"skeptics" poems
Pariah
Nihilism at its finest
Bleed black the finest shattered diamonds
Of all the lost hopes and dreams
Outcast Society burning in the ruins of fallen Rome
Cynical skeptics, sarcasm dripping venom
Acid burns through flesh blood and bones
No one gives a **** scream for a savior
Outcast Society burning in the ruins of fallen Rome
Shards of glass smile razorblades
Plague of loneliness grips your throat
Heart beats darkness through your veins
**** society, anarchy reigns
Outcast Society burning in the ruins of fallen Rome
Shadow world of gray and stones and broken homes
Bleeding hearts and gutted homes
A black void in collapsing homes
Outcast Society burning in the ruins of fallen Rome
Cesspool of sick and stinking ****
Hungry ravish burning Rome
Parasitic beasts feeding on lost souls
**** you in and never let you go
False promises of help, burning, burning, burning, blackens the sky
Outcast Society burning in the ruins of fallen Rome
Nevermore the sun shines down on the wretched land
Outcast Society burning in the ruins of fallen Rome
This
Is
The
Future
Nov 30, 2011
Nov 30, 2011 at 9:23 PM UTC
Thinking with short breath, gripping my chest, sinking with stress?
Just to attest, Imagine putting stress to the test
Over pushing boundaries set with intent
Chasing leads, gaining lost time pursuing a lust with broken trust
Only to rise to the question
Can the duality of morals and ethics which define us..
Be overwritten?
Misconstrued needs for skeptics lost in line
Slowly assimilating breathless methods
Hijacked
Black rose petals spiraling to conclusion, Decomposing as if to forget this
Why don't I neglect this elusive euphoria defined in terms of confusion?
Split paths once veering in opposite directions begin running parallel
I know I'm here, but who's that there?
Ominous reflections veer back with eyes unfamiliar
A face with no definition grabs my wrist lurching me forward
Weightlessly ***** following a diverging direction with questioned intention.
Where are you taking me? (Silence)
Operating in two places at once, questioning who is the driver
Hijacked
There but ever increasingly distant, attempting to reach you
The sunrise rekindling the spark of yesterdays intuitions
Preserving eloquence like a flower in full bloom
Suddenly fades eerie in an instant, dwindling on gloomy restless expressions
Cloudy perception refracted by crystalline illusions
The evanescent cypress terpene, king of bliss
Flowing in the direction towards what has been calling it most
An icy chill enters my chest, a constant race to chase an endless quest
A ploy of acceptance with a cotton ball
Aug 22, 2019
Aug 22, 2019 at 11:50 AM UTC
I hate your ********* skepticism.
You sit and look at me from across an
Empty expanse of blood-red tablecloth that might as well be
The divide between galaxies.
I try to stay calm when you ask if
"Alternative" pronouns are being used
As a "social experiment" in GSA.
I look away.
My heart pounds.
My face flushes.
It is only for the sake of the young kids present
That I do not mutter any obscenities.
I take a deep breath.
I tell you, slowly, carefully, that
No it isn't an experiment.
They have chosen to use plural pronouns
They, them, theirs,
Just as legitimate as the "normal" ones, male and female.
Why should anyone's name be tied to
What they were born with between their legs?
You answer back in a long drawl that is so full I skepticism
I could choke on it's ignorance.
"Okay then."
Two words, two words that make me rethink everything
I think about you, my father.
I was filled with hope when I listened to
Tales of love and life,
Freedom to marry who you want.
You support gay rights, Dad,
But I'm left wondering:
Do you support all my friends?
The pansexual and gender-fluid and bisexual and homosexual and demi-sexual and those who chose other pronouns?
What about the transsexuals and asexuals and third-gendered and pan-romantic and sapiosexual and queer?
I turn away before I reveal my hurt to you
I will not open up this can of worms again, I'm sure.
I thought I knew you.
Now I only know how much more I
Respect
Compared to you.
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 10:30 PM UTC
I see that
you're messing
with
her thermostat again.
Comatose is a wonderful degree.
Isn't it?
Someday,
He will
abandon the circular life,
to live
the line life.
For
"life" has no
need to explain its course.
Life simply is.
Life simply happens.
&
Life simply exists.
Even when you're "dead".
Questions lurk below every theory.
But skeptics,
can be
two-faced
coin-cunts.
Sometimes.
So ask away & Find out for yourself.
Always remember:
That the Dumps
have
never
been
adequate to inhabit.
Fight or Flight.
Flight,
is my only option.
High up.
High on.
Out o' here.
In times of desperation,
it is understandable,
to be influenced by instinct.
However,
it is inexcusable
to forever live
in desperation.
You deserve better.
Cause you're the best. <3
Apr 17, 2012
Apr 17, 2012 at 2:16 PM UTC
hill
ant hill
an ant hill
a perfect ant hill
a perfect ant hill it was
a perfect anthill erected
a perfect ant hill erected at will
by ants and ants and army of disciplined ants.
ants of many kinds, sizes and colors erected an ant hill
the design was grand, nice to look at like a cathedral,functional.
we love the ants for being so versatile,co-operative and creative
Do ants possess minds, ability to think,organize, put decisions in to actions?Or do they just have an instinct,prompted by nature, how do they receive it?Even if we are yet to find out such secrets,many of us are skeptics."All this is like the crawling leaches, inscribing letters on smooth surfaces, inadvertently" they vehemently argue.And there remains the million dollar question,seeking answer:even tiny ants,could make millions of their ilk do amazing things, why oh! why, the most intelligent of living things, at least replicate the feats the community of ants, at a scale, proportionate ?If these disciplined insects, in spite of their small brains could be a great example, why can't human's be like them, behave more responsibly , take charge of their own destiny, construct, not destroy. Every ant hill in silence, asks us many questions, we walk past pretending that we heard nothing, that could disturb our peace.
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 8:31 AM UTC
How can we trust?
When there are so many ways to be betrayed,
And so many reasons to fear,
Why do we believe anyone?
Is it some irrational instinct,
To keep us together,
Despite our fickle minds?
Or a fading dream,
Of how we used to see,
And how we used to feel?
Can we accept the truth,
In words on a screen,
When the face behind them is hidden?
Should we be afraid,
Of what we can't prove,
And what will never be known?
Is blind faith lost,
To this race of skeptics?
Does it have a place any more?
Is there an answer to these questions?
Yes.
But we all answer differently.
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 4:38 PM UTC
slowly carefully
as i might an ancient diary
still full of young dreams
and even perhaps
the salt of young love
it hurts
to carry adolescent obstacles
given my age
and all those hateful skeptics
it hurts how they gleefully profane
yet settled dust is yet dust
i sit willing to love
amid my dust
i sit in ever deeper vasts of love
in existential sacrum wag
kindled crown and fullness breath of all the scents of varied forms of love
lighthouse toes inspire seas ancestors swam
lyric feet to message myth of travels won
my calves and shins knees and thighs
crawling climbing walking running jumping kicking at the start
physiologies of courage ****** ahead
as future unmade moulds invite
caress the bodied length intent provides
singing fingers scale my world in chords of gliding love
tips of arcing sensate dawns
diverse as nightsky suns
my palms divine an ever giving gift
no futures could unveil--
the toucher's touching touched
aligning novel insights wordless as the womb of time:
perhaps a symbol flare could squint
and grant a vision of horizon's end--
another pleasure game
a bonsai love to soften age
another twisting meditation's emptiness in form
as motion stillness spaces words
to perfect pitches tempos sound
though all of which will never meet
and never meeting meet
as one
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 12:01 AM UTC
O my sacred,
Shower me with your greatness.
Bring it up to my neck,
And drown me in the lake bed.
O how secret, and so delicate,
Fear in trust involved.
It's not a secret anyways,
If nothing's getting solved.
I love, I trust, I need you,
In fear I live all time.
My words in hope to mean them,
So that you'll say "You're mine"
O my sacred,
Take myself and make it yours.
This day is nothing to you,
Your love fills my empty lake bed.
A love, that's secrets tale,
One month, forever it lasted.
The tale of two, of many,
At each other, love was blasted.
No one way to say it right,
Four ways to say I Love You.
Just take me as I am,
And know that I'm thinking of you.
O my sacred,
Unto you I do trust.
No lake bed full of:
doubt, anger, mistrust, jealousy, regret, pain, hurt, love, hate, lust, health, disease, space, time, pity, indulgence, sorrow, mourning, evil, distress, affliction, trouble, breaks, insignificance, remorse, agony, peril, skeptics, insecurities, uncertainty, question, suspicion, difficulty, dilemma, depression, belief, worry, conviction, cruelty, discredit, hesitation, unhappiness, calamity, travesty, grief, hardship, loss, suffering, weeping, sadness, heartache, lament, excruciation, torture, soreness, discomfort, penalty, torment, torture, harm, malicion, malevolence, prejudice ,detriment, disservice, misfortune, abuse, effort, labor, endeavor, strength, power, energy, operation, mistreat, undermining, blemish, flaw, disservance, misery, injury, exertion, struggle, trial, madness, wrath, rampage, harassment, irritation, exasperation, rage, tantrum, infuriation, mischief, inequality, alienation, aggravation, annoyance, contagion, trauma, damage, insults, violation, wrong, flesh, or ****
...ANYTHING between us,
Vanquished because I must!
Oct 23, 2011
Oct 23, 2011 at 9:52 PM UTC
To lose the robust and ephemeral vitality,
is waking up in dazed desolate imitation,
that creases and crinkles euphoric principality.
Blades of grass, sharp tipped spears of unreality.
A chilling, a challenged negation;
to lose the robust and ephemeral vitality.
Spinning round the ugly formality,
are snickers, unshy sneers of an evil salvation,
that creases and crinkles euphoric principality.
Thrilling no longer a verb, piano key pressing its precious mortality
into her throbbing thrashed temple dictation.
To lose the robust and ephemeral vitality.
A ****** numb soul with the criticality
of skeptics, chewing their lips, a dead cell castration
emotional stripping, slipping into complete impromptu filtration.
That creases and crinkles euphoric principality.
Jun 21, 2012
Jun 21, 2012 at 10:39 PM UTC
*this is a poem for all children
and for the child in the adult
those of us who stll can stare
in wide-eyed wonder, and lust
for life; giggle some, and laugh
just a little when life tickles us
this poem is for you and us:
so
smile sweet baby smile
giggle sweet baby giggle
and laugh sweet baby laugh
let your dimples enchant the world
let the dribble of your drooling gums
wrap the dead hearts of skeptics
in a theme of rainbows and waterfalls
crawl baby crawl
and scream baby scream
a seizure is ecstasy in blue*
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 10:25 AM UTC
I've trudged the tracks of righteousness alone
And walked the walk of wickedness with grace.
I've done things I cannot now condone
On either side-- you'd see it in my face.
I thank god for this life which I have wasted
And all the gifts which it has given me,
But how do I repay when I've not tasted
The lavish love of such an old decree?
"By faith" you say. I say "you have it all,
For I'm not one to disbelieve my doubt
But faith? Oh, please don't make me lol.
Betrayal changes what men are all about."
Perhaps god's nothing. I'm fine with it;
Ex nihilo cogitatione fit.
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 5:25 PM UTC
Is
The confirmation of the superstitious
The skeptics permutation of chance
The guarantee of the paranoid
The communication expected of the spiritually transcendent
The nothing [at all] for those who never penetrate the surface tension of their world
The intuitive see
An allusion to
The creeping deep synapse connecting
[thickly binding]
The breath of the world
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 12:04 AM UTC
I'm tired.
I'm tired of hearing
words of acrimony
and disparagement.
I'm tired.
Peoples' lives
are at stake every
single day and I feel
we aren't doing enough.
Enough.
Enough with the unwillingness,
the idleness,
the dullness.
Get up.
Change the world
because you only have
so much time.
Others aren't acting,
so be the one to do.
Believe;
get rid of the skeptics.
Fight for your rights
and make sense
of the things
you could not once
understand.
Let bravery take you by the hand
This time and chase after it
Without hesitating.
Take the risk
And know that you can make
Change for the
Better.
Don't be the one to follow
the crowd or get trapped in the debris
of those who
did
not
try.
Act now.
Aid and love and cherish.
Appreciate the time given to you
and your loved ones.
Don't give up on love.
It's the one element
running through your veins
that's keeping that hole in your
heart covered.
It's taking away the emptiness.
It's keeping the world on its
feet but there is so much more
needed.
There are people without families,
food, or water.
People without hope,
faith, or will.
Who told you
that love was a waste?
Was it the one who
could not conquer it?
Because, after all,
love is man's toughest battle.
Love and care
And thought and feeling
Are the seed of
What can bloom.
Do.
Act.
Accomplish.
Never settle for less.
Because today
you are
the world's
greatest
hero.
Show us
what you can do.
Dec 29, 2012
Dec 29, 2012 at 3:41 PM UTC
hunched back, towering shadow
12 feet tall and loping through snow
is this beast, wild, in my imagination?
or is it reality
as true as the frostbite
that threatens to
take my nose?
I never believed, I come from skeptics
but then as a fat man, I never had faith
that I'd lose enough weight
to carry myself through the Himalayas
THAT is more amazing to me
than a creature of legend
dragging its mid-day meal
back to its cozy cave
in frost-covered mountains
it stops, stands, regards me
one brute arm holding to its ****
white steam blowing, locomotive
from its nose
mouth opens as if to roar
and I...
wave
it tilts its head, closes its mouth
and with a shrug
leaps off through the snow
stiffening mountain sheep
flailing along behind
like a pull-toy
I say, more to myself than anyone:
Yeti, your secret is safe with me
No one back home
would ever believe.
2/17/15
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 8:54 AM UTC
I have just begun
See me rise like the Sun
All that is done becomes one
With our eyes we see
With our minds we be
Destined to become King of Poetry
Hello everybody you can call me M.A.N
So mysterious I became a pseudonym
I have no finish..I have no start
Infinite emotions stir in my heart
Lava flow seeps from my soul
Volcanic personality shake the earth when I blow
Some days I'm dark
Some days I'm Sunny
Write a Poem on paper call it money
As I appear one year into this Poetry run
I will scratch..I will claw
I will devise..I will fall
In the end rise above it all
Leave poetry skeptics dazed and stunned
Scorpio mind should be a crime
I have just begun...♏
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 7:41 PM UTC
it starts with a chug
a push of steam leaning into the next chug
more resolved even desperate
building momentum with each turn
three thoughtless words
leave the station blowing spiral exhaust
picking up sentences along the way
passengers climb aboard destination cars
riding click clack click clack lyric tracks
as they squelch an urge to peer ahead
for the blind belly-gripping corners
hiding morbid thoughts of finding themselves
somewhere in an ominous tunnel
with a villain from chapter 3
but they come anyway
paying good fare
with cash and unbartered time
reserved for such a season as this
infinite itineraries through
countrysides and comedies
mountains and mysteries
prairies and poetry
highlight endless whistle stop fantasies
predestined by curious minds
throwing line by line hypnotic leisure
into the rhythm of the wheels
beauty is revealed
through the picture windows of books
yet
in the midst of gorgeous landscapes
undreamt dismantling jumps
hardened steel guides in these words:
*...I would have been referred to religion,
the cemetery where questions of faith are answered....*
the pleasant journey
comes derailed on the slip switch
possessed of both genius and sadness
for cemeteries are only death if
they are the end of the vision
tombstones create blind men
of brilliant skeptics
when
Lazarus lives
the tomb is empty
and the end isn't
faith puts the train upright
setting the switches to forever
bypassing graveyards
and riding to the unquenchable light.
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 3:55 AM UTC
A glance towards the innocent
Only you don't see it that way
You put your hatred into others
to make sure they will obey
Use and misuse the human rights
"Oh Baphomet your wicked ways"
The diversions you desire
The perversions sought on earth
Since dawn of time, your presence
brought men satisfying lies
Lust in the holy ****** her eyes
Baphomet a name full of essence
Praised by those who found you
To provide destruction
Hang the skeptics..
May 17, 2017
May 17, 2017 at 5:00 PM UTC
Like the mighty redwood
My love for you
Is massive, indomitable, and lasting.
With roots sinking deep into my soul.
Long after the hate and wickedness of others fades,
Even after we too, are laid in the grave
My love for you, shall grow stronger everyday.
The axes and saws of the skeptics,
All break on my trunk,
The saw teeth shear off, and dull,
And the axe haft snaps,
Not making so much as a dent.
High into the sky
My love rises,
To bask in the rays of your love.
The fires of those who scorn love
Lick at the base
But they cannot so much as singe my love.
You are the nutrient rich soil,
The life giving waters,
And the solar brilliance shining down.
Your love wards off all blight,
You are my earth, my water, my light.
Aug 31, 2012
Aug 31, 2012 at 9:45 AM UTC
Underwhelmed with modern magic, I let myself be taken
to a party on a strange night.
Like you, I let my lips whisper abracadabra and
kept my fears in one subtle hand.
Like you, I wanted to vanish the crowd
under a napkin -
to palm everyone into a cup under the table,
leaving a beaming new face - radiant eyes and unfamiliar tricks -
to abandon all the showmanship
exactly where it belongs.
And when all the faces peeled away to
a lively midnight wilderness
you were there, a magician
and prestidigitated into smoke and mirrors
every artifact of doubt.
There is nothing I would like more than
to have a drink with you
to have a cigarette with you
to have anything at all with you
and learn your secrets:
A longing for names unmentioned and eyes still incredulous,
and a reverence for fairy dust.
Watching the room empty,
hearing the soft chatter of their private marvels
we are alone, as we ached to be,
here, to tell our secrets, and they are these:
we are in discord with love
skeptics, so unfit for
the careless faith and
grasping vigilance of hearts our age.
Now, in this cabaret,
"goodnight" is ensorcelled into a curse, and
"come with me," a necromancy uttered
to give to dead hopes new dimensions.
Here, I would read every book under the sun,
work my fingers into knotted idleness,
believe in every fantasy
to learn your secrets.
Under the snowfall, we kiss like Chinese rings
but you know as well as I do
that quick enchantments are a thin fable,
and instant magic does not exist.
Feb 23, 2010
Feb 23, 2010 at 10:45 AM UTC
One of many apologetic arguments
is an application of Game Theory,
as defined by “Pascal’s Wager”;
ideas of infinite gain make leery
skeptics doubt a likely existence
of an omnipotent and omniscient God,
Who is worthy of our time and talent.
They believe this premise is flawed,
as they willingly bet against Hell,
damnation and its infinite losses;
the discussion, of rational thought
and atheistic stances, crisscrosses
mental boundaries in search of Truth.
Is finite loss of luxury and pleasure
worth the Christian lifestyle today?
Where are you storing your treasures?
.
.
.
Author notes
Inspired by:
Gen 1; Matt 6:19-20 and
More info on Wikipedia
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
Amazon
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2016, All rights reserved.
May 21, 2016
May 21, 2016 at 5:20 PM UTC
we're the ones stuck somewhere between a passionate desire for life and a violent desire for death; trying to stop the hour glass from pouring its sand into the bottom half with a cigarette between our finger tips... we are scared and confused and contradictory...
and yea i guess
this is the human race
our compasses all
point to the same fate
but the beauty is seen
by those who dare to stray
we're all natural skeptics, anyway
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 12:44 AM UTC
What do we know about this world
besides what the powerful want us to know?
How can we fulfill our lives based on "facts" and knowledge that we will probably never have the chance to disprove for ourselves?
A wise man knows nothing, "for this world is but an illusion"
A sensory experience to groom the soul for manifestation
A game of imploding extremes that not so coincidentally level out to create the rare occurrence of life that is aware of itself
What do we know about this world
besides that we are here for the moment?
May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 7:56 PM UTC