"sublimity" poems
"sly wordplay, it glows, feels like a shimmering address, half warning and half blessing, really alive with cadence"
read Kiki Dresden poetry^
once more into the sea trench divide,
I dive to devise,
Your provoking comment,
demands my full attention,
you divert me from struggling with
ginger & clay,
a contra concept
that molds and enflames,
yet strikes overtly sweet,
it does not
come so easy
as this playful notion
But
your words deserve the
attention immédiate
atenção imediata
that births this script,
tumbling forth in an instantly
instantaneously
me student, you mistress~master,
schooling me on sublimity subliminal,
capturing the capering
stylistic that bursts forth from within,
that my fingertips provide,
while my brain connives & connivers
continuously
you overlay analytics
that never are to me
revealed,
the what and wherefore
of the whom
hiding within
of the im~perpetuity impish essence of
i m p ishness
by charmingly doing me, not once,
but many times better
here a spillage:
an observational ditty,
dressed in a tux,
most formally,
to render the greatest
wordplay
ever invented
t,
the uniqueness of a simple
thank you
my favorite poem
a forever for ever,
the song that
plys and plays me
in the me
so often,
the linguists have banned the word
repeatedly
from my lexicon
so in its stead,
this all-in-one mighty steed
(verb phrase, a noun, or an adjective depending on its usage)
this phatic expression,
here disguised in
Portuguese,
muito obrigado!
muito obrigado!
muito obrigado!
nml 5:39am nyc 10/4, 10/4
Oct 4, 2025
Oct 4, 2025 at 5:44 AM UTC
The Red Ants At His Picnic
Her pillow eyes gleamed
at his advances,
inching along slowly.
His anteater likeness,
rising,
coming to an anthem,
frolicking on her picnic,
on her mound,
hoarse and hungrily.
Rendevous antics to form.
Wave after wave,
the red ants at his picnic,
dancing,
dancing like there's no tomorrow,
seducing him in further.
He,
so antsy,
anticipating.
In his genre,
happily along,
on her trail,
like a hunter,
taking her welcoming little red colony,
to kingdom
come.
To ******* come,
where her castle and moats succumb,
relenting,
saluting to his anthem.
Where soon white clouds a bursting,
blue skies emerging.
The sublimity and antidote holding on,
holding on to her picnic.
And the rocket's did red glare,
the bombs bursting in air-
together,
to gather.
And there they were ... chaos, abuzz,
lyrical
then calm.
Sustenance drawn on their faces.
A slight breeze runs through the grass
the red ants at bay.
Logan Robertson
4/17/2018
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 6:15 PM UTC
Angelic minds, they say, by simple intelligence
Behold the Forms of nature. They discern
Unerringly the Archtypes, all the verities
Which mortals lack or indirectly learn.
Transparent in primordial truth, unvarying,
Pure Earthness and right Stonehood from their clear,
High eminence are seen; unveiled, the seminal
Huge Principles appear.
The Tree-ness of the tree they know-the meaning of
Arboreal life, how from earth's salty lap
The solar beam uplifts it; all the holiness
Enacted by leaves' fall and rising sap;
But never an angel knows the knife-edged severance
Of sun from shadow where the trees begin,
The blessed cool at every pore caressing us
-An angel has no skin.
They see the Form of Air; but mortals breathing it
Drink the whole summer down into the breast.
The lavish pinks, the field new-mown, the ravishing
Sea-smells, the wood-fire smoke that whispers Rest.
The tremor on the rippled pool of memory
That from each smell in widening circles goes,
The pleasure and the pang --can angels measure it?
An angel has no nose.
The nourishing of life, and how it flourishes
On death, and why, they utterly know; but not
The hill-born, earthy spring, the dark cold bilberries.
The ripe peach from the southern wall still hot
Full-bellied tankards foamy-topped, the delicate
Half-lyric lamb, a new loaf's billowy curves,
Nor porridge, nor the tingling taste of oranges.
—An angel has no nerves.
Far richer they! I know the senses' witchery
Guards us like air, from heavens too big to see;
Imminent death to man that barb'd sublimity
And dazzling edge of beauty unsheathed would be.
Yet here, within this tiny, charmed interior,
This parlour of the brain, their Maker shares
With living men some secrets in a privacy
Forever ours, not theirs.
6.3k
It is only in the state of galvanization,
do I realize what it means to be impervious in youth.
I have a father who stresses to me this:
"Happiness is elusive."
This is the kind of statement that must be swished around in the mouth,
only to be spat back out.
"Happiness is elusive."
It is cause for concern,
really.
I will do my best in order to refuse to believe it,
to believe him.
Happiness is achieved through discovery.
I think that I may have once had a sister (in my recollection she was very pretty).
I was around her whenever it was deemed possible to do so -- it honestly wasn't too often that I could.
In the very nooks and crannies of my childhood,
if I could fall back unto the natural sublimity of it all;
I do recall that I had a sister.
Her features must have been youthful,
from what I remember she was no more than inexplicable.
If it were not so ambiguous,
I might feel more inclined to speak with her again some day.
The past is a scary thing.
I feel pain in thinking of the lengths behind me,
for what I have cultivated is sour.
Recently a good friend accused me of this:
"Being a recluse, spiteful, selfish person."
Her notion both confused and throttled me,
and only afterward did she speak in such a fervently aural tone:
"That is o.k., you're only human after all."
This is the very comment that sliced my being into a duality,
leaving me to write poetry in order to attempt to find higher acceptance.
Wisdom is a well, funny euphemism for delusion;
And in my youth I am impervious.
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 8:26 PM UTC
don’t tell me “I love you” ~by Roxanne, for Cyrano~
<>
that’s a verse I’ve heard many too times before,
that’s a curse of low majesty, a quatrain too plain,
if that’s your best sally, retreat, say no more,
too simp verses, or ungolden silences, agents of dissatisfying pain
I need the best of your taste
the finest visions that you eyelids occlude,
make haste for my mouth grows exceedingly
impatient for the other senses to do their tandem wooing
slap only my face with the creature comforts others savor,
words of diamonds and pink pearls mined from your breast,
the bejeweled words that will decorate my evergreen,
that never dies, lest, unless and until,
you want my mortal affection suppressed
give me your linguistic promiscuity, wake me from the stupor
of ordinary, arouse me with thy tongue coiling, a bee sting delivery,
a wet poem that makes all my orifices!|offices weep, your mouth,
my souls recouper,
your wizardry bewitching,
answer my inquiry with unbounded festivity
then and after all, the plain simplicity of an “I love you,”
will be edged with sublimity, my mercies, your mercies
our jointed, sharp pointy, introverting, interlocking,
*our futures becoming
our pasts*
11:07am
19-9-30
<>
https://thenewgroup.org/production/cyrano/?gclid=Cj0KCQjwz8bsBRC6ARIsAEyNnvoENpdnWyqeUEwq0avNStgWCf4CocB1i239c2mHdNSFF8gOlWZtfjsaAls4EALw_wcB
Oct 10, 2019
Oct 10, 2019 at 11:35 AM UTC
*taste of salt air and nectar'd apricot brandy
musky scent of silken satin sheet'd sin
lips bruised of unfurled ecstasy
coral fire in the ***** ignited rapturous essence
eyes glistening in the moment of a little death
soul of a poet on the edge of reflective verse
once chosen surrender in zest's soulful unveiling
blithely trapped stargazing unto eternity's sublimity*
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 12:00 PM UTC
Prescient, her essence
Casts a demure persuasion,
Endowed with verve and vision;
Concept to consummation,
The serenely possessed,
Creator, originator,
Allusion to the eternal azure,
Logos of abstraction,
Word and image collision.
Tonal palette of faith infused reason
Beauty and sublimity,
Serve to season
Verse, canvas and film,
Mediating aesthetic, seminal senses blossom,
Lyrical each permutation,
Seeds of vibrant chroma diffusing the mystical.
Visage and hair, her figure haunted
With perfection - a work of Art
Nurtured and lived invocation,
The canon of taste;
Crystal for the *****
Devotional fragrance ,
Holistic ethos, melodic invention,
Animated, pure -
The embodiment of redemption.
Transcending form, parenthetically
(Merely) the decorative,
Allure, artistry and symmetry
Superlative complexity,
Her erudition satiates, supplanting
Winds of constructive banality.
Purveyor of an uncommon savor,
She collaborates in the peculiar
Pursuit and reward,
Encounter with depth, explored,
Human and divine, prosaic meets sublime
Igniting within an Eros
Passion for truth, being and Telos.
Visionary of grace and peace
Transforming our earthbound dissonance;
Our caprice,
Hope and abundance, the myth of scarcity,
She narrates the Good.
Pen, lens, color and stage
Vulnerable, unrepressed, effusive
Romantic articulation,
The reservoir deep,
Innately primed conduit of Love.
Beyond plebeian, cosmetic, the trite
Woman of substance, pulchritude
And delight.
Effervescent - her smile exquisite,
Eclipsing suffering,
Wordless expression, understood language.
I am transported, my imagination replete,
Sonya Rose -
Art personified; unabridged, complete.
©2008 & 2013 W.S . Warner
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 12:28 PM UTC
There’s a distance, an echo
Of hollowness
Upon the blacktop
Asphalt concrete
Sidewalks 3 in the a.m.
I am more than
This
Heaviness
Like the iron bars
Of prisons.
Your faraway
Song, an echo
Of hallowed
Be
An Infinitesimal touch
Of infinite
Within the heart,
Fully filled by
Sublimity
Overcome to tears,
At dawn, like the sun’s
Brilliances.
Life
As evidence
Trillions all
In benevolence
Seeing
The light…
“I am more
Than this
Heaviness of
Emptiness
Within
My soul
I am
More
Than this …
shallow
Shadow’s
Hollow.”
I am ...
Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 5:55 PM UTC
**You want to read little pristine pretty posies
not get involved betwixt & ignore the thorns of life
whatcha gonna do when your scratch becomes infected
hiding in the bushes of denial will get you hives
of the contradicting type, bucking like a bronco
amidst the flowery storm clouds of refusal
riding through wild fields of four leaf clovers
on unicorns wings of phantasmal puff'd perfectly pink skies
pseudo fairy tales conjured up in the mind
never to cross the median line of reality's mock deception
swallow the chimerical pill of inauthentic utopia
just be sure your mythical allegory never plays havoc
in your secret garden of rainbow streaming sublimity,
the fall is greater from the zenith of repudiation**
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 7:06 AM UTC
Joy's sublimity
New Naruto episode
Wide eyes ******
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 7:08 PM UTC
**November 5, 2010 at 2:59 am
{Inspired by Dr. Boshra 3agban, Nizzar Qabani}
You're a woman;
created from the Greek myths,
wrapped in the veil of my fantasies,
Reborn from all the phoenix ashes,
You're the history of my life, miss;
it bounds u not..no years no seas,
you grant the moon those glaring flashes,
So I never sleep at nights to see thy gypsy eyes,
It's enough to write your name,
Just to be the perfect poet,
It's enough to be loved by thee,
It is so enough for me,
& I'll be mentioned in the history;
As the man & the angel that met,
At the horizon's end,
On the edge of the dreams,
You're a woman;
Carved by an angel's hands,
& made from the diamonds of verse,
Veiled in the golden cloak of my dreams,
A deity from some mystic lands,
Glowing through my murky universe,
Born from heaven's springs & streams,
Your tidal dormant waves through me they arise,
You're a woman;
Greater than Aphrodite & Athena,
You're the endless music of the lyre of pan,
You're the gauzy clouds that may make spring a winter eve,
Picturing you ..Tottering...is the ****** of me,
Thy swift stalk...gazing at you; forever I span,
arrayed in thy mantle of every hyacinth's leaf,
That sings the odes of love in me heart they incise,
You're a woman;
Caring not for time or years,
Neither aging nor death can touch thee,
You're the eternal rose of all the nerieds,
Knowing not no pains or fears,
Thy treads' rhythm lurks through me,
Your love's a religion, belief & a creed,
& my prayers from now forth art thy drowsy sighs,
It's enough to write your name,
Just to be the perfect poet,
It's enough to be loved by thee,
It is so enough for me,
& I'll be mentioned in the history;
As the man & the angel that met,
At the horizon's end,
On the edge of the dreams,
You're a woman;
Drest in the Elysium stars,
With pinions of an angel of life,
Fretting on waters of rivers of Eden,
Healing my feeble searing scars,
Heaping my ardent fires that thrive,
With dewy kisses That're unforgotten,
I've never lived before...now I realize,
You're a woman;
Of wavy hair & wavy weather,
Of blushy cheeks, like of the primrose,
Nestling these lips gushing with love,
I pledge my heart & soul for a feather,
Of thy wing that flips & shows,
Sublimity with that dimpled smile of a dove,
That holds all the answers & whys...
It's enough to write your name,
Just to be the perfect poet,
It's enough to be loved by thee,
It is so enough for me,
& I'll be mentioned in the history;
As the man & the angel that met,
At the horizon's end,
On the edge of the dreams....
******
Jul 18, 2012
Jul 18, 2012 at 2:53 AM UTC
sat in your lap
jealousy builds
like pressure
once a fissure
it now inches
its way across
my soiled soul
lather it on my body
like blood -
thick and treacly
dark, sticky
ever so sickly
tell me your lies
tell me your truths
trace them into my flesh
mark me
cast the runes
now they have spoken
clatter on the rocks
like my pride has
broken
my rage glowing
all I can see
forever growing
I embody entropy
A rule of disorder
hatred rises
through the flames
let it burn me
to ashes
like your touch
sizzles my skins frame
it's a crime scene
of blood swirling like ink
pills scattered
around me
like a ritual
I wonder what
my mother would think
you're a dream thief
knife in my
heavy heart
you've stripped me bare
and I stand
as you depart
with nothing but
at your mercy
I'm you're experiment V
the looking glass shows me
what's left
a withered mess
existing
for you to thrive
tired pile of crumbly bones and
shrivelling rotting insides
tossed aside
burn me to
oblivion
I want the skin
to stop sticking to my bones
melt it off
let the blood pool onto stone
let the fat droop and distend
mocking me, me mocking
never ever stopping
wretch and stretch
till I break
rip my organs out
serenade my limp body
with the liquid lava that drips
as you extract
my black heart
take a sip of my sublimity
I am all you will never be
because I don't think I ever was
do what you will to my material
never to extinguish my fire
that does
never
cease
limitlessly
increase
the
entropy
KG
Apr 9, 2017
Apr 9, 2017 at 4:13 PM UTC
every so often
they threw the seal a fish
though it was only a small fish
the seal would jump for joy
he would wiggle his fins
his nose, his eyes
his space coming alive
and from his landing
he would dive into the water
with the youthfulness of a pup
diving after that little silver
like it was for the first time
his eyes wider than the moon
as he streaked across the pool
with pent up
exuberance
so graceful
and in rhythm
his back to the spectators
but not really
as his moon peeks through
the surface
back towards the smiles
the cheers, the applause
it meant the world to him
receiving
the acceptance
and acknowledgment
the likes, the love
the words from the butterflies
descending on his blooms
for
he sees and hears
feels their touches
his splashes of fate
leaving his face golden
and beholden
in the face of sorrow
he circles back to the surface
pockets of bubbles rising
like his love for the audience
that little silver
wiggles of his daily grace
now his sustenance
his nose, his eyes
his shrill coming alive
and now back at his landing
animated
and blessed
his moon shining at the spectators
and in all sincerity
he lets out an arf, arf, arf
intonations
and sublimity
dancing in the moonlight
thankyou
Logan Robertson
10/14/2018
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 11:23 PM UTC
He’s no God like Sachin, neither is ‘Wall’ his sobriquet
He doesn’t whack them a mile like Sehwag or Ganguly.
He just comes in with a resolve and soaks in the pressure
Where others would succumb to panic, he thrives beautifully.
When the team is sinking, his steely nerves bring them to shore
He kisses the tension in the air away with his assuring presence.
When the gods turn away, VVS emerges – serene and tough
And clears up the mess with divine grace and elegance!
When his bat swivels below his magical wrists, its pure bliss!
The cherry caresses the grass and dances towards the fence.
Like a stroke of an artist’s brush that just painted a perfect arc.
And with his own people, the enemy’s admiration you can sense.
He doesn’t evoke fear, excitement, anxiety or frustration
He doesn’t pump his fists in the air, doesn’t snarl or stare.
You either see the calmness or a bright smile on his face.
He’s a stern fighter with no arrogance – a quality so rare!
They say he’s ‘Very, Very Special’, which he indeed is.
In the country of demigods he’s a man that makes god proud.
He’s not worshipped by sponsors, doesn’t earn big bucks,
But he owns a bigger treasure – Respect from all in the crowd.
The Aussies ***** feared the world over, swear by his name,
For, he crushes their strong might with his class and sublimity.
Their killer-instinct turns into shivers when they see him walk out
Their razor-sharp words get blunted by his poise and humility.
VVS epitomizes romance. No wonder he loves the Eden Gardens!
Where the ‘Lord’s’ of Indian Cricket reside, is his fortress.
When he bats, you just surrender your senses to his splendour,
The twirl of his hypnotic wrists can bust your biggest stress.
The world seems a better place when you watch VVS on song.
Even time stops to admire his delicate flick that goes fine.
And as you lose yourself in his determined yet soft eyes,
You find yourself sitting in heaven, enjoying a glass of wine!
Selflessness is his middle name; there is no 'I' in the word 'Team,'
The hardest job that no one wants, he will do for his team.
I’m blessed to have experienced the beauty of VVS…
The skill of his splendid batting and the purity of his beam!!!
Oct 9, 2010
Oct 9, 2010 at 6:53 AM UTC
Moonflower petals secreted nectar
the lovely sublimity of blossoming flower
Tall, thin~stemmed , pastel flesh~
bud to open
only after nightfall
An elicit echo
the way moonlight reflects
on warm raindrop
impearled *******
Her moist curvaceous silhouette
night~blooming lilt
with summer breeze
dulcet sway
Window open ,
sultry , and raining in
single delicate petal cast off
like a party dress fallen
in a beautiful mess
upon the rain puddled
wooden floor
Entrancing shadow cast
a pleasing taste
the flower’s exotic fruit
Satiate the hidden hunger
mirrored within
all – devouring
deep brown eyes
Writhed in the beautiful
passion throes
the naked sweetness
of the wanton agony exposed
✩ ✩☺ ✩ ✩
Aug 18, 2016
Aug 18, 2016 at 7:30 PM UTC
~
*the peculiar sound of morning
during the long, boarded-up winter,
resonating through a cistern
set apart by thin waves
of decaying reservoir
a hint of canticle
in the unfounded wind,
impossible to ignore,
a series of collapsing oppositions
like interior and exterior,
self and other, the momentum
conveys the sublimity of being,
immersed in an unfathomable vastness,
of being part of an indivisible whole
a repeated glitch in the system,
our forever changing
constellation of feelings
and backward configurations,
slipping into a stream,
where the water precedes us,
and it will outlast us
we don't so much carry life
as allow ourselves to be carried
along by it, swept up in its current
for a little while*
~
Oct 4, 2023
Oct 4, 2023 at 2:39 PM UTC
scrabble tile - no vowels
exact change only
spider solitaire - tetris
distraction
furtive glances
quiet moments alone
lie to friends
weep with no tears
lonliness
gritted teeth with cavities
must mend myself
procrastinate
cars go fast
constant peripheral hearing
night sweats
vivid imagery, pretty colours, sublimity
consideration, politeness, restraint
roman numerals, 24 hour clock
crumpled notes, lacing on a glass
temporary sensations
four walls, three sides, two's company
shocking weather we are having isn't it?
Aug 4, 2012
Aug 4, 2012 at 3:24 PM UTC
* So
they
say nothing can compare to
the delicacies that claim
our sky. High above,
far beyond our air, lights
break the darkness.
I
must
admit to their magnificence; truly
breathtaking. Is it such
a coincidence, that
your presence has similar
effects on me?
I
watch
their genuine glow, and wish you
were there beside me; to
share in this wonder.
To gain the experience
of true sublimity.
I
know
that if you were really there with
me, my gaze would fall.
No longer focusing
on the sky, but instead
upon your all.
And
because
these moments don't last forever-
I know I could watch these
stars whenever. But it
wouldn't be us, together-
I would take it all in.
An
amazing
experience it is; the feeling of being
close, to the one thing I've
found that surpasses
the stars I've seen, in both
amazement and in beauty
Jan 9, 2013
Jan 9, 2013 at 11:15 PM UTC
To some twas a majestic force,
Mysterious and beautiful,
Courageous and never full
From a vast, adventurous feast.
It roamed – a horn upon a horse,
A gallop one could never cull,
It thought itself invincible,
Yet to some it was a beast.
Its orchestra – a masterpiece
Assembled from around the Earth,
But labouring perfections birth
Was a harpist’s absent beat.
The pains of searching now could cease
As landing upon emerald berth,
The unicorn unearthed its serf
As sublimity filled that seat.
The harpist liked her homely scene,
Despite its audience so small.
She’d rather stay than leave it all
And face the unicorns stampede.
And so she suffered wrath obscene:
She was forced to attend the ball,
Waiting centuries for the call
To leave an orchestra based on greed.
In present day the harp is home,
Back to where it is meant to be,
Beauty played independently,
But the unicorn does not mourn,
For now both creatures often roam
To a ball outside of history
And play a peaceful melody:
“The Harpist and the Unicorn.”
Feb 16, 2011
Feb 16, 2011 at 10:34 AM UTC
The Kristeille Bra :
And Other Pathways To - ( Disaster ! )
Polarities : so smartly empowdered
And, petitely enslaved -
Potentialities ?
- In extremis, I'm afraid.
But if thus were so, then ...
(Even thinly veilled) ;
Let us duly consider :
Are our appetites (fe\male)
In actuality and fact umm,
Needlessly Manichean;
The torments of
noisy Siblings ?
Why, after all I ask,
only two -
Don't
You ?
Alas,
To the Medici
Roundly go the
Battle and the day !
(And sublimity)
(Or so the legend
goes ...... )
For those who favour
such Palantines,
(and gravity)
a throne.
For :
Pure symetry confounds my interest -
hnn.us/articles/7202.html
James R. Morse NYC 2012.
All Rights Reserved.
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 2:32 PM UTC
When Black Roses cease to BLOOM,
And violets are Black and Blue;
When Ravens in the dead of Night,
Fall upon our Morning Dew;
This Love that clouds thee,
Upon our Sublimity Day -
Idle in Auroras of August;
To my flower - pray!
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 2:41 PM UTC
My heart - delicate,
and malleable
undulates
within two poles,
seamlessly juxtaposed -
beauty and affliction
capricious container-
truth and fiction;
the sheer surfeit
of choice
reverberates with
imperious diversion,
settled invitation-
loud and shiny things.
Hard to breathe,
I'm in exile
slave to my emotions,
obsequious and servile
barren, cold and mute
existence - the brute;
tilted reminiscence,
scars of loss
contrive frames
around moments -
footprints,
interminable -
being and time.
Infinite deity,
triune polyphony
artist of sublimity
smearing shades
of loneliness,
vestiges of faith,
to retrieve
hues of meaning;
oddly convivial
prophets
of reprieve.
Orpheus lost Eurydice
palpable discordancy
suffused in time
could not resolve
without verse
decidedly sonorous,
canvas showered pain,
splashed
Jackson Pollack stain
Love - onerous,
deep beneath
the veneer,
it's mercy severe.
Fiction from the first
Eden‘s fatal gift,
lucidity cursed
altered cosmos murmur,
parlance of
disordered elegance;
effusive language,
phrasing art nouveau
tacit script;
ensconced within
the fabric;
create a Thirst
torment - visceral
and immediate.
Ardor and innocence
once quenched,
render
pathos in proportion
to the pleasure,
conveyance of beatitude
The past absorbed
into the treasure,
Inscrutable Heart -
devotion and turpitude
desire, loathing and paucity
affinity in abundance,
fear and doubt
inhabit certitude.
©2009 & 2011 W.S. Warner
Aug 31, 2011
Aug 31, 2011 at 11:19 AM UTC
I believe we are of sound and worthy mind;
That we might cast our constant glare back,
Towards our own transgressions and
Pretensious claims to ascendance.
That we may reflect on our own fortune,
Alive and affluent, rich in life and
Experience ill afforded to our elders.
Perhaps then we might pretend,
If only for fleeting moments,
That we are as deserving as we commonly believe.
For we are nothing if not
The cynical generation, born into
A world so mature that we need be
Nothing but children within it.
We have no politics, no beliefs, no
Drive to propel us into an existence of
Grace and enlightenment. We scoff
At signs of sentiment, we laugh
At barefaced gesture and divulgence.
We indulge in ceaseless pleasures and
Live upon the surface of the shallows.
Yet we forfeit the beauty of feeling,
The release afforded by sublimity;
We are afraid of what is bigger than us,
And we respond with profane derision.
I tire of popularity competitions,
Of gossip and blunt innuendo, of
Social ladders and picking up.
I yearn, with nostalgia and music, for
A time foreign to this weary soul,
A time perhaps non-existent, when
Such games were not all there was.
Sep 25, 2011
Sep 25, 2011 at 4:09 AM UTC