Best Deviation Poems
Tomorrow is an illusion
It relies on assumption
Of the planet’s rotation
On the seasons’ migration
And the moon’s revolution
On man’s innovation
And his evolution
For his interpretation
Or insinuation
And theorisation
On Law’s of gravitation
Using invention
And his powers of investigation
And logical deduction
To step into a new dimension
Tomorrow is a delusion
Near fiction
The mind’s naive projection
Ideas in a flight simulation
To an unknown destination
An unsure predetermination
Existing only in the imagination
In faith and inspiration
A trust in Creation
The end and Armageddon
In God and salvation
In hell and eternal damnation
In the atheist’s condemnation
In the calendar’s punctuation
The watch’s precision
And space’s expansion
The diaries memorisation
A woman’s intuition
A mother’s preparation
Sessions in competition
Promises in dissection
A man’s anticipation
A father’s frustration
About the son’s relation
To a boy he doesn’t care to mention
And how this affects his maturation
His future and direction
His love and affection
And his own stagnation
His failing career progression
His future contemplation
Deserving some consideration
In a 24 hour formulation
Tomorrow is today in suspension
The now in detention
Willpower in dilution
Efforts in relaxation
Laziness in expedition
Creativity in isolation
The soul in prison
The imagination's manipulation
We have planned constructions
And demolitions
Holiday vacations
And our children’s graduations,
But tomorrow’s nomination
Is an unguaranteed estimation
A naive procrastination
A false realisation
An amoral actualisation
To our conclusion
And finalisation
Tomorrow the motivation
The fear of extinction
Of the earth's desertification
The world in motion
A noble notion
The only reason
The leading question
Forever our mission
Tomorrow's aviation
Tomorrow an exploration
Time goes on and we
are left diverging from each other
left to our own paths
I am left here all alone
on a street that was once filled with familiar faces
but now it’s filled with foreign lives
I’m out of sync
words outside of harmony and beat
Living on a path imprinted with my singular feet
Where I am going?
Where have I been?
On this timeline that’s disconnected from everyone else
diverging further and further away
into my own world and own purpose: my own fate
I didn’t experience what I could of experienced with the others
now I experience alone as their dusty trails are fragmented and blown
and I feel like I am living in the past, missing out on being connected
connected and experiencing on the same wavelength with others
but I dine here alone
going through life long after others have lived it
Where is the meaning in lives that deviates away
that are only there with you for a moment then gone
gone with the day
leaving only but a memory
to shine in the night like a star
too far away to ever reach again
we separate and create
a world of blood and tears and family
ruling our own kingdoms
difference pulling us apart from the common thread we once shared
without time to be in two places at once…
People die and change
the details of life get transposed and rearranged
and priorities/importance/values are reordered
In our own world we stay
I was always an outcast
always diverging away from everyone else
but now it’s time to converse
to be apart of
to shape and gather from life into my own world
Deviating from the path of cosmic justice one invites the divine logos to reestablish order!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
16 February 2017
Deviation
When I saw it, my eyes popped
Something so clean, so shiny
Not a gentle ray, but a stinging beam
Something with the energy to ignite my brain
And blind it into a vitreous aura
Disconnect it from its elder
Unravel it's capsule
Stray from safety
Indulge in the friction
It's not a puppet, it's a death wish
Something to anger our maxims
But it takes space
It takes money
It takes time
It takes labour
It takes life
It may act with nature, but it isn't alive
I'm twisted, starved, and revoltingly stunted,
blacksheeped, scape-goated, and litter-runted.
That's the brimstone pit and nightmare waste
from which emerged my delectable taste.
I have no interest in straightened teeth.
Don't show me a stone. I want what's underneath,
flat and squirming with plenty of legs,
miniscule monsters, hatched from eggs.
Your giggling voice that says, "You're weird"
is attached to brains once commandeered
by representatives of a safe community
unsettled by my unique pathology,
who told you wrongly, you'd never be found
writhing deliriously on forsaken ground,
where you and me would intertwine,
not far from the highway sign -
isn't it divine?