Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership

Best Psychological Poems

Below are the all-time best Psychological poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of psychological poems written by PoetrySoup members

View ALL Psychological Poems

Search for Psychological poems, articles about Psychological poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Psychological poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

Definition & Discussion of Psychological Poems
Read Psychological Poems

See also: Best Famous Poems

Details | Psychological Poem | |

DARK ANGELS OF HIGHGATE


  
Enough Angelina, drop the bouquet of harebells.  
The flowers wilt as your graying hands stiffen. See, how grave
is our newborn son. We gift him a black crêpe layette.
Say Darling Edward, say, Golubushka, make me come alive.
Leave this chapel, return to his cradle, quicken your deadwood.  
Come, rock his sweet little boat, croon, sladkiy bairdark.
 
Your shade sighs as the mourners trudge into the dark
of All Hallow's Eve. A breeze stirs the hairs on my nape. Bells 
toll, the ringer incants “Unto the Church, I do You call, Death              
to the grave will summon all.” Freshly turned gravel
rolls from the burial mound, the earth’s answer to life’s 
reticence. Our son, whom I cradle, mutely lays.       
 
See, the ground moves.  There, there, my boy. Love's only mislaid.
Father, Mother, take the babe, go, shield him from Highgate’s darkness.
I stay. By will alone, I'll not let maggots deface beauty that lives.    
My Angel, please, tug the cord housed in your coffin so the bell
will ring, rouse London’s rigor. You will waltz on this grave,
speak of Siberian winters, then scoff, roll eyes at the vigor of death. 
 
Insubstantial lips brush the babe’s forehead, even death
cannot stay her reply. Ed’ard, Mother will take him home to lie. 
A chill north wind rises as if to show your sorrow from the grave,
clawing the headstone with twigs and pebbles; clouds darken
the moon. Your shade screams; a bough whips Mother's cheek, the bell  
on its gold cord is silent. Wind nigh swallows my howl, Angelina, live!
 
We are alone, Angel, save for those cemetery ravens which liven
roan weeds. Three nights I've troubled Highgate, plucking deadheads   
from your boney wreath. Obstinate wife, revive the grieving bell.
I hear them calling Ed’ard, Come. I am torn from your stone: waylaid,
outnumbered, locked in our bedchamber. At the next darkening,  
the babe's rattle rings, calling your name. I escape to your grave.  
 
Nightclothes drenched and shoeless, I topple onto the grave.
Yea though I walk … ring, damn you, bell, ring! Curse this life!
The sky cracks open, sheet lightning pierces the craven darkness
as if in answer a mother oak’s limb shatters. The deadweight
crushes me against the granite angel where you lay.
At sunrise, church bells rang Angelus prayer from the chapel’s belfry.
 
Angelina, Angelina, our grown son visits our grave to honor the dead.
He is our true afterlife; all my fears have been allayed.
All is too calm and well 'til his eyes darken as he batters your bell.


Collaboration by Cyndi MacMillan and Debbie Guzzi

Stanzas 1, 3 ,5 and 7 by Cyndi MacMillan
Stanzas 2, 4, and 6 by Debbie Guzzi



Details | Psychological Poem | |

THE PLIGHT

THE  PLIGHT
I never cease to ponder at the turmoil in my life 
Though I feel my soul is peaceful it is manifest in strife 
While the strife is all internal 'neath a self content facade 
Turmoil rises in the absence of at-one-ment with my God 
Is it merely my perception? Am I resisting taking heed? 
Should this life be one of resting, or is it strife I need? 
 
It should be a simple matter to find the purpose of this life 
Is it growth I need from striving or is it rest I need from strife? 
Is it focused introspection, is it altruistic love? 
Is it spiritual reflection, or is it all of the above? 
For sure it’s more than economic, yet while that’s necessary too 
Is it our souls’ evolution that makes it all worthwhile to do. 
 
I can see no point in living just to pass another day 
I must have something more worth giving, than just to pay my way. 
It would be so much the simpler if a man could know for sure 
What his purpose is for living, his evolvement to procure. 
Will my purpose well within me? Could a vision not appear? 
And suggest a clear direction to pursue while I am here. 
 
I’m so tired of treading water, putting time in ‘till I die 
There must be something more constructive waiting for me by and by 
I have fancied other options but none have succored to my taste 
Yet to continue what I’m doing simply put, seems like a waste 
So it seems the only option is to carry on and wait 
And resolve that when I’m called on I will not hesitate 
 
I have learned of soul eternal, on an endless ageless quest 
Taking various forms and bodies, each to serve its purpose best 
With each lifetime experience and with every lesson learned 
It’s one step closer to perfection that the growing soul has earned 
For it’s purpose is advancement, and to not be left behind 
In it’s struggle for ascension to God, the universal mind 
 
I have friends who understand me, superficially at least 
I have others who are certain I have succumbed to the beast. 
I have family who despise me as a traitor to the faith 
Very quick to, criticize me and condemn me as "off base" 
I have learned I must not judge them, t’would be a travesty indeed 
For they are only doing what ‘ere it is that their souls need. 

In the meantime, I’m impatient, that my calling has not come 
It’s quite clear that I’m not ready, sufficient learning’s not been done. 
The problem’s not with others, nor need they change for me 
The work must all be done within me for my soul to be set free 


Details | Psychological Poem | |

A Love Story

The girl is an ultra-modern scholar, 
Belongs with an upper-middle class family. 
Looking very nice, smart, gets angry suddenly. 
She reads M.A in English at Presidency University. 
She is assimilating to the ideas of Shakespeare, 
Shelley, Keats, Neruda, Byron...
Fluently speaks English, loves cricket. 
Shoulders are shaken by expression.
She cries alone, laughs with everyone....

The girl is very good.

The boy is a post-modern educated son of a lower-middle class family.
He studies M.A in Bengali at Calcutta University.
He is assimilating to the routes of Vaishnab literature,
Ideas of Bharatchandra, Rabindranath Tagore, Nazrul, Jibanananda...
Writes poems, sings song, loves football.
He walks on the high-street and observes people.
He laughs alone, listens to everyone...

The boy is very good.


They are attracted by the opposite personality!
The  girl wants that her lover will be a modern man.
The boy thinks that his lover will become as the mind of his. 
 
They are changing silently
Losing individuality.

Time flows.
Love goes to another address... 

SANDIP GOSWAMI, INDIA

Details | Psychological Poem | |

Asperger's Child

Some say you're not quite whole,
But I know better, Angel Child.
You live in a place all your own,
Free, unhinged, sometimes wild.

In precious moments you let me in
And I am stunned by what I see.
Purple trees and butterfly bees
And things I thought couldn't be.

You tell me of other wonders
In a voice so sweet I nearly weep—
Of Daisy Lou, a lizard that's blue,
And of mice that sing you to sleep.

Then abruptly your voice changes
And your look seems far away.
I have become a stranger to you;
You have said all you want to say.

I understand the pattern too well;
You have gone where I can't go.
You dwell there often, Angel Child,
It's where you're wholly whole.

Details | Psychological Poem | |

In the bed they make

And when will the tides turn against confident indifference?!

When will humanity cease
To throw cats against curiosity’s silver coated dagger

Another played out song
Another dramatic lyric
Shifting embellished overtones
With deteriorating tact

They spit posthumous awakenings
As divinity laced smiles, wither under a convoluted moon
Shedding retina waterfalls
Misunderstood

Pretentious anger becomes Aphrodite mediocrity
Wisdom, they never “put out”

Crippled tears
Become self-important struts within olive tinted reckonings

Lambasted butterflies
Stirring hornets’ nest
Uninvited

They dream for better days
While double-knotting gang colored bandanas
On eagle’s achromatic foreheads

Another Woody Woodpecker band-aid pulled from condescending hypocrisies

…

And when will the tides turn against pilot light’s mal-intent?

When will the flinty sheep 
Stop wondering how these charring, orange fires began

Forgetting the 115 octane gasoline can
They hold quietly in their hands

©Drake J. Eszes

Details | Psychological Poem | |

The Pain Game

Why do people, want to cause
Other people pain
Where is the Love 
That will break the chain

Someone says something
Then it's tit-for-tat
I've played this before
We all know the score
Now who's up at bat

I think it's time, for us to play
The self healing game
Before there's no one, left
Around to blame

One that's more thoughtful
And much less insane
Let's reach for the Sun
And help everyone
Come out of the rain

All we have, is this fleeting chance
To get this right
No time for jealousies 
No time to fight

Don't say, that you're sorry
Don't seek to forgive
Just start here today
And throw it away
And learn how to live
 





Details | Psychological Poem | |

AN EXISTENTIALIST ASKS---WHAT IS LIFE

What is life?

Euphonies, cacophonies and chromosomal anomalies
intertangled destinies and illusive methodologies 

Occurring in obscure dimensionless time
Millenniums fertilized to create the sublime

Perceived by ideations so pure it would seem
To exist beyond mind and to all in between. 

Lingering as lore to an all distant past
There is no redo, there is no redraft.

The questions, the answers so rightly proclaimed
are composed and transported by thoughts still unnamed.

In limited struggle, the moments unspent 
Become the result of a living lament.

In what and wherefore and why and with whom
we unwrap our existence in this paradoxical womb

Can we find meaning, a clear sign that we see
inclusive to all, this existential decree.

From naught made of all and conceived in a star,
we landed on earth, neither near nor afar

For reasons unknown and telegnosis unclear,
These salient projections are all jockeyed by fear

We stand in the way of unknowing surmise
And find the world is still much a surprise.

A quest overwhelming in distressed sanity
For answers not known play havoc to vanity.

To end these remarks with a questionable phrase
all becomes known in 'one of these days.'


SYNOPSIS
From the moment of birth to when we die, life presents us with dilemmas and questions that amuse, titillate and confuse us.  As we get older, we realize that what we thought we knew was all pure conjecture.  This poem is meant to reflect  the myriad of disjointed thoughts that  have run through my mind throughout the years.  The "why me?" and "what is my purpose in life?" questions usually are met with ambiguity and incoherence.
Many of us are beleaguered with these conceits and although some find solace in religion, for people like me it becomes an existential never ending struggle.  

CAK 8-18-2013

Details | Psychological Poem | |

SWIMMING UPSTREAM

SWIMMING UPSTREAM

It seems I always 
swim upstream 
against the current.
re-creating struggles 
of conflicting contradictions
and unsweetened scripts
at odds with others
in deeds and words
a emotional dissonance 
played out over a lifetime. 
banged and buffered hard
against the onflow;
prevailing opposites rush
to assail my efforts
intent on wearing me down
scraping, scarring, challenging
calling me out with
harsh ridicule and doubt
  
why must I cause stirred sediments 
to muddy, blind and bewilder me
blurring reason so that
what is seen as truth 
often becomes mixed
with drama and ambivalence? 
 
how righteous is the direction
of this timeless stream?
shall I swim with it or against it?
go one way or the other;
does it really matter?

I cannot give up
I cannot relent...
this is who I am
a person searching
for kindred spirits
to swim backward 
with me
against the current.
to find some direction,
some marker that guides
this hurrier to a another plane
of purposeful existence.

SYNOPSIS 

I think most people at some time are contrarian.
Some from the start; others in their teens.
Some all through their life.
I can't remember being otherwise.
In retrospect, am I really that different
or do I use it an excuse
to be noticed?  Perhaps both. 


CAK 10-13-12013

Details | Psychological Poem | |

Shaken to the Core

Her sad eyes and tear stained face evoked such ambivalent feelings;
I could barely stand to look upon the half-naked child in front of me. 
She turned her face toward me with a pained look begging for help.
Maternal feelings welled up within for this pitiful tangled haired waif. 

Gaping in abject horror, I observed the orphan's frail arms wrapped 
tenaciously around a dead rat and held close to her dirt smeared body. 
I sensed this sewer 'pet rat' had been her only source of comfort in life. 
The one thing she turned to, when sad or hungry, would never again be.
 
While resisting the urge to gather her up in my arms and dry her tears, 
still I desired to sympathize... whispering, "Don't cry honey, it'll be OK". 
I lied, knowing it wouldn't.  Besides what could I do with so little to give. 
I turned and walked away not wanting to face my growing sense of lack.

I awoke with a start, shuddering, deeply disturbed and troubled to tears.
Sometimes the vivid images, like a horror movie returning to haunt me,
make me question, "Who is that wretched child so forlorn and dejected?
The memories shake my very soul, the hidden message still eluding me. 

Details | Psychological Poem | |

SEE-SAWS


What playground does not hold the magic lure
Of see-saws firmly braced upon their stands?
What child resists excitement, felt for sure
In ups and downs: the hard thump when he lands
And surging thrill of bouncing up again—
To know that when he's hit that lowest low,
It's followed by a swing to new heights when
He'll know once more the joy of that plateau?

In contrast of the see-saw truth is found,
For truly, were it stable, it would bore
The simplest mind; for only from the ground
Does grandeur of the heavens make its score.
     And only in imbalances we feel
     The balance that keeps life on even keel.

© Sandra M. Haight 2014
    All Rights Reserved

Contest: Teeter-Totter: Balance the Load
Sponsor: Sheri Fresonke Harper - Judged 10/7/2014
~4th Place~

Details | Psychological Poem | |

The man who speaks the truth

The man who tells the truth

There’s something about those fearful folk
There’s many of them too
They hate hassles of any kind
When another says what’s true
They cringe, and hide behind the door
Cause maybe he is right
And if there knowledge gets tested
It gives them no delight

If someone should question them
On beliefs and all that stuff
Even though the words are wise
The truth becomes too tough
They have to have their Teddy bears
To protect them from the night
And when somebody differs from them
It gives them quite a fright

Though the truth might lose him friends
He knows one thing for sure
He’s spoken from intelligence
He’s looked into the core
And because he never follows
{Self-reliance is his way}
He always will respect himself
In all he’ll do and say.

11 October 2014.

Details | Psychological Poem | |

Masked Men

Masked Men

Look in the mirror
Look in the mirror
What do you see?
Masked men staring back at me
What do you do when you look in the mirror?
Only to despise what you see
The pain you caused the everlasting memories
Do you see what you've done?
Can you live with what you caused?

Go now down your distant path
Your unworthy happiness will never last
These are things the Masked Men Cause
Who’s to say your right or wrong?
Misguided emotions lead you down this path
Masked Men mistakes will surly last
Go now the time has come
No more chances the Masked Men are done
Turn away and feel the pain

The lonely walk to enter slumber
The Masked Men Smile with pleasures unknown
Another one down
A broken spirit lost
Close your eyes and take his hand
Let the Masked Men take you away

By: Tim Lundmark

Details | Psychological Poem | |

The VORTEX

Closer and closer to the vortex
I spin wildly, madly 
So out of control
Body and soul
Clutching at anything and everything
Knowing I’m being suctioned

My breathing quickens
My pulse thickens
My body weakens

The vortex draws me nearer
to its core
Turbulent
Strong
OH... SO...STRONG
It pulls me down
It sucks me in

Going down
Down
Down
I’m being devoured
Swallowed up whole
In the vortex
Of your desire
Your swirling
liquid
fire
            ~  h ~
        T ~        ~ e
     vor               you
         ~           ~ 
           te        of 
               ~ ~
                 x

Eileen Manassian


Eileen 

Details | Psychological Poem | |

Opening The Fridge

I had an unusual reaction to opening my fridge today
Two cardboard boxes from a long ago memory stood in my way
And I found suddenly I no longer had the appitite to eat
And with the palapating of my heart came the quickening of my feet
And I - without thought - decided to hide from my past today

Bruised knuckles and silent tears
Even sunlit pictures are filled with hidden fears
And a symbol or a number or a song or a smell
Takes me by the eyes and drags me back into that hell
And no memory is left to be sweet
Every thought leaves me trembling at his feet

I hurry to leave the heart throbbing sight 
The trigger following me into the height
Of my paradoxal panic - that leaves me senseless
And the memories flow of the nights I lay defenseless 
Two cardboard boxes stood in my way
Active PTSD can transform a whole day.

Details | Psychological Poem | |

Dis-order

I sit here twitching, shaking, in a panic
I don’t want to do this again, I hate feeling frantic
Don’t let this happen, don’t let me slip away
Into the darkest depths of my mind, nothing to say

At first these experiences seem inviting
But here there’s no such thing as deciding
The light is so bright and luminous at first
Until its’ quickly dimmed and the pain it causes hurts

The darkness creeps in like a predator
With the dim light as it’s’ competitor
Who’s going to win this time, this fight?
Who’s going to give the hardest bite?

Stuck between pure happiness and sadness
There is no explanation to this uncomfortable madness
Waiting, waiting; for this too shall pass
While the emotions in my head encompass

My heart surrounding the insufficiencies of my head
The feelings so heavy as if my heart is fashioned out of lead
Like I’ve got shackles on my hands and around my feet
In this state of mind everything seems obsolete 

Details | Psychological Poem | |

In my sanctuary

It's in my sanctuary where I write
Deep inside the walls of my mind
It's the only place I can find that's still filled with light
Not clouded by dark thoughts, nah, I'm leaving those behind

It's in my sanctuary where I can think in peace
Where I can blow off steam and just release 
It's where my suffering ends and I start to feel good again
In my sanctuary is the one place I no longer feel the pain

It's in my sanctuary where I avoid the human race
And I can move at a more comfortable pace
It's where I can relax and just not care
It's a place where entering should be a dare

It's in my sanctuary where I like to spend my time 
'Cause in there nothing costs even a dime
It's all in my head
But hey, at least I'm not dead

Details | Psychological Poem | |

Addiction of meth

Emotions of addiction
pulling so seductively

like a long lost love

whispering my name 
over and over 
until its all I hear

yearning rumbles deep down
burning as it rises
like bile in my throat

So conniving in its game 
of love and hate

like peek a boo with a child
frightening when it is revealed

turn and run they say
where shall I go

the only recourse is to stay

fighting everyday

as it tries to tear 
to wear me down

He calls to me
i answer and somehow
i have won
a new day is here

exhausted and confused
howling growling in the distance
addiction pulls back

waiting patiently so patiently
to take me back to hell

Details | Psychological Poem | |

PERCEPTION

   PERCEPTION

Before the abyss, I had it all
Letting go of all I see
My friend, I hope our time won't end
It took a short time for you to notice 
Without knowing who I am 
We talked, we became friends

Connecting the dots, missing every line
Connect them and figure me out
Randomly it comes your way
Underneath a never known chemistry
Ask me to stay and I may
Grinding your teeth into my way
Cut out my eyes, and store them up
A tongueless mouth, nothing to say

Maybe by tomorrow you will forget
Losing myself in my own conversation
Hiding behind my one big regret
Don't know, Don't care
You had me open up
A book I closed, knowledge lost

No need to see 
A mystery called deception
What I am cannot be seen with the naked eye
Along came you using your *ucked* up perception
The ability you miss use
making sense of this connection
A process you carry with your own  patterns
You asked, you listened,  without making assumptions
A taste to take off my shoulders, 
To release an error locked in my Asylum
I myself am enjoying the insights about him
He's got me convince, using his perception
               
  :)
SKAT

Details | Psychological Poem | |

X Love, Hope, Eternity, Faith

 The four Squares


B
 E
  A
    U
      T
        Y

Slips     away   in    time

              We  are   all         one in harmony
              Universal       desire  and suffrage
              That   mankind  is the benefactor
              Of      the      universal goodness
              The masses  seek comfort in god
              The   universe   will bring   peace

                                                                Sa   voir
                                                                Baptizer
                                                                Heal  er
                                                                K     ing

                   Love
                   Evol
                   Velo
                   Ovle

                                  Draw        lines     of     wisdom
                                  Around  the  cross of    sacrifice
                                  The        vision     will     inspire
                                  You   shall  be circled  with  love
                                  When    you    calling   is   made
                                  You too shall see the 4th square



As you fade
                into the night

Details | Psychological Poem | |

Walking by the ocean

The ocean

I used to live beside the sea
It was not long ago
A footpath went along the beach
One could walk, and watch the show
As the ocean played its song of love
And the seagulls made much din
It was a lovely place to go
As each day, it did begin.

I loved it in the morning times
When the moon was big and round
It seemed to rest upon horizon
Such joy I often found
Admiring me, this yellow orb
That seemed so very huge
And as I’d walk, within my dreams
I’d often take refuge.

Sometimes I'd walk there, evenings too
And watch the sun go down
As the sky would turn to marmalade
And it seemed this Sphere would drown
As the ocean swallowed it all up
And the night came creeping in
And seagulls sang there evening songs
How I loved their noisy din.

There’s something about the mighty ocean
That makes me want to write
The seaweed and the salty breeze
Give me such sweet delight
I love the rivers, love the lakes
And yet the wild, wild sea
It has a treasure of it’s own
That just calls out to me.

5 November 2013 @ 0950hrs.

Details | Psychological Poem | |

The country gathering

The country gathering

Sometimes the folk all got together
In the little country house
Now there was Tom the tiny tiger
Well, he could be a louse
But could he play that old guitar
Man! he made it speak
And when the folk did hear him play
He made their legs go weak.

There was Winifred the otter
How she did those drums
Her rhythm it could suck one in
If you were feeling glum
You’re legs would start to dancing
As you’d rise up to the sky
And all those troubles that you had
They’d fade away and die.

Now Mugly Minie, could she sing!!
She was the porcupine
She’d stand there with a glass of wine
And she’d just blow your mind
As Billie basset, the friendly bear
Would play that bass so cool
Now he was quiet, and very shy
But lord, he had it all.

People came from miles around
To hear those  fellows play
They’d dance and sing Chicago blues
Their hearts alive and gay
They’re going to be a big time band
One day, they all know this
But all they really want to do
Is play, that’s how it is.

24 July 2013 @ 1150hrs.

Details | Psychological Poem | |

Sea of forgotten dreams

Cold and dark, the eyes of the depths
glaring at the stars above.
Few dare descend the steps
which reach down to oblivion’s cove.
Heavy, the desire for truth,
like the chains dragging my body further down
unto fate unknown.

Beyond recompense, lies the ruin
sunken to forbidden ground,
now home only to the strangest of creations
and catacomb to the drowned slaves of history.
Will all memories be as this one day?
Ghosts that haunt the corpses of humanity’s ambition?

Black are the bells that once chimed to announce omen.
Buried are the thoughts that walked my mind.
Broken are the tables where ideas once feasted.
Bound are the hopes, eaten by preying sharks of doubt.

Weighing down, the garments choke the breath of life.
There, where insanity was sane, beneath facade’s streams
lies truth, in the sea of forgotten dreams.

Details | Psychological Poem | |

the circle of life

A predator among us.
A villian in our midst.
An entity of evil,
Clouding up our wits.
Preying on the innocent.
Devouring the strong.
A sycophant immortal.
Unbound by right and wrong.
White wool adorning
The curves of their form.
Cloven hooves dragging
on the ground with the worms.
No hoofprints behind them.
just the four toed paws
dotted at the tips
by their long and angry claws.
Nature is a cruel being.
Creating monsters in her storms.
No one understands
And everyone is torn.
The prey will always villify
those who are higher than they
on the food chains bottom
the sheep will always stay.
The wolves are meant to feed
without remourse consume
The psyches of the weak
to bring them to their doom.
The sheep will bleat and bellow
in fear of those wolves
And try to justify their blindness
by stamping hard their hooves.
Hiding in the herd,
the prey upon their back
the predators facade
turns their wool to black.
Such is natures way.
No one is at fault.
The circle of life.
The predators of thought.
For who can blame the hungry beast
for eating to survive
When you people create such feasts
And tantalize our eyes.
We can not feel guilty
for gaining our sustenance.
consider this my fealty
for i shall not repent.

Details | Psychological Poem | |

Rhyme XOX

I just want my summertime
To be at a stand still.
Sometimes, when women cross my mind,
I'm not sure just what to feel.

I'd like to call her friend,
And I want us to mean something.
I can find several, yet in the end,
It seems like all I have is nothing.

So where is the evidence
That says I should move forward?
Show me a sign that's heaven sent;
A point I should move toward.



©2013 Honestly JT


Details | Psychological Poem | |

Validation

In their dreams…

Yes, please Whisper indoctrinated dialect Upon my harrowing song Yes, please Remove that scented, plastic tulip Place it upon my oblivious palm As if we’re in a Sadie Hawkins dance Bribing hearts With petal currencies Psst, hey I woke up only feeling like a thousand bucks. A foreign knock-off made of recycled, rubber bolts And ambiguity Please Tell me I’m priceless with borrowed, high-interest breaths Liquidate my potent complacency To become that symbol of an elitist humanity Yes! Stroke that clouded, diamond tip With your sensual thumb Love stamps of approval After 6 months of quickie penetration And co-signatures on dilapidated apartment leases PLEASE, YES! Take me to our creator! Tell Him I am free!!! I will stand here in virtual observance! Wait, where are you going? Come back to me! COME BACK TO ME! My wheelchair’s batteries are fading! How will I stand?! NO! …
Sadly, they never validated their reality… ©Drake J. Eszes