_s's Spiritual Poetry

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_s's Spiritual Poetry

Post  _s on Sun Oct 21, 2012 4:47 pm

I have written a very great amount of poetry dealing with philosophical and spiritual issues, and decided to post the more relevant ones here.
I think poetry is a great tool for explaining complicated ideas, and also that the beauty of a poem is a wonderful end in itself.
Not all my poems are about this stuff, so the ones that are not are not going to be posted.
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_s

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Your Emotions

Post  _s on Sun Oct 21, 2012 4:48 pm

"The problem isn't finding yourself, it's not loosing yourself in it." - Some Guy Online

Reason and Reality went dancing
but Reason couldn't stop stepping on Reality's shoes
and both knew they could learn so much better
from a teacher more skilled in their particular way,
themselves.

So they danced their last dance with swords,
and Reason won, lying hook foot from the ground,
wounds gushing red with your emotions;

but now Reason's reasoned out
the need to learn from someone different
and he's dancing over the body,
getting out a half-functional Frankenstein kit,
and thinking this hall would be a little more happy
if she hadn't been the one to eat all that lead.
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There Is No Love

Post  _s on Sun Oct 21, 2012 4:48 pm

There is no love but love for the world,
love solar and radical in every magnitude.
That is why a lover says, "You are my world",
because what the sky feels, what the stars feel,
what the moon feels to the world,
that
is what a lover feels.
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Small Gods

Post  _s on Sun Oct 21, 2012 4:49 pm

I had a dream
I was in a crypt for small gods
and everything forgotten was clamouring
upon my ears in nonsense past-lives

that I never lived, hidden
I saw their moments of urgent clarity,
thousands of scenes:

a child rises to greet the sun,
first-love in every shape and color,
the pain, resignation and glory of maturity
as an old man goes to sleep at sea;

and I knew,
this is what is forgotten
and can never be remembered,
these are the lessons we couldn't learn
even when we were looking for them,

and I lost everything upon awakening
except a deep and ancient sadness.
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Royalty

Post  _s on Sun Oct 21, 2012 4:49 pm

Once in a land, a rich man said he was king,
and rather than drag him from his castle, the
villagers decided they would throw a magic blanket
over his eyes and carry on as if nothing happened.
A young poet was chosen to throw the blanket, and
got himself commissioned as court jester. As the king
was entertaining himself, the poet threw the blanket over
his head. The king fell asleep in his pleasure room
while he was playing with his warheads.
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Reason

Post  _s on Sun Oct 21, 2012 4:50 pm

The problem with being an emperor is
that of all the people whispering in your ear
the only one you have to listen to is yourself;
I write like I'm redefining the universe, like
the empty praise of strangers is a true test,
like my writing is to please and not just to impress,
or that complete honesty could never become a mask in itself.
But perhaps the emperor has clothes, but
his whole empire fits in his sweatshirt pockets
and he'll whore it out to whoever makes him feel the best.

I want so badly to dissolve in my thoughts
of my own brilliance, I want to go way up high
and never come down, but more dangerous than that
I want to be home and in a warm bed
while a poem, nothing more,
dances on the tip of my tongue.
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Honesty

Post  _s on Sun Oct 21, 2012 4:51 pm

On being honest, it is not only the right choice,
but the only choice that is, in a sense
that you could sense, you all ready know it,

if you were totally honest with yourself; But that,
only in some such sense, is the same, and that

is a closed and infinite loop, in a sense,
in The sense you would know
if you were blindingly honest to your self.




[I think the gnostics out there will like this one - _s]
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On Masculinity

Post  _s on Sun Oct 21, 2012 4:52 pm

It does not matter, that you are a piece of me
that is filling in; it does not matter,
for you are completing me, and I can not cry out
but for joy in light of such a serendipitous event.

It does not matter, no,
the dance of the gender of the spirits,
it does not matter.
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Matthiew

Post  _s on Sun Oct 21, 2012 4:52 pm

I am in an aeroplane, and the child front left-of me is crying.
It is very hard for me to feel anything other than abject hatred for him.
His name is Matthiew, and I wonder if
I threw him from the window would he stop screaming
before he hit the ground?

Does he scream despite the people,
or does he scream because of us?

That is why I wonder
If I could fit him through the emergency window
if he would realize before he hit the ground
that his screams would only annoy the birds,
that he could never out-scream the whistling wind
or if it is enough for him to torment himself.
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Life Cycle

Post  _s on Sun Oct 21, 2012 4:53 pm

All poetry is love poetry, because
all poems are written by twelve-year-old Shakespeares
to mistresses like mayflies, who are born and die
in poor poets' imaginations, while they live parallel lives
for as long as they like, or they are written by people
who remember this, but are too old to say it out loud,
and the mistresses who poke out from behind their bars
have long been poets of their own, with mistresses
and mistresses on to infinitum, a chain of old fantasies
always asymptotic to burying the one behind them
till all creation passes into silence; or
they are written by the forgetful, who lust so hard for love
they imagine it in their poems, or worst of all

poetry can be written by an old master who is all of these
and who can see the entire planet turn from their bed-room
and who feels nothing but love for everything they see,
who compose their perfect poem as they die.
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Fiction

Post  _s on Sun Oct 21, 2012 4:54 pm

I love fantasy, because being in reality
is my finest fantasy; but the feeling of reality
is really a fantasy;
so I also like reality
because my real fantasy
is that fine would be finer
if I was really in reality.
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DMT Immortality Theory (Or, Anorexia)

Post  _s on Sun Oct 21, 2012 4:54 pm

What if we lived forever?
I mean, if every promise from a Korean nature show is right,
This will add this many years, decrease your
percent chance of cancer for five? I mean

What if we keep decreasing the chances,
and the chance gets so small
that you will never have to catch up?

But even if you push back the days,
the months and years start piling up,
and there's only so much one heart can take

and it breaks, and the tears start filling up
the dead space in the end of your lungs,
the light at the end of the tunnel is oblivion,
there's not much relief a mind can give.

[this was written during something that was either a psychotic episode, kundalini syndrome, getting too damn high, or some combination of the above.]


Last edited by _s on Sun Oct 21, 2012 4:57 pm; edited 1 time in total (Reason for editing : added note)
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Destiny

Post  _s on Sun Oct 21, 2012 4:54 pm

You are an agnostic
because everyone you know was an agnostic
and you were raised by agnostics

who might've said they were Catholics
but they don't know, and sure, you were born here, you know,
but you know you don't know.
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Demiurge

Post  _s on Sun Oct 21, 2012 4:55 pm

Imagine: You're a demiurge,
and God's told you to make something,
so you go around putting spirits and souls together
and then the tools he gave you are bucking up
resisting their square holes you made for him,
complaining about the whole peg-hole duality,

and you don't know what to do
because they've realized you're playing a game
so now they want to win

and then you're hanging off a cross
wondering why the Romans would betray you,
asking, "Father, Why have you abandoned me?"

and you don't have any sort of answer.
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Average Faces

Post  _s on Sun Oct 21, 2012 4:55 pm

There's six billion people alive
and I'm from a generation who can't remember six billion people's names
much less what they've done or what their faces are

but a generation which still tries to find meaning
in making sure others know our faces,

though in this great graveyard
which makes its ceaseless circles
it's easy to tell the average face from the exceptional

because the average face is made of bone
and only their words argue for space, and only in our minds
as if they wanted us to better them,

and we can't even hear their warnings
because we're too busy making warnings of our own,
but I cant put my pen down for a second
not even if I wanted to,
not even to breathe.
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