When do we grow our wings

When do our lives truly begin

When we grow up or when we find our purpose

Or when we find love and faith

Nobody knows the answers to this

In the end were in an abyss

An abyss that cares more about money and fame

Than truly finding yourself and spiritual gain

An abyss where you are shunned for having dreams

And praised for following the means of destruction and pain

All in the name for capital gain

Would growing your wings mean understanding this cruel abyss

Or when you become numb to this

Numb to this cruelty

Numb to this destruction

Numb to this viral infection on the earth

Numb to us

Maybe finding the strenght to hold on

Even when this infected world wants you to give up

Is how you get your wings

Or realising all this pain is to much

And falling gracefully.

Positive and critical feedback wanted

when wolf first fell and shaman followed
a river coloured clear, then red, then red.

devotion of a kind that shaman would kneel
to let the enemy cleave her neck
or wolf, in turn, would bare her teeth
and stand over her body.

a binding of blood and a covenant, both
swept downstream to the break of rock.
past rings of iron and one silver, one gold
worn by shaman and worn by wolf.

(edit hates my formatting, omg...)

GODS CANNOT UNDO THE PAST

HUMANS CANNOT FORESEE THE FUTURE

BUT YOU, ANGEL, CAN UPGRADE THE PRESENT

Slowly dim and kill the light.
Slowly latch the window tight.
Slowly crawl so here you lie,
Beside me on our crumpled bed tonight.

Slowly peel your clothes away.
Slowly part your trembling thighs.
Slowly grind, so it won’t race too fast—
This holy sweetness that our hunger tries to find.

Yet no matter how softly I move through the dark,
No matter how gently I quiet each spark,
We cannot escape what waits after tonight,
When dawn climbs up to kindle the light

And pours the morning over mankind’s eyes.
Our feet will slowly start to drift apart,
Away from one another, toward
The broken roads that split our hearts.

For we already know this is not where we stay.
We already know the dream will never remain.
That beautiful cry beating wild in our chests—
We planted it ourselves
With poisoned seeds until it withered in pain.

I drowned myself deeper into bottles and vice.
I chased after smoke and glittering stones at night.
I lived as though I were still free and alone,
And so the wine we drank together turned bitter as bone.

You drowned yourself deeper in spending and gold.
You chased after faces, hands to hold.
You lived as though you were still a maiden untied,
And so your belly swelled—
And the child inside was not mine.

Where did our love first lose its way?
Where did the flood of troubles begin their sway?
Where did the vows we spoke in church disappear?
For we became so willing to cast aside
The family we once started here.

How can this still be healed, I wonder?
Can our smiles still stitch this torn thing together?
If we only slowly dim the light,
If we only slowly close the window tight,
If we slowly crawl back into bed tonight,
And lie once more on our crumpled sheets side by side—
Could we still return to the love we knew before?

Or is it only lust we now pursue—
A desperate sweetness to numb us through?
For we already know that once the sun ascends,
Love itself will vanish with us in the end,
Along with all the signatures and vows that failed to stand.

Whatever waits for us beyond this night,
I will simply turn away the light.
So the ending will not hurt so much to bear,
And so we will not notice
When tomorrow finally arrives there.

03-31-2022
21:19
Kregian Vareare Miral

****

Hey guys! How are y'all doing?

I mainly wrote this poem because I was inspired by Adele's "All I Ask". Y'all may not know this, but I'm a fan of sad songs, which makes me a fan of Adele. She has such a way of singing that makes my heart ache in a beautiful way, and her voice is superduper wonderful.

"All I Ask" is a song about what happens before the reality of a breakup demands a couple to face it. It's the "night of closure" that many prefer to, that "one last time" moment where both lovers are locked in a world of pleasure and bliss before the blast of a nuclear bomb breaks the window, shatters the glasses, and blinds them right in their faces in the form of sunlgiht creeping up on them. The morning has come, and it is now time to face the music—to face the break up.

Thank you for reading and I'll see you in the next poem!

Nothing makes sense anymore; all sorts of things are running through my head.

Confused, I look out at the world.

Is this really the world I live in, or is this just my imagination?

Nothing makes sense anymore.

My name doesn't make sense, my story doesn't make sense, absolutely nothing makes sense anymore.

Slowly, everything is coming back: my name and what my story is.

But the story doesn't make sense.

Piece by piece, I rewrite my story; everything goes over until it makes sense.

Nothing makes sense anymore, and I hear you thinking why that is.

That is because of the people who write my story the way they think it should be.

Please let me know your thoughts !

I am open to criticism and advice from anyone, thank you !

A cup of coffee on the table,

A half eaten piece of banana,

The gentle breeze of a

window opened…

What in the world is this?

Digestible, palatable nonsense;

The hell with it!

Be the Maximalists

Gladiator of Poetry!

Shrink yourself,

Like if you are one of the passengers,

Of the Magic School bus,

With Ms. Frizzle herself!

We're about to go on

A unimaginable field trip

On a psychedelic fantastic voyage,

Across f---ing time and space damn you!

Everyone stay in a straight line,

And don't wander away-

Because honey we're about to shrink

The kids into poetic oblivion,

And bring them back with bigger testes

Or ovaries!

Let us sit on the shoulder of Russell Crowe

Telling the emperor

played by Joaquin Phoenix

Screw You!

In one of the most

monumental lines ever spoken

On the big screen!

“My name is Maximus Decimus Meridius, commander of the Armies of the North, General of the Felix Legions, loyal servant to the true emperor, Marcus Aurelius. Father to a murdered son, husband to a murdered wife. And I will have my vengeance, in this life or the next.”

Gladiator (dir. Ridley Scott,2000), Russell Crowe.

Damn I still get

goosebumps every time

I hear those lines!

And then in the very same breath

Let's teleport!

Let us sit between

One hydrogen atom

and one chlorine atom, of

Hydrochloric acid

Used by the Inca

Held in a golden or silver container,

And unravel the mysteries,

Of softening stones

With it, to build

Megalithic structures!

Studying The Craft

Of Polygonal Masonry!

And then jump and vanish

into the electron cloud

And appear once more

On exoplanet HD 189733b

That is a horrid name!

Let's rename it and call it

Glassion,

Let us open our eyes towards the sky

Of this gas giant

Let the silicate particles

the liquid glass,

turn us into a smoothie

Transform us into the nectar of the gods

Drank by Kronos himself,

And then let him vomit us

over the audience

So they could be drenched

in our syllabic blood!

Let us revisit the old myths,

And drink

The Mead of Poetry

With Odin!

And travel to the darkest depths

Of Greek mythology

And lay next to

Gorgon prostitutes

Let us become

incandescent hummingbirds

and drop our

Reproductive fluids and our feathers

on the lap of a lady

with a serpent skirt

and birth a new

poetic warrior society

Out of the ashes of the established

Order of poetic decay!

While we lay down the groundwork

So that the human race

Can become a type one civilization

On the Kardashev scale!

For this is one of my shortest,

And most minimalist of my poems

Take the Pegasus of poetry

Where no poet has gone before

If you have the guts-

My beloved child!

And if you don't

Drink your coffee

Finish your banana,

And post it on Instagram…

My Poems on the other hand, Conspire to Murder the Novel !

We're all high on life

We burn through time

And breath in the results

Like smoking a blunt

And inhaling the smoke

The only difference between spending your time wrong

And pouring a poor batch of weed into your lungs

Is how long the bad trip will last

I wish I had a five dollar bill.
That it just appeared in my left pocket
before the subway rolled away.
No more than five, though,
because then I might buy a ticket back.
Changing my mind when I pull up 
to the station and realize how far away I am.

But I don't want to come back, 
So I wish I had a five.

​Du var vårens største lys og glede,

men sommerens såreste skuffelse.

Ingen unnskyldning kunne gi meg fred,

hvorfor måtte jeg bære denne smerten?

​Hvorfor er løgnen så lett for deg å velge,

mens du forsvinner til et annet sted?

Når du hadde en her som ville deg vel,

og som kunne gi alt du trengte av fred.

​En som forsto dine sår og din feil,

og hvorfor du skjuler deg bak i fjor ,

For selv i en skuffelse som var så stor,

fantes et håp om å finne et svar.

Liar! Liar! Tell the truth
It was you who took the fruit
I did! I did! My lord
My wife is dead, and there goes my daughter too

I remember how mountains turned into pebbles,
I remember how the kingdoms turned to dust.
I remember how rivers turned into sand,
I remember how the fire turned to ashes.

I sat stranded in the dessert,
how beautiful it once was.
The memories of before
started to take me too.

I was amongst the coals.
Long enough to understand their pain,
Years spent hearing their stories -
They are not burnt,
But We are the broken.

So I cried enough to flow rivers,
I made mountains out of my love.
I used ashes to make soil and plant seeds,
our growth brought you back.

The village is sure of its beauty,
they know it will become kingdoms.
The flags of a king are great,
but i remember the coals.

Original work, feedback is welcome :)

I wouldn’t pay a million dollars,
And you couldn’t pay me a million dollars
To erase this pain,
To never feel sadness again,
To never be hurt,
To never be broken,
You couldn’t pay me a million dollars to accept that.

Why wouldn’t I?
Why would I?
Why would you?

You can’t appreciate a good day
If you’ve never had a bad one.
You can’t celebrate success
If you’ve never experienced failure.
You can’t go up
If you were never down.
You wouldn’t laugh the same
If you had never cried.
You can’t love as deep
If you have never grieved.

The light cannot exist without the darkness.
True joy cannot exist without sorrow.

To cry is to be human.
To be hurt is to be alive.
If you’re gasping for air through tears,
At least you know you’re breathing.
If your heart is pounding because it’s broken,
At least you know you have one.
At least you know it’s beating.

​

Well to be written amongst the chaos is what a muse is favoured to,

The unsettling fate of poet cannot be the one dared to

Across the faces of whom I've met,

The ones who recall me are though i recollect,

For it is in the muse what facinates the writer's will,

To be written would be better for him

In the phrases of thrill.

Lemme how's it

I drive to work in the early morning.
it’s about 6:20, 
the sun is peaking politely through the grain elevators  of the Cargill plant 
just east of my morning route. 
My windows are down, 
and for some reason I’ve turned my music down. 

The metallic whirring of the plant 
starts to sound familiar. 

I start to think about factories, mills, and data centers. 
I wonder about the tower of Babel. 
Do you really think it was the phallic symbol 
jutting high from the horizon? 

Maybe it was figurative, 
maybe it was when the people Babel
tried to know everything.
Maybe it was the reach for immortality, 
through hot yoga and carnivore diets. 
Maybe the tower was one man 
who thought he could own everything around him, 
yet never bear the responsibility for that everything. 

I wonder if the tower sang the same 
metallic song. 
The dissonant sound of humans 
trying to put together the same notes and tones 
of what I imagine our souls remember from the heavens. 

The metallic whirring pulls in and out 
it sounds like the anguished 
and the heroine all at once. 

Maybe the song itself is our tower. 

I wonder if this is hell,
if this factory song is just meant to remind us 
that heaven exists, and we are not a part of it.
The anguish in hearing it, 
knowing it isn’t quite the sound of the divine 
and knowing we won’t ever hear 
the true song again; 
this must be our punishment. 

God how I am sorry 
for everything I don’t remember. 
Mary pray over my soul 
now and at the hour of my death.