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One who can never die, and
One who has a day left to live

Will both live
Without regard for their future
Just a thought. If you're immortal, nothing matters cause you're desensitized from the years and no nation's consequence can **** you. And the latter has no future.
Nat Lipstadt Jun 29
I have never been to Alabama, or…
<>
I have never been to Alabama,
or where
Immortality
reigns supreme,
but I am told here and there
nooks and looks of poetry
reside abide and
ENLIVE,
And sadness is banished,
loneliness impossible,
&
Loveliness abounds,

And every poem
Gets a sun,
Becomes a star,
And every poem,
Is immortalized

And those who choose
to compose, selves to expose,
become angels protecting all who write poetry in their hearts,
but
who cannot nor,
dare to share
<>
but
they share with them...
who in turn
share to all
the confidence of
Comfort
[1] though I have been to Georgia, where are angels I have met, and regularly converse and reverse poems of love and respect
ab ja na Apr 17
i want food
i want to eat and sleep and be pampered
like a brat cat that gets so much love
enough of being a dog, it is tiring
and i think i am living in dog years
wait i was about to say cat years,
i want to live in tortoise years
as a tortoise
The child in me wants to grow up to become a tree.
The adult wants to die into it.
Trevor Dowe Apr 4
What despair, this bleak existence causes
In pain and suffering unending
With no escape and no forbearance
How does one cope with immortality
And the inability to cease
What recourse, as empathy bleeds
From every attempted connection
Lost or denied, broken or abandoned
Like the innocence of childhood
As hope fades into hurt and love turns to ash
And the taste of dust consumes all
What divine punishment is this
What curse is laid upon the ******
To cause such immeasurable torment
Rage at the chains that bind life and soul to flesh and bone
Who holds the lit flame to burn the world to the ground
Or to cast light onto the blighted and reviled
If there is no finality and no surcease
When does time become irrelevant
As seconds and epochs are ones in the same
Is there no why, no how
To combat such strife
To bear conflict to the oppression of reality
Is a fools errand, a childish whimsy
Beaten down and shattered upon the indifferent earth
No warmth can ward off the chill of eternity
Peace, serenity, passion, and ambition are lies
Told to distract the youth from
The truth of what is to come
Falsehoods and fabrications woven
Into tapestries of feigned glory and imagined pride
As the stars flicker and sniff out
Does ever the watcher still ache
For what was and what could have been
Know now that this neither fate nor destiny
It just is, as the lonely tide washes away
All that was known and all that was
Until all that remains is solitude and tears
That never fall and never leak
They might even be a myth
For none, but one, will ever know the truth
Remorse and fear long since missing
Where does infinity begin to lose meaning
The vessel, now empty, floats on currents invisible
No attachment lies unbroken
As inevitable betrayals follow the pale rider
And the boatman beckons all, save for the solitary figure
Trapped and bound to witness beyond the end of all things
Can this pact not be negated, is it profane to desire escape
No answer can be found, for the question is, like all else
Meaningless
As sanity collapses, like a wave upon the shore
As breath is stolen by the void
Is the weight of apathy a burden or a boon
Torturous promises lay rent asunder
And the towering rise of once quenched thirst for joy topples
Can emptiness be it's own reward
Don't try immortality kids, it's a scam.
The life of a poet lives on
through all their poems,
but the day I do depart,
I want to be cremated.

I will entrust family
and some fellow poets
to let my ashes sink
into some deep black ink.
And I'd want them to write
the stanzas I secretly saved
just for the occasion.

That way
they can say
that I put
all my heart
and my body
into poetry.
Literally.

My soul,
on the other hand,
would live on happily
as an eternal poet
having fun rhyming
while everyone's crying.
(and I'd wish they'd stop.)
I wouldn't want my loved ones to be saddened.  I'd want them to rejoice, knowing that my dream of becoming an eternal poet finally came true.
I want to hold the moon, in the stillness.
As a newly healed being, forgetting his illness.
With transcendent secrets, long lost, and unheard.
Converge with the earth, my body returned.

It's not just the glow that my soul truly seeks-
But the calling of a gnosis, at its brilliant peak.
The kind that would nurture without word or touch.
With pulses divine, surging through me in flux.

I want to push oceans, form the tides Mighty sway.
As nova's light the way, even brighter than the day.
Not where I am dying, but drifting sublime.
Through a cosmic stimulation of emotions and mind.

To hold the moon is to be as the dark,
The Infinite void with no ending or start.
To weave through galaxies in quantum ascent.
To be untethered, unmeasured, and unbent.

For there's a place where echoes of gnosis still call.
Where darkness is divine, as it stands without fall.
For when all existence comes to end, as we know it.
Darkness not only lives but will thrive by the moment.

The stars told a secret, the divine know our depths.
Our intentions are gold. We're not at fault for our steps.
I want to walk where quantum waves ebb and flow,
And merge with the calm, only the moon has ever shown.

To hold the moon is to live as the night.
No longer chasing myths of a misguiding light.
To rest with the shadows, unobserved in their allure.
My failing charred heart, reborn by the nights cure.

♦ Đerek Λbraxas ♦
I want to hold the sun, as a flame.
As a shroud that no longer needs his name.
Devalues his origin, and the costs incurred.
I'll dissolve in the furnace, my body deferred.

It is not the burning that I truly seek,
But a quiet surrender, at a radiant peak.
The kind that evaporates matter aligned,
In myths of forever, leaving time behind.

I want to watch as light rays become dust.
As suns burn hollow, saturate and then rust.
Not where I'm dying, but morphing sublime.
A process dissolving emotions and mind.

To hold the sun is to grasp at gold.
Abandon the flesh, that's grown tired and cold.
To slip through the cracks where mortality turns.
And breathe in the silence as lungs start to burn.

For there is a place where the ashes belong.
Where shadows are living and scream with a song.
Where the afterlife is not just a realm I'll behold,
But a quiet ascension to a gnosis untold.

With stars I share a secret. "The Divine are forgiving".
Their quantum doorways are their gift to the living.
I want to walk through, with that luminous flow.
My transmogrification into the unknown.

To hold the sun is to become its light,
To no longer struggle in the dark cosmic fight.
To emerge as the stardust that I know is pure.
Lay the illness of a life in defeat by Deaths Cure.

♦ Đerek Λbraxas ♦
greatsloth Mar 20
If my desire of immortality
Was not delivered on Tyche's oak desk
And my neck accepted Death's penalty,
Make my funeral transient and modest.

Do not dump me bunch of would-wilt flowers
Nor weep with salty tears upon my earth
Instead scatter me some seeds of asters
For when they blossom it is my rebirth.

Though if God of Wishes grant me this dream,
Erase my name from your reminiscence
As I have ventured out this weary realm—
I'm with the stars flaunting my omniscience.

Either way I'll try to end it laughing,
A fitting mood for my new beginning.
Bonnie Mar 2
Venice’s Commemorative Monument to Bartolomeo Colleoni - 1488



The general glares downwards from his horse,

faithfully keeping watch over the mundane,

the tedious progression of centuries.

A sentinel, he had imagined himself—a noble,

intended to become immortal,

traveling ever forward in time,

defying the erasure of memory.



But time is the enemy of all things.

The pigeons and the rain could be tolerated;

time, however, has become relentless and unyielding.

It has eroded his heroic relevance,

he watches unblinking as his glorious benevolence

fades from all memory.

Generation after weary generation

manifests the ruinous decay of collective forgetfulness.
The melancholy and futility of the fleeting nature of human remembrance.
© BonnieBayGallery 2025
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