"unbeing" poems
"Poor Yorick!",
His soul is saved.
Safe and sound,
In cold unbeing.
Cold unbeing,
For whom I am so hungry.
It's bitter tundra will fill me,
But my fire won't go out.
The burning won't stop,
And my ashes only gather.
There's something very wrong,
With a blistering winter.
Oh Yorick,
I envy.
Your sleep is undisturbed;
Where I am only tired.
You are bones,
And King Hamlet is a ghost.
Floating like him and stagnant as you,
I cannot rest.
My sleep is disturbed.
Like the king, I can't find peace.
But like Yorick,
I am hollowed bones.
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 9:10 AM UTC
It's well even in the land of well..
It's well even in the kingdom of well ..
It's all garbage in garbage out all from garbage . Just like the name, the thoughts of many are, like in most.. it's garbage to those in the same vibration but below exceptions makes it seem godly and magnificent.
I wish.
I understood.
things, words, language the fingers scribes some times...
Trying to make sense but making nonsense, ha, I get it, sense takes one third of nonsense,
twisted for the disabled.
It's just too twisted for the disabled but not for the ables.
Twisted.......
Books..
Twisted..
Poems...
Twisted....
Believes.
Twisted...
Unending....
Twisted scientists making clones..
Twister...
Imagination...
Twisted..
Flexibility...
Twisted..
So they say...
Anxious..
So they feel..
Unbearable.
So they remain...
Twisted it is and twisted it will be..
Cause, it's believed that twisted is for the unbeing..
It's the outwordly.
It's the unreal..
Few escapes, the fews that grasp twisted and make it a friend and a guardian..
A partner and a mentor...
Hence they sleep with twisted..
Pray with twisted..
Worship twisted..
Eat with twisted..
Eats twisted..
Marry twisted..
Bond twisted
And starts delivering twisted babies.. everything rolls down with the understanding of twisted..
Never could end this infinite theorem.. cause the source is twisted and twisted is goodness and goodness is in all but all isn't in goodness...
Even fates are twisted..
Cause our fates are being changed in per second not discovered yet but now or soon..
By the
Steps taken...
Choices made...
Thoughts expressed.
Thoughts conceived..
Conceived, oh, I remember a line in one of the forgeten books of agony..
Agony in processes.
Agony in delivery..
Once again twisted it is.
Sense is one third of nonsense..
Wakeup...
Days are very slim here and nights are very colossal..
So awaken and prepare, for the rainy days might seem no end.
Drought might be handy.
Sorrow might be arrowed through the heart.
Preparedness toughens and Patience exonerate..
Patience can be twisted with weakness, it's okay, Patience is weakness to the extent that weakness compels strength....
That's the TWIST..
Many fight to distance weakness yet run after strength but never realize that strength is the shadow to weakness.
Shoma morita's..
Embrace with..
Accept it..
Adopt it..
But never tolerate it from the weak..
Else excuses will be made from it.
Procrastination will be fashioned.
And discouragement will be manifested..
Manifestation..
The resulting culmination of things..
Things precipitated by TWISTED...
Now Wakeup.
It's well even in the land of well..
It's well even in the kingdom of well ..
It's all garbage in garbage out all from garbage . Just like the name, the thoughts of many are, like in most.. it's garbage to those in the same vibration but below exceptions makes it seem godly and magnificent.
I wish.
I understood the things, words, language the fingers scribes some times...
Trying to make sense but making nonsense, ha, I get it, sense takes one third of nonsense,
twisted for the disabled.
It's just too twisted for the disabled but not for the ables.
Twisted.......
Books..
Twisted..
Poems...
Twisted....
Believes.
Twisted...
Unending....
Twisted scientists making clones..
Twister...
Imagination...
Twisted..
Flexibility...
Twisted..
So they say...
Anxious..
So they feel..
Unbearable.
So they remain...
Twisted it is and twisted it will be..
Cause, it's believed that twisted is for the unbeing..
Is the outwordly.
Is the unreal..
Escapes.
Few escapes, the fews that grasp twisted and make it a friend and a guardian..
A partner and a mentor...
Hence they sleep with twisted..
Pray with twisted..
Worship twisted..
Eat with twisted..
Eats twisted..
Marry twisted..
Bond twisted
And starts delivering twisted babies.. everything rolls down with the understanding of twisted..
Never could end this infinite theorem.. cause the source is twisted and twisted is goodness and goodness is in all but all isn't in goodness...
Even fates are twisted..
Cause our fates are being changed in per second not discovered yet but now or soon..
By
Steps taken...
Choices made...
Thoughts expressed.
Thoughts conceived..
Conceived, oh, I remember a line in one of the forgeten books of agony..
Agony in processes.
Agony in delivery..
Once again twisted it is.
Sense is one third of nonsense..
Wakeup...
Days are very slim here and nights are very colossal..
So awaken and prepare, for the rainy days might seem no end.
Drought might be handy.
Sorrow might be arrowed through the heart.
Preparedness toughens and Patience exonerate..
Patience can be twisted with weakness, it's okay, Patience is weakness to the extent that weakness compels strength....
That's the TWIST..
Many fight to distance weakness yet run after strength but never realize that strength is the shadow to weakness.
Shoma morita's..
Embrace with..
Accept it..
Adopt it..
But never tolerate it from the weak..
Else, excuses will be made from it.
Procrastination will be fashioned.
And discouragement will be manifested..
Manifestation..
The resulting culmination of things..
Things precipitated by TWISTED...
Now Wakeup.
Jul 10, 2023
Jul 10, 2023 at 5:43 PM UTC
LOVE, HATE, WISDOM, FEAR, WEALTH… KEYS MANY ARE TO LIFE IT’S SAID
NONE IN BIRTH IS AFRAID,WISE,HATEFUL,GREEDY,NONE SHALL BE SO IN DEATH.
LIFE! ITS A NOW,A PRESENT CONTINUOUS,DIES HERE THE PAST,A FUTURE BORN
NOW,A SUM TOTAL OF PAST,FUTURE AN EQUATION INEXORABLE FROM HEREON.
FUTILE IS FUTURE MIRRORING PAST, AWARENESS MY PRIMER FOR A CHANGE FAST.
WHEN ALIVE ARE HEARTS PUMPING,WHY ARE MINDS AND SOULS DEAD BARREN?
ISN'T HEART THE GOOD EARTH ALWAYS AND MIND THE TREE WISE OF BANYAN?
I RID THE DISCONNECT, BY GRACE, HAVE A MINDFUL HEART, A HEARTFELT MIND!
LIVING THE STAID REALITY OF LIFE, LOVING, HATING, THINKING, BEING WISE,FOOLISH
KILLING, FORGIVING, PHILOSOPHICAL IN A CRUELLY KIND WORLD OF PARADOX.
IS THERE A REALITY DEVOID, OF LIFE AND DEATH, LOVE AND HATE, GOD AND RELIGION,
OR TRUTHS,LIES, TIME-SPACE,SOUNDS AND SILENCE,EQUANIMOUS PEACE AT WAR?
IS IT JUST A PLAY, OF THE MIND AND HEART, DESIRE AND POWER,BONDAGE UNREAL?
GOOD VERSUS EVIL?
I LIVE BY THE HEART,IT DOES STOP AND THE MIND,OH DOES IT ROT!
UNFEELING HEARTS AND UNTHINKING MINDS, THESE BARRIERS SLOWLY I CROSS,
BEYOND IS THE BEING, THE EXISTING, INCAPABLE OF THE UNREAL, DIVINELY AFAR,
A VOID SURREAL,UNFEELING YET KIND SOMEHOW, UNLOVING YET CARING SOMEHOW
UNSAD, UNJOYOUS, UNAFRAID, UNWORLDLY...ATTRIBUTES NONE AT ALL! UNBEING??
I KNOW NOT IF IT’S GOOD OR EVIL, IS JUST UNBEING,UNAFFECTED BETTER SOMEHOW?
IS THE FREE UNBEING THERE,JUST TOTALLY BEING HERE?! BACK TO A REALITY RELATIVE!
GREYS ARE MANY, IF DARK BE HATE AND BE LIGHT LOVE, MID-GREY IS THE WORLD, HOPE CAN MOVE!
FROM THE MOUNTAINS DOWN I CLIMB, JUST, WITH PRECIOUS BAGGAGE, UNPACKED TO MAKE SENSE,
OF THE REAL IN THE UNREAL,THIS ONE WORLD IN INFINITY, WITH ITS ANGELS AND DEMONS,
I CHOOSE TO LIVE WITH REALITY; AND UNRAVEL JUSTLY; ELSE IT COMES LIVES WITH ME ANYWAYS!
OR IS IT ALL JUST INEVITABLY INEXORABLE, JUST A HERMITS DESTINY?!
May 25, 2012
May 25, 2012 at 3:18 AM UTC
Silence after words,futility after actions
emptiness after thoughts,indifference after loves
desolation after joys,destruction after creations
death after lives,truth after lies,being after unbeing
peace after wars,ignorance after knowledge
pains after pleasures,nirvanas after samsara,
nothing after everything,and all so ****** vice-versa!
Dec 31, 2012
Dec 31, 2012 at 6:04 AM UTC
Becoming what I'm not
And who I am isn't who I am
But might be a mixture of both being
and unbeing
Celestial lack of knowledge
Becoming learned by lack of sense
Watching birds on the porch
Pay the family recompense
Walking in a wheelchair
Aborted walk the earth alive
Amish on cellphones
There's something wrong, here.
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 9:03 PM UTC
Feverish to the state of unbeing.
My wish is to evince green natured sublimity.
My love waits for one moment between
A valley between peaks
Mt. Adore, Mt. Deplore
Where every pocket of my immediate surroundings
Pulses it’s rhythmic truth
Rattles my sensation
Rattles of co-corporalisation to the tips of my nerve
Till my chest sinks or swallows or something
Till I literally gasp before the miracle of the Air
Till I phase out.
Till next time.
The hum drums on
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 2:56 AM UTC
Life is disjointed in space and time
Most virile when most foolish
Wisdom acquired only in hindsight
Inapplicable to ignorance past
And to shape destiny now revealed
And souls kindred but alas in flesh
Separated by distances and ages
And barriers natural and unnatural
Yet Spirit mocks not nor is futility
For surely Life's flaws but apparent
As a shard or fragment betrays a whole
A whisper of what once was, or to be
The anguish of unbeing but a promise
Of wholeness far beyond that glimpsed
But that glimpsed suffices for faith
Or for rebels to strive with hands
For earth and flesh is all there is
And two unfitting fragments joined
Soothes all brokenness' forlornness
And to forget disjointedness' promise
Jun 3, 2025
Jun 3, 2025 at 1:27 AM UTC
people ask me if my brain has started rewriting itself
If my consciousness expanded to take up the space left behind in these two months of rapid decline
Maybe in the week my eye has refused to read street signs and text messages
I am asked If I start hearing people’s locations as my sight slips further out of my reach
as if this is a neotech drama about self awareness and I am Neo
I just need to wake up, take a pill and I will harness the Matrix
more aware of my lost ness of my smallness
Of how I am I insignificant and absorbed into the collective strangeness of a crowd
It is not a different kind of light or of seeing but a falling darkness and sensing things in the night, when bats are flying low and recklessly close. When I feel the current swell around me as the unknown let’s me escape in previously grandfathered ignorance.
Tonight I am not ignorant. I am looking at a blank and dismal map. It is not filled in in the slightest.
I am rust and berry pulsing within a thick cracked skin in a sea of unbeing, only aware of where I touch the raw, colorless, and endless universe
Intensely attenuated to my body curled in fetal position
against the thickest nothing I have ever encountered.
like a slumbering geode
Filled with colorful secrets
Poised to bloom
I wait
But rocks sleep forever
Mar 17, 2019
Mar 17, 2019 at 4:04 PM UTC
There's always this stage, later on
after you have realized that you
actually can live without
this person, though it is a continuing
source of pain. At this point, everything
you were so scared of saying
for those long many months, somehow
has been said. You both know
how much you mean together, how
your conversations will go, what
the subtext clearly says, though not
said clearly. I know you miss
me, just as much as I continuously
miss you. After some point, I will know
you love me just as much as I
will try to show you how much I love
you, though I didn't believe it before and
I couldn't tell you so for old fears.
At this point, the wound of you
not being here will start to scab
over. The very essence of your unbeing
in my presence will dictate that you
cannot heal me, that I must live
with this pain and your vacancy. I will not
tell you I miss you, taking a knife
to my healing holes. Against my will,
I am pulling back. After the thrill
of "I miss you" has worn off, it only
brings pain with every utterance. I miss
you, I miss you I miss you I
miss you, and you are missing so profoundly
the very air around me sings
of your absence, whistling through emptinesses
that echo the ones inside. But sometimes
I would rather not remember
that you are missing.
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 11:30 AM UTC
I am an art of human
A seed unto the world cast loose
Holding what's unfurled
Beneath, a lonesome seeker of truth
It is undue to suffer
Through a seemly, caustic night
Unbidden, untoward, unwellitude
Unbeing
And unbright
But in the hull solemnitude
Unmeaning
And unkind
We find ourselves in solitude
Inside a well, unlit
Untied
Jun 25, 2019
Jun 25, 2019 at 2:05 AM UTC
In being and unbeing
I come to you today―
in unconscious state.
Excessively leaning on
cause, it is not heart―
not brain. Just a beat.
Evening is settling
down. Time flew past. Birds
going home. A lone moon
will rise.
Underground thoughts start―
stunning the secrets.
You open the lost book.
In war go the alphabet.
Questions arise. After all―
who was me.
The awakening begins.
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 12:09 AM UTC
as the gush of invectives admonish me
pouring as it never rains,
drowning me in a drawing sea of phillipic polemic as per Cicero and Demosthenes
slating
I feel bulimic
consume ravage and destroy
to be in being
is to miss out the joys of unbeing
essence before existence
never chicken before egg
hammer before stick and metal
******* malleability is not a virtue
Jan 8, 2018
Jan 8, 2018 at 11:17 AM UTC
thanks be to god the ever
holy hand that brushes the
hate from our eyes and
absorbs the pain to give to
himself or some other
demon to devour as a delicacy
he who glazes the brain with
a thin wash of sanctity or
blessing or love or something
of which we cannot speak
but nonetheless the rats that
he animates continue to
unknowingly praise his power
in a song that beats on eternal.
he glazes us with a love that
sends shudders through the
unclean base profane vermin
bodies that he persists to bless
with the utmost holy gifts
unclean rats congregate and
deteriorate and demolish and
hate and defecate and spit
at god but still the bodies
shudder with the unearth
the element that cannot
exist without his presence
and then again it happens
the ugly unclean
profane **** eating
parasites are the
receivers of a
god’s touch that
even the angels
are not worthy
worth is a distorted
concept god is all,
yet worth none
the trash is
graced with
the utmost
pleasure
any being
or unbeing
is capable
of processing.
Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 8:06 AM UTC
have you witnessed the change
in the whether?
heard the words of truth,
hilding your own opinion,
smiling.
have you laughed at the wind,
knowing the words are
unnattractive.
then slept dreaming
this state of unbeing.
i randomly hope,
you have not.
it is unsettling.
sbm.
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 1:55 AM UTC
Looking into the *** of literature
Eratosthenes, and getting some midnight wrong
Broken poems, killjoy, I'm in a mellow dram with my bearhugs
In the chugging lurid frescoes of the mind of a gregarious soul with lion's eyes and a wolf's soul, the warmth lit the Savannah
Seems like cold ice, thawed in the nasty weather, left with positivity
Emerson's rude bridge, on the point, on the road, *** or a livid ultimate cunning guy being the ****** kicking the dirt with the incomplete poetic lines, where souls find lost dreams on the end of passion steps, lost Conrad
Do they murmur as a poem which is one, unbeing and being
The poem reminds of a haiku
She once told you
Tea was taken black
Sweet and right, is white on the top
A soul in the heart of darkness find an accident in the heart of weakness of others, my lungs are paper trite on the road around this town
Bless the soul, it knows peace after we're long gone on the dry dirt, kicking up the darkness in dreaming of you
Fear in a handful of stardust in an ashen raging madman
If you could those poets in that lost poem
If you could read between the lines and keep the metaphors alive
Dying and slipping, sliding away away
Concordant lives of the passion of the Christmas, he lives with his Hagrid-like father
Strolling the empty nights, with the Christ in the amazing hodger, roger in the soul love, and they share the same books
That's why they share different characters, and lines
Aug 22, 2019
Aug 22, 2019 at 6:49 PM UTC
I see their silhouettes
Melt far into the horizon.
Their untimely dance
Knows no bounds,
No digresses
Continuing forward
With no pauses.
The nymphs have departed
And their feet do not hurt
Nor do they ever stop.
They walk right through me
Like the season’s of a year,
Like yesterday’s trees
That are naked today
With a shivering hope
For tomorrow’s new embrace.
Shadows loom amidst silences
Drenched with fever and sweat.
Stupefying moments of unbeing
Confirm impotency’s pending threat.
The nymphs have departed,
But their laughter malingers
As it creeps through tiny holes
And then the ears of some wretched
Like me, feigning to sleep,
While a bustling pageantry on the street
Slithers across from under my feet.
It’s almost nine, now I must set my eyes to weep.
Apr 10, 2019
Apr 10, 2019 at 8:50 PM UTC
In the end, all is made right.
The page, so pristine, so vulnerable,
Awaiting my every error?
It's all set right, wiped away, and nothing.
Nothing remains of what I've wrought.
Perfection comes at the tip of the scalpel,
Carving away and down into jumbled
Words, each its own perilous
Non sequitur. They fall away in tatters.
The only peace is in purging them
From the mind to the page,
Then from being to unbeing.
This is no way to get published.
There's no fulfillment in the empty book,
And even less in an empty hand.
Jun 20, 2019
Jun 20, 2019 at 11:55 AM UTC