,
for crafting shoes too big to fit in.
and for that i am sorry.
i am sorry that i expected more from you
than i even expect from myself.

step six:
let the word roll off and around your tongue,
let it cover every inch of the inside of your mouth.
say it. over and over again.
say it. like it is foreign and you need to know what it means.
say it.
and when you have said it enough times and it feels
dull, old,
you will know that we are nothing more than flesh and bone,
and that as much as we wish there were gods among us,
flesh always rots in the end.
this is the beast of truth that we cannot outrun.
hands cannot craft cities from marble
if only given clay.

step seven:**
do not let this frighten you.
clay, after all,
was meant for molding.

written may 11th & 12th. i've found recently that there are a lot of people i used to idolize and look up to who i now see were really just ordinary people all along. it's disappointing, but there is also some reassurance in coming back to reality.
arubybluebird Sep 2013
She's the kind of girl who'd take a pregnancy test (after drinking two venti iced green teas) at a Starbucks restroom. She's the kind of girl who'd come close to overdosing on antioxidants and diet pills. She's the kind of girl who'd drink cheap velvet wine to the point of senselessness and obliviously karaoke to Radiohead's Jigsaw Falling Into Place at a distant city bar on an Autumn Tuesday night. She's the kind of girl who'd still be holding your wrong-doing hands underneath the sheets atop your bed at 4:03 AM.
She's the kind of girl I'd be if I had more of a heart and less of a mind.
Grace Feb 2014
Full of senselessness.
he seeps

Arts and crafts for the soul.
forming thoughts out of visuals and sounds.

a basketful
of images to save in my memory bank ...

Occasionally documenting the silence.

itching and aching
raw and anxious
red and sticky.

a candle is meant to melt
Emerald Proctor Dec 2012
I cannot reside in selflessness, nor can I reside in senselessness.
My pride alleviates both.
Dreams do not exist from my stand-point,
although I dream of escaping this place every day.
If only there were another way to build up a smiling facade.
Something I could conform to,
a small tent.
I sincerely do wish I could let somebody else take the blame.
I would watch in ignorant fascination as an anonymous culprit was raked and exploited.
People would yell,
"This is all your fault,"
As the accused one shrouded and shook,
"You couldn't save us!"
While I would watch in discreet glorification of it all;
Glorified with the fact I was no longer being burned at the stake.
Does this render me cruel?
Aren't all children, though?
Makenzie Marie Dec 2014
It's one of those days
I can't make sense of my thoughts
and quite frankly
it's ******* me off.
I don't even know
what I want anymore.
I say one thing
and do another
And I know
it makes no sense
but I can't help
my senselessness.
I'm drowning in my indecision
and my desire for difference.
And really
I feel defeated.

But I swear will not be.
Jesse Hunter May 2013
These lonely nights, just don’t feel right.
Times like this there is no sight of feeling like everything is warm and tight.
The way you felt when you where young and mom tucked you in bed at night.

Complete emptiness, a mad sensation of senselessness covers your eyes.
Consumed with lies, choked and tied, tears falling as you quietly cry.
No one will know, because no one will show compassion enough to ask why.

Why would anyone care about you, greed and selfishness is now the rule.
Broken hearts and paralyzed minds like great knights ready to duel.
No winner will be announced as they both lay dead in there own red pool

Screams pierce only the silence that the ears will no longer hear and simply disappears.
Cheers from self righteous reckoning steers all to near with no since of shame that came from the insane motives of fear, if only for a second to step back and look in the mirror.

Consuming every thought like a mop, which soaks up slop, leaves only solitude.
Controlling the mood and every move, hollow veins now run through each and every inch of you.

Unbreakable chains, binding there only game, yet eventually rust in the rain.
Freedom follows, then comes tomorrow, nevertheless the numbness maintains.
Despite all the pain that remains, somehow contained and remain, sane.

Breathing is no longer an option, death is humanities consumption.
Rebecca Lawson Feb 2014
evening, the cold breaks apart
each injured breath,
a sequence of senselessness
alive within a dreadful body

evening, lullaby scrapes at the skin
a whisper which expires
by daybreak, something trapped
beneath liquid dark
Sophie Herzing Sep 2013
I was staring down at my phone, laughing at the stupid thing
you must have said while I was waiting for a flight
to a place I couldn't really call home, but would give me
the clarity
I had been searching for in him
through your catacombs and reassurance.

I used you to find my way again.

Because he stole a lot of my direction.
Believe it or not, I'm not as strong as I used to be.
So please don't get mad when I say I'm sorry
for pushing you into all of the things
I just couldn't move through on my own.

I looked up from my fixation of your comfort
to find a small, silver-eyed woman
with brown skin and hair like a dog
with a child's fascination smile upon her lips
and a small twinkle in the way she was looking at me,
as though I was a reflection of herself.
A younger her who remembered what it was like
to be so in love with somebody.

I'm so in love with you
And she knew it too.

I keep blaming my senselessness on being stuck
in a cycle of the past repeating,
and I keep reaching back for you because I
"Know you well"
but really,
I'm that close to you because I want to be.
I use him as an excuse to cover up
that behind the false heartache of a love I knew would never last,
there's you.

So I just gave a small nod of understanding
to the woman who was in awe of my young blood and wide-eyed wishing
for a truth I never knew I could seek
because even she knew it too.

I'm so in love with you.
Brian Sarfati Feb 2013
braindead beating heart,
blinking thought and sleep
universe in floating
deep above what commonplace
people call tired–

think not of
(undesire is flower)
for just the moment
understand me:
a coma where period should be.

lost in fluttering
senselessness of song,
you can’t realize anything
but human misinteraction
and lack thereof.

settle spinning,
this life is once only
afflicted from the
get-well-soon-ness of bed.
you might as well think:

we have all the time in forever
to procrastinate once we’re dead.

— The End —