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Best Psychological Poems

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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 | |

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 | |

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 | |

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 | |

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 | |

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 | |

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 | |

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 | |

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 | |

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.

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