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Literature Text
There's some kind of beauty in life,
The coexistence of death and unknowing
You don't know what could happen next,
Fate, reality, persistence, or controlled events
Everything happening for a reason?
Or does it just go along?
Is this some kind of story?
Or do we make the choices?
The irony is,
where did all the matter in the big bang even come from?
If a God made the matter, where did the God come from?
And where are we to go, or do we just die, done, over?
These questions may never receive an answer,
But we can always question, always speculate, and always try
to understand.
The coexistence of death and unknowing
You don't know what could happen next,
Fate, reality, persistence, or controlled events
Everything happening for a reason?
Or does it just go along?
Is this some kind of story?
Or do we make the choices?
The irony is,
where did all the matter in the big bang even come from?
If a God made the matter, where did the God come from?
And where are we to go, or do we just die, done, over?
These questions may never receive an answer,
But we can always question, always speculate, and always try
to understand.
Literature
for quinn, my angel
they say, if you don't keep it a
secret it won't come true / but
we've been wishing on stars &
for the sun to come through /
and pierce the ash clouds of the
future we dreamed in our youth.
she says there is bit by bit still
reason to grin, to dance; we are
smiling at fluttering vermilion
and falling fire / pulling our collars
higher, the warmth of a dream
blooming in reverse to a sapling
of hope. and yet yesterday night
the moon was fighting for her right
to self-determination / and hope,
in any language, is self-sacrificing
to the tipping point of tidal waves /
i think hunger pains and deja vu
speak for me more than they both
used to
Literature
Life and Other Choices
When you talk to people on the train they all seem to tell you they're going home. Tonight on the number fifty-nine train to New Orleans I am not one of those people. I am leaving home. And I swear that someday I will never leave home without her again, but until that day I will spend my nights on the train explaining to people exactly why I can't sleep. And it's because I'm just that tired of leaving.
Literature
wasted youth
hey, where are you from?
from wasted youth.
what?
i am from a mad sad youth, from
dreams covered in mist, from old
broken homes, from funeral sobs
and weathered books, from empty
seashells, from crushed memories
and faded photographs, from moon-
light scars and rainbow moans, from
untamed flowers to infernos, from
childish fears and "Berlin Wall"
barriers, from moments of glee to
months of melancholy, from a place
that reeked of loneliness and dead
naked bodies, from post-orgasm
fucks, from beautiful screams, from
this & that & there & nowhere &
everywhere.
oh.
did i scare you away?
no, i don't think so. at least not
Suggested Collections
Less of a poem, but a poem.
Comments1
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Great use of couplets in this brilliant poem. I like how the poem is questioning the raison d'etre of life, a higher power, and one's own understanding of the world. Very thought provoking. Well done. 