"tiringly" poems
As i sit back and watch the openly wounded come back from the war of speaking to you, it makes the burning hunger in my heart more passionately unbearable. For a fleeting instant I was your's, and, for an even briefer moment you were mine. But you had an unendurable curious spirit that even i couldn't manage to capture the attention of for more than a rapid second. And that was tiringly back-breaking, so I stopped striving to be that one singular girl whom you kept around for a time. I stopped glancing around to survey if you were around when i was about to do something noteworthy. I stopped trying to keep the conversation going if it was veering towards a dead-end. I even stopped wearing my hair precisely the way you like it. But that undoubtedly didn't mean I still didn't thirst for your presence. That didn't mean I could deliberate with you about the very person i loved. In as much as, as laborious as this was to confess to you, I am still insanely in love with you.
Jun 14, 2015
Jun 14, 2015 at 6:23 PM UTC
I have no stock in a generation
Who does not care whether
There is social security enough left
To secure my retirement,
A system I have paid into tiringly.
If you want to end it
Be sure I receive my back checks,
Or risk being strung by the neck.
I have no assurances
I will even be allowed to retire,
Only assured those in the house
Could not care less
As to such questions of great importance.
They busy themselves with war,
While we suffer and only grow more poor
And have no interest in developing industry or infrastructure here at home.
They know nothing of the branch
Only the rich fruit of the olives,
Whatever ripe can be harvested.
Yet, they know not how to sow.
Jul 2, 2024
Jul 2, 2024 at 11:57 AM UTC
Honor your ancestors, yes?
But some take that to extremes.
Even going so far
As to apply it to themselves,
In the physical sense & mental.
That being the oldest of them,
Instinct & emotion.
For to them the mind is wasted,
For them the body is nothing.
For them the mind is nothing,
For to the body of it is wasted.
In the sense that they are anymore
Man than any other kind of animal,
A concept so tiringly clung to.
So thoroughly discussed is mankind
That its philosophies are disgusting,
Unrecognizably distorted.
Those in actuality & reality,
Cloaked by sick games of telephone.
For to honor pridefulness,
For to shame modesty.
For from pride is derived honor,
For from shame is made modest.
If by death die the lies,
Then execution is the only honesty.
Then dying is the truest mercy.
For therein, what is just?
If in the journey of life
We have neglected to have collected
That of the mind;
If in the path of destiny
We have stalled not to have gathered
That of the soul:
To have connection to nothing,
Free from attachment,
But not to have been liberated.
For three are the siblings.
Yet, thee are siblings;
How shamefully you treat family,
How scornful you are of relatives.
Friends? No!
Acquaintances? Not!
Neighbors? Get lost!
What fields you salt
With crops you allow rot,
Clipping the stems of the spoiled
And smashing in the ripened.
Countless leaves of these branches.
Mar 28, 2025
Mar 28, 2025 at 11:18 PM UTC