But this state of mind
is not self-chosen
but ****** upon
by life's myriad slings
of suffering
and indifference

the body and mind
are first buffeted
and later bruised and hurt
marks of pain are imbedded
like those branded
on the backs
of sheep and lambs
to stay and persist
to linger on and to violate
until life's last breath--

to be mortal
to be human
to feel
to hope
is to know Weltschmerz
sooner or later
few could such escape
seldom does its intensity
subside or abate

the monotony
the sameness
the chagrin
the weariness
the emptiness
the unchanging taste
of repeated experience
the brevity of joy
the hard knock of constant sorrow
on the weak and vulnerable door
of the heart, already shrinking
and sinking
the too-quick ending
of a love-song
and the night--kiss
vanishing
at the first peep
of the day's dawning

the unbearable thirst that's only
satisfied momentarily
but never quenched
soon enough the spring
dries up and the drought
sets in to aggravate--the despair
that returns to roost, hovering
ready for descending
on the self in quivering--

life has lost its meaning
living is but struggling
the moon has gone into hiding
the stars are tired of glittering
the tides are waning
the flowers are drooping
the trees are weeping
and love is farewelling--

Weltschmerz
the ultimate angst
that festers and invades
our total being.

A resurgent nihilistic philosophy
A second lost generation
Disillusioned with the being of nations
Lost in their own antipathy
Confused by new sensations

A political theorist I am not
I like to wander in hills and clouds
And pick out kindred spirits in crowds
A thousand wasted battles fought
A thousand raggedy burial shrouds

The bohemians revel in their nonsense
Shall I my conceits and imaginations forsake?
Maybe a decent Lawyer I would make?
What is real and what is performance?
Which side of me shall I deem fake?

To which should I my attentions give
My unceasing love for liberty,
or a discontented bourgeoisie?
Material things I need to live
Yet still I am most lifted by poetry

Exclamation points are little lies we tell each other
In this digital age it's easier to feign surprise or excitement
When in actuality, nothing surprises anyone anymore
Now - disgust, apathy and scarily even hate
These things you can't disguise electronically as easily
And sadly even less so face to face

German is a harsh language
An opinion that prevails
A strong rolled “R”
Noises, making you think
Something is stuck down your throat
Talking, in everlasting anger

Let me tell you something
Let me introduce you
To the beauty of the German language
To the words of “Wanderlust”, “Weltschmerz” or “Geborgenheit”
Many words so unique

Their meaning poetic
Using them yet so difficult
Listen to us closely and you will find out
German is not German
It comes in many forms
It varies by the region, state, country

Every form has its own character
Every accent has its own thrill
Determinable in the way it’s spoken
And sometimes hard to understand
Differences so great,
Yet compromised in a single tongue

Reconsider,
German is not as harsh as you think
No anger lies in our tone
Nothing is stuck down our throat
And spoken by the right person
It can be quite melodic

The lightbulb on the roof
Is flickering with proof
That the mind is dangerous
It's a poison in our youth

Our thoughts are hazardous
There's war inside of us
How are we still alive?
The abyss is cavernous

That to which we strive
We know will never thrive
We're told we should surrender
We weren't destined to survive

Our wounds are feeling tender
Our hopes are getting slender
We're buying what we're told
From the catastrophe vendor

Our brains fill with mould
Our bodies grow cold
We'll die before we get old.

I'm good
most of the time
I'm in control
I'm satisfied, I can feel happines

But sometimes a feeling comes crashing over me
out of nowhere
triggerd
like when you finish a good book
the end credits roll
of a movie all so beautiful
emptiness sitting on your chest so heavily
I can't cry
no release granted
"pain demands to be felt"
my heart breaks, my mind trying to keep up
my heart can't keep up, my mind breaks loose
emptiness
the despair of ficitional characters
familiar but strangers all the same
not real but reality to me
I care for them, being dead inside
"face death, deal with it or lose yourself"
the last page is turned
the story stopped
all are dead and yet alive
in me
not enough room, make way

I try to numb it out to get back in control
whisky burns my lips
smoke scratches my throat
whishing for release
lose it, keep it tucked in forever
though I feel, finally
alive
I want to punish myself
I lose control for good
emotions bundle up to the surface
make up for time lost before
drunk texting
regret in the morning after
I need to express myself
to you, to anyone, get it out
there is no one here

Weltschmerz
pain of the world
all in one
tiny little heart so fragile
I'm made up of stories

My friend can I come over
I'm in that mood again

You would figure
such a moment would be burned
into the paradigm of memory
when exactly did I learn
life was no cartoon?
well, it wasn’t one traumatic incident
rather a rushing current of events
a drunk uncle here, a screaming mom there
a belting boyfriend or toy-stealing sister
playmates picked dead last no matter
older boys bullying the younger
teachers who didn’t particularly bother
some cousins had yards and fathers
while others like me had neither
always more chores than fun
and no one ever explained how come
priests were less present and less kind
than the mexican street venders
there’s no specific scene to pause when I rewind
I honestly can’t remember.

It wasn’t at a funeral, by then
though I was young , I somehow knew
life was not all beautiful and true
that those adults who told me what to do
sobbed on dark beds and screamed at phones
then wiped their tears or ****** walls
before reentering the room
their eyes a little more like stone
while I pretended to un-see it all
and kept on playing with my toys, alone.

time ticks quickly
          its insistence echoes through my bones

dates mean as much to me
          as raised voices do

and both whizz past in a blur
         the way cars do on a highway
                   because that's all i am, a kid playing in traffic.

i am no more a child than the girl i was ten years ago
         i have, in fact, shrunk.

i have been crushed upon being released,
         wrangled by the wind before i can begin to take flight.

the most enduring thing society has led me to think is that
         i am simply incapable of living.

i am a sad impersonation of the sun -
         shining so brightly for others, though inside,
                  
                   *i am lethal vacuum.

It burns-- Immensely
     Unclear why the pain is so bad.
Why does it feel this way--
     Locked up but
The treasurer owns nothing,
     Feeling the weight of
Other's unknown thoughts--
     The new pain
Mixes with the old,
     Devouring all in an
Unchanging harmony of this life.

In nature, as in civilised homes, there is evidence of conformity
      That only significant study would make apparent,
      but his studies were suspicious and neighbours would talk

The nose is bleeding and his pretty song is skipping
on the jukebox by the bathroom door
Anhedonia now is constant, the pathos inherent
As their mother went missing years ago
While they read Proust by the window,
and the day was drawing closed
Their father was sick with Absinthe shakes
whilst little duck starved in the pond behind the house

On disagreeable days,
profound introspection
becomes not more than
subversive ******-babble
and the words he speaks
are dust on the tongue
a bother and little more

Purported to be perpetually depressed, his cool demeanor left an impression
on his sister, as she would gaze upwards at his face, displaying world-weariness
So Weltschmerz they called him and his cool was palpable
but only her smile could bring colour to his fa-

I the lonely meadowlark
Perched upon the thistle
Waiting the sickled mower to pass

I the cracked egg
Fetal heart slowing, slowing
Death before the hatchling birth

I the hare crouchant
Scarce aware the shadow’s dive
Screeching beneath the talons

I the wind-torn tree
Branches scattered, bleeding sap
Beetles explore the shredded bark

I the fawn uncertain
Edging the splattered highway
Mother shattered in the lane

Last day of summer*
autumn knocking
at the door
as all years before
life's undertones
will broadly be
the same.  Weltschmerz
is what the season
will offer and utter-

I wonder
what meaning
living
does confer--

left in a vacuum
I wish not to think
of the whys and hows
just wait for what
the immediate hours
will of their accord bring
be it simple joys or deep sorrows
true wisdom abides
in humble accepting-

past and present
intertwine
in the fabric of time
moment follows moment
none does know
any future outcome-

I'll sit quietly
expecting nothing
bid my heart stay still
in emptying.

For some reason, it’s a crime almost these days to care about things
and get emotional
at the state the world is in—it seems that most would have
apathy be a virtue
and would declare that caring
leads only to a Weltschmerz of the most abominable sort.

But I say different.
I say there are some things worth crying for,
and I see rain coming down every day.

I see rain coming down in big & little drops,
hard rain
soft rain
never-ending rain that comes from all directions
it makes puddles and muddles the umbrellaless,
ruining hair and suits

It doesn’t just rain on the just and the unjust
It just rains and rains and rains and rains
It rains fire and it rains blood
It rains bullets and people die and ****
and nobody gives a ****, which is really
a sort of rain itself, you know?

And the water runs in torrents
it forms streams off of mountains
collects in basins
becomes rivers and salvation-lakes
and ponds with Lilly pads where
more than sorrows are drowned.
(It rains in open windows, too.)

And then there are the ******* oceans,
a whole other problem all together

It just rains and rains and rains and rains.

and with all that water pouring down,
it’s worth (from time to time)
a little water
of our own.

Feelings are a fantasy,
Star studded,
Very stupid game,
Emotions are just power blessed,
Laced with blood and brain.

A rare exotic tiger,
Love,
She hides in long grass ,
As he dances,

On graves of darkness,
Crouches,
Ready to destroy.

She,
That's me,
A beautiful trinket,
Locked in encrusted jewel box,

Not playing for peals of wedding bells weals,
Wedding bells just give me hell,
In a hotchpotch mess of fools desires,

I am your weeping cross,
Laid by the wayside,
Please repent,
Hell,
I'm not begging you.

Weltschmerz,(world weary)
In this whisky bottle world,
Heart pain,
The fantasy in which you hang,
Not a real man,

Just mixed in with life's emotions,
Spilled over,

Stuck in spiders web,
A dream of online lies.
While indecision cries!
A fool I am,
A fool you are!
Adorned with mania's crown,
Wrapped up in satin dress!

By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

The ravage and scourge of time
joys marred and hopes muzzled
moments tested and inchoate
experiences which puzzled

for life is a silent drawn- out drama
its sides are prickly and they bristle
there are long dark nights to endure
dreams are frail and brittle

foundations are rotting and are unstable
many unsuspecting fall into dire quagmire
views ahead seem like green fields but deceive
they are mirages and spell the demise of desire

the endless quest and the inane weariness
the world has its beauty lost and has grown old
sighs, regrets, despair, unrest and doubt fill the daily page
the existential angst of living is told and retold.

Feelings are a fantasy,
Star studded,
Very stupid game,
Emotions are just power blessed,
Laced with blood and brain.

A rare exotic tiger,
Love,
She hides in long grass ,
As he dances,

On graves of darkness,
Crouches,
Ready to destroy.

She,
That's me,
A beautiful trinket,
Locked in encrusted jewel box,

Not playing for peals of wedding bells weals,
Wedding bells just give me hell,
In a hotchpotch mess of fools desires,

I am your weeping cross,
Laid by the wayside,
Please repent,
Hell,
I'm not begging you.

Weltschmerz,(world weary)
In this whisky bottle world,
Heart pain,
The fantasy in which you hang,
Not a real man,

Just mixed in with life's emotions,
Spilled over,

Stuck in spiders web,
A dream of online lies.
While indecision cries!
A fool I am,
A fool you are!
Adorned with mania's crown,
Wrapped up in satin dress!

By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

Pages of a book are too trivial
Bah Humbug! That one's archived
And 7 Years
Doesn't catch me when I fall anymore...

I can smile and distract myself
But "I chase perfection"
My personality won't run, though
Stuck between confusion

I'm not lonely
I'm not mad
I say I'm Switzerland
But I end up helping both sides

Thank God I'm not an open book
So stop calling me depressed
And stop giving me that look
Everything isn't a mess

So understand me, I'm tired
Staying neutral is too hard
Only one person can change me
I hope you understand it's not you

Weltschmerz
    it's common
    but individually hidden

    life the angst
   the grind of time
   the tribulation

   the drifting
  to the unknown
  no answer to the nagging question

the world weariness
the monotonous undertone
the same melancholic content

Does everyone feel the heaviness?
Does everyone see society coming apart at the seams?
Does everyone taste the bitterness that people have for one another?
Does everyone hear the rage being spat in the public square?
Does everyone smell the destruction of the institutions that once bound us together?

How can we experience all of this and still have hope?

From the depths of the fresh whisky bottle.
Weltschmerz, (world weary), altered  his thought concoctions.
His pleasure filled coffee.
Invigorated by inspirational alcohol filled kisses.
Ode to being happy, as happy he's not.
To be loved is something, he truly forgot.
She's not a drinker.
She's just a deep thinker
She never forgot.
For she never knew, how love truly felt.
Then she met you, the angel  who drank.
Once she was lucky.
For once, just once she loved an angel.
(c) Livvi

Yours truly does readily confess
the following poem crafted more or less
approximately a year ago,
when coronavirus (COVID-19)
wrought havoc creating global mess
when panic against collective temple did press
a feeling of melancholy and world-weariness.

Along luscious green acres banks steep grade
(in close proximity to
Petticoat Junction) naturemade
Perkiomen Valley watershed,
verdant landscape displayed
yours truly, (a garden variety
proto human) arrayed

solely donning birthday suit,
whose fifty plus shades hair gone grayed,
i.e. one infinitesimal measly mortal
whiles away hours, laid
back days of his life as
the world wide web turns
comprising second decade

of twenty first century
civilization, where
coronavirus veritably waylaid
furlough afflicts populations feeling betrayed
entire fabric **** sapiens staid
threadbare existence now best describes
chock full of endemic ennui proliferates,

where vast majority of people afraid
to leave their houses lest COVID-19 played
greater havoc, whereby society already upended
unemployment factor at record high since...
Great depression witnessed
courtesy somber parade,
ninety years ago benchmarked

from May 11, 2021,
an invisible oppressed heaviness weighed
down the madding crowds
aghast how stock market trade
hit rock bottom making paupers,
ill fate clobbered breadwinners
circumstance none could evade

October 29, 1929 haint no charade,
when Black Tuesday hit Wall Street
bitta bing bitta bang bitta played
bitty bitty chitty chitty bang bang
linkedin with irrational exuberance portrayed
American economy supine splayed
versus March 11, 2020 characterized
coronavirus outbreak as pandemic

by the WHO subsequently signaling
Trump cited "fake news" and not dismayed
to expedite drastic measures
none would impede golf nor Mar-a-Lago
leisure him sipping lemonade
acid test tee zing 'bout quaffing electric kool-aid
without getting his doggy dimples in a bunch

he grudgingly complied and obeyed
purveyors (governors) and Anthony Fauci
complete United States government shutdown
approximately mid/late March 2020
which undertaking generated brisk business
grim reaper experienced
(still does) protracted heyday.

is weeny people
having thoughts that
are immense, vast, oversized for their age
for their teeny, picayune bodies

but that isn't the problem

it's the elders not acknowledging them nor their thoughts
it's their need for self destruction  
it's anxiety, depression, Weltschmerz all over again

it's not being enough
but feeling
way too
much

There's no real escape
the knot can't be severed
wedded to life and its singular thread
happy, sad, wise or absurd-

how the wheels do turn
each different in oscillation
one is caught in dizziness
dazed in total confusion

but none has any power
the nexus to untangle
though it's tried
from any angle-

ah, the angst of being born
to live in the inevitable
despite the most sombre landscape
one has to face the most unendurable

you are my
weltschmerz

Glimpses
guesses
conjectures
the weariness
the uneasiness
the going-nowhere
the stresses
these
our inheritances
as life passes
surreptitious
mysterious
leaving vestiges
of hints and vagueness
before us-

we are not born
to know-what weltschmerz!
the futility and sorrows
of knowledge!

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                                      On Being a Still Life Today

No outside duties have called me away today
And so I have become a still life entitled “Ennui”
Or perhaps “Weltschmerz with a Pet Dog”
Two dogs, actually, and they have napped the hours

The rain has fallen day after day after day
A parallel to the Ancient Mariner’s sun
Tree frogs cling to the algae-green window panes
As if they too have lost interest in life

Even so

With my little world all rainy and grey
I am happy to be a still life today

We need such experiences to lift us from the drabness, tedium, the mundane and weltschmerz of living---
the route need not be a religious one, I think, only that it  should be spiritual, humanistic, life-enhancing, selfless and compassionate as each person within himself has such latent potential which he could tap with a higher consciousness.
      In the common platform on which humanity stands,
everyone has a voice, albeit a individual and distinct one.
If such a voice strikes a responsive chord in our heart, life is somehow ennobled and enriched.
      It's hard to understand why wars and conflicts should exist
when we have such great potential to do good. We would have to assume----such leaders who are war-mongers are heartless and know not the healing and spiritual powers of 'amazement, wonder and awe'.
     Despite all the horrors and misery that the world has to endure,
hope we should not abandon.  Though a utopia could never be achieved,  every compassionate, ethical and moral thought and act would help draw out the latent best in each of us and the world would be a somewhat better place for our being its citizens and goodwill- bearers.

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                                     The Blues and the Blahs

“Ennui” sounds like a urinary tract infection
“Torpidity” something to do with one’s bowels
“Anomie” might be a boring friend
“Lassitude” a cowboy who has lost his rope

“Insipidity” the noise of slurping one’s soup
“Angst” a degenerative heart disease
“Weltschmerz” Sergeant Schultz’ least favorite beer
“Misanthropy” a cute but cranky girl

I don’t how many of these I have got
But I have got ‘em - and wish that I did not!