"termless" poems
In deeps of love
_(termless)_
We're only drowning;
trying to swim to the end.
Dec 18, 2021
Dec 18, 2021 at 2:58 PM UTC
What is my Purpose?
On this earth's surface.
Do I have an ultimate service,
within these verses?
What is my purpose,
In today's circus.
Is it to buy all that I can purchase?
Or be out on the street shirtless.
What is my purpose,
Among the Earth's worthless,
Is it to grow up scared and nervous?
Or walk around nerveless.
What is my purpose,
In this earth's furnace,
Is it to be full of pureness
and warm those around me like a thermos?
To the above questions,
I am wordless.
To the above questions,
I am verbless.
To the above questions,
I am termless.
So i guess my purpose,
Is full of obscureness.
And in this search for sureness,
I strive on with sterness,
Ignoring the churchless,
In doing my best to furbish
My best definition
Of Purpose.
May 4, 2010
May 4, 2010 at 9:21 AM UTC
entertain the knowing of a term
amid how many names to paint that known
--depends on
termless origins
rising co-become
conditional a part for one unknown
~ wholly always ever-new produced in co-consuming-birthing all
~ intertracing weaves of what was thought was thought
connective tissue waves to render
individual arrays of signing signlessness,
precise obliques, pretend unends
all captured all undone and finally
defined
in seamless positings of word
yet freely boundless
always having ever been alive in proto-symbols
wet then dry of life
beyond the ken of humankindly limits
seen at brinks of sight
.
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 11:48 PM UTC
Sauntering around like the dreamy clouds do,
I devote my eyes to the breath-taking beauty of the night sky.
He is my best friend. He stole my heart.
He pacified my thoughts with his stable grace,
and his mysterious silver embroidery surface.
He had me with his beautiful crescent-like smile
and his fulsome jewel-like face.
That radiance cannot be made. It cannot be faked.
No disguise, no wizard, no human, no technology would replace
the glory of this unreal solid.
He is the beat of my heart, the enigma behind my mind.
My ultimate source of emotion, passion, love,
Endurance, lust, ambition, sensuality.
A condition for heavenly survival.
***The lover of the dark, the emperor of beauty,
The slayer of skepticism, The one with termless complexion,***
An illusion you wouldn't imagine even when you are drunk.
And that is, just to me.
One mere human out of gazillion.
To me. One whole shade of soul.
One whole set of crazy wonders.
It works miraculously to this extent to some
But this way, Just to me.
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 9:09 AM UTC
Laying this head
upon a hillside...
whose nurture
was numberless
bosoms.
How green the
liberties of innocence...
lost in termless growth.
Of whose Age of Joy
could never be qualified.
The yonder yellow of
networking dandelions,
setting sunny precedents.
As raring turtle doves
echo winds that have
already changed.
This season of werewithal,
for the reciprocation
of benediction.
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 3:57 PM UTC
With baffling reticence these limbs pour--
were they the scream of their creation...
space would about-face.
A clarion call issued them as stars to
constellate a soul.
Secure a God's temperament--and of the
mind given them, what to derive therefrom?
Their wound is not wide from their reticence,
the presentiment of their journey is a steady
creeping...the inching forth of termless conscription.
As pastoral confines bled out the lamb by the
Hand of necessity, these limbs have so
gathered to impart their sacrifice.
A single push of an unfathomable nature sees
them thus and thus.
What center they contrive's amiss...one
cannot take hold the Agony and Ecstasy
handed by One so great.
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 11:11 AM UTC