These Philosophy Evil poems are examples of Evil poems about Philosophy. These are the best examples of Philosophy Evil poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
That lone ornamental plant,
that stood straight,
with colored shiny leaves,
had its own story to relate,
it was brought in infancy,
to the office,
to decorate and tickle fancy,
it was an eye soothe,
amongst dead office wood eye sores,
and people who were alive,
but wanted others dead,
plant was innocent,
and had not thought so in the start days,
but had gathered that over each passing day,
he had a secret to reveal,
that people came to office,
not to work,
but to work down others,
they were jealous and egoists,
they spoke lies and spoke bad of others,
most of the time they did that,
only a little was left,
for the work for which they were paid for,
life of the plant was spent thus,
he became tired and almost dead,
he knew these evil people,
would throw him out one day,
and that they did,
but he was happy,
that he was free,
of evil and bad.
Berty Beaver, he was quiet
He never said too much
Yet Molly, Berty’s little wife
She mouthed off just a touch
She’d always threw her weight around
And poor old Tiny Tim
He got a slap most every day
And times his days felt grim
Molly, well she was his mum
And though she loved him so
She always had to nag someone
And give them a cuff or blow
Tim became a poor young man
And shrunk from every one
And as the bully’s hung around
More evil did get done
His mum she says ‘now that’s not on
They don’t do this to my son!’
And she goes running to the school
Oh, she’s an angry one
She glares the teacher up and down
And lets her know who’s boss
Teachers try hard to placate her
Though, they only suffer loss.
Then Tiny Tim, comes running in
And says right to his mum
[Frustration snatching fear away
No more his mouth hangs numb]
‘Look Mum, at what you always do!!!’
He says with voice stern
‘If you’re a bully too, then how
Will us kids ever learn.
28 June 2013 @ 1727hrs.
My life has been one enormous charade,
A make believe game,
A play I have played,
A story I tell myself, day and night,
Hidden from myself, out of sight,
A game of hide and seek,
While searching for something else to eat.
A cosmic game,
A comic game,
A bad joke,
A puff of smoke,
A lonely path,
I used to take it so seriously,
Think it, feel it so real, so perfectly,
So certain I that was right,
That I lived in the light,
So convinced that I knew the rules,
So obvious I had all the tools,
That I saw the truth,
That I saw the light,
Would win the battle, win the fight.
Heard the sound of the distant drum,
Calling me to battle with the devious one.
The walls of my ego were high and mighty,
My dreams and delusions danced in front of me,
Their smooth dark surface impossible to climb,
Images I swallowed and thought were mine.
I made them alive, moving and real,
Twist and turn like a slimy eel,
Just to tell myself that I was still someone,
Playing in the game and having lots of fun,
Just to tell me and to tell you,
That I wasn't a loser,
So I wouldn’t hear the words game over.
Check and mate,
Here's the gate,
You have to take,
Out of the Game,
The game of shame.
The game of avoiding being blue,
Of dogging the bullets they shot at you,
The atomic bomb they drop on your head,
The monsters that they put under your bed.
The game of hiding away,
Live to play another day,
Even if it's only make believe,
The prizes in plastic,
And not worth a dime,
At least I have the impression that they are mine,
At least I don't fell the pain,
The pain of shame,
In this perverted game.
So that I don't feel I'm a prisoner,
Tied to this post,
Don't even realise that I'm only a ghost,
That the truth is well hidden,
On the board of the game.
That the prizes are in plastic,
But they are shiny and new,
The paint hardly chipped,
The emptiness hardly shows through,
The laughing is loud,
The smiles are all warm and friendly,
And we are all together,
Joyful and happy.
The illusion is REAL,
And only the mad man knows,
That it's a rotten deal.
more of my poems at http://labyrinthoflies.com
The eye,a sign the
unwise can't comprehend
Forged from the world's
illumination in darkened
enlightened ones like
Leonardo da Vinci,Isaac
The eye is a tree
with many branches like
Priory of Scion,Knight
in all corners of earth.
The world is clothed
through wisdom from
The eye,all seeing
emblem of power and
riches to the lion hearted
and loyal souls.
A seat of influence and
Creating the social order
through men of power....
Some see it as a
curse,others a blessing.
I feel it,the great eye is
To the darker side is the human inclination adherant
To the evil impulse it is strongly adamant
But what vile part of anatomy urges it to be so delinquent
What abets his innerself
to disembark from the lane of good
The fulcrum of his conscience
weighs heavier on the evil side
There are dark shadows on
the inner realm of the soul
Yet there are stronger lights
And a mightier force to balance the rusted fulcrum
What divine part of anatomy
urges it to the lane of right
It is 'Him' who resides in every being
In the good and the evil
In the saint and the devil
The Emperor and the holy man
Once, a long, long time ago
There lived an Emperor
He had conquered half the world
He couldn’t be worshipped more
And everyone within his realm
They done what he did say
For each knew that to disobey him
Could mean his dying day.
One day this Emperor did decide
To sail to India
He’d heard about those holy men
And the tales in him did stir
A lot of curiosity
He decided he would go
And find one, then bring him back home
He had a need to know.
Romanda was a holy man
He’s deeds were legendary
He never wore no clothes at all
And everyone could see
That he was someone very special
Many had seen his power
And they knew that time with him
Could bring one’s soul to flower
The Emperor sent some men to find
That holy man, did he
He told them bring that Guru back
Deliver him to me
So off they went to do his will
But Romando he refused
He said your man must come to me
Those soldiers were confused!
The Emperor, he was upset
He found that holy man
He offered him jewels and, and money too
And he did not understand
When our hero turned him down again
He drew his sword on him
It didn’t look good for the holy man
That Emperor looked grim!
Romanda told the Emperor
“My friend, chop off my head
If this is what you’re bound to do
But you won’t kill me dead
I left this body years ago
You cannot kill what’s not
Oh, you may kill this shell I’m in
But that’s not worth a lot.
He said ‘why do you conquer
Don’t you know, it’s a disease?
When you have conquered everything
Will you then be at ease
Put your sword away, my friend
Don’t be so childish now
Know you a man who says he’s great
He really has no power”.
The Emperor was beaten by
A naked, unarmed man
The great man? Stood there foolishly
He did not understand
How this man was unafraid
He’d never glanced within
Great Emperors, they only know
The mind and all its din.
12 September 2013@1835hgrs.
3 o’clock in the morning…
The sounds of bed frames hitting drywall,
The sounds of Chopin and Coltrane played
With a hint of sadness in tone.
Sounds of whores and pimps arguing;
“Where is the money, you whore?!”
“I don’t have the money!”
A sound of a slap to the face
A big hand crushing bone,
Red streaks on white walls.
The sound of drunks walking gloomy streets,
Police and ambulance rush down burned out streets
Sirens wailing, crying out!
A child, six years old
Crying, “Momma! Momma!”
Shedding tears over his dying mother, lost her soul to the
Rest In Peace.
A sound of a .357 magnum revolver click
And a gunshot shakes the nerves of many,
And for a moment the sweet and peaceful silence.
“Dispatch, suicide on 46th street Hollywood Boulevard, Send the Corner. Over.”
Then the darkness sails over
And the entire cities are showered with tears from the heavens,
But no one weeps,
Not a single soul…
Down the narrow unending hallway of my keep,
To the last door on the left,
I rest my head for a moment of sleep.
As I fade to dream I see a tunnel of light,
A small space of illuminated madness,
Where demons cringe and angels delight.
A place long ago hidden and known by few,
Where the sands of time have come to a still,
A maze of light and darkness is what I have come to.
I realize I am not in heaven, nor in hell,
But rather in a impermeable shell.
Surrounding the purity of the light,
Lies the beast of the night.
An unyielding guardian of incredible might
Displaying unholy darkness,
Taunting and teasing the light.
"Come on out .." he would seem to say.
Away from its shell,
The light did dare not stray.
For within the virginity of heaven's keep,
The angel of light finds his peaceful haven,
A place so pure even the horrid beast dares not to creep.
He knows his limitations,
Regardless of the how strong his power has become,
Forever shall he cower at the grace of revelations.
Yet revelations alone are not to contain the beast,
No not in the least.
Limitations like rules are meant to be broken,
Bountiful evil incantations are repeatedly spoken.
The spell of light that feels the need to control,
All from the darkness of one evil soul.
Yet there in the heart of the darkness the light remains to be free,
No matter how hard to darkness tries to invade,
The purity of the light holds the key.
A never ending struggle within the mind of one,
Light upon the darkness, a balance never to be won,
Forever shall the chess game continue,
Neither one to give an inch,
Neither one to be outdone...
hello my friend, stranger walk by,
borrow a moment, spare me your lie,
through pen of the narrow and mist of an eye,
below absolute zero, someone will die;
sentence to rambler, apple hereby,
flute of the meadow, mandrake will cry,
in front of the riddler second might try,
get out of here mortal,
exit near by-e.
angry as he strike out his pen,
get out of here demon, get out of this den,
in thousands of years how long has it been,
when scriptures wear sandals;
on meadow you land, many bear seasons,
stakes shall bend, lantern still burning,
your letter is send.
The joy of the pheasant shoot.
Getting set for the big event
The good folk do their stuff
They beat the earth with sticks, do they?
With their little dogs so tough
They flush those pheasants from the scrub
So all can have some fun
Killing them with smiling faces
As they fire beloved guns.
Then as the pheasants in a panic
They bolt into the sky
Our hero’s with their guns in hand
Make sure that hundreds die
As the air is filled with the cracking sounds
As birds fall all around
Just so these fools can get there jollies
These corpses cover ground.
I wonder sometimes if these hero’s
Have any souls at all
That they could get such satisfaction
Doing these acts so cruel
Sometimes it leaves me speechless
At the way folk get their pleasure
Killing beauty just for fun
Is an ugly kind of leisure.
10 September 2013 @ 1340hrs