Best Oblivion Poems
“I let go. Lost in oblivion. Dark and silent and complete. I found freedom. Losing all hope was freedom.”
Chuck Palahniuk
Is there such a metaphor as an avalanche of time?
Each second can be cold, but never freezes,
but we all know a landslide once triggered,
can bury fragile foundations into oblivion.
Sometimes life is scripted into a pantomime of pretend.
Darkness crawls at dawn.
There's a sour stench in the air,
ascending from an aromatherapy of agony and ache.
She's crying again. Her demons smiling.
This is no melodrama,
as crimson discolours the whites of her eyes,
with dripping mascara staining sore dark circles -
as 3am fears are released through a flood of tears.
Her spirit is a malady of misery,
lusting for an end from this state of deadly delirium.
In each tear there is a sign,
an unveiled message lost in silent flows -
as anxiety's asphyxiation grows.
Time has become her nemesis.
Turning her intellect into foolish bitterness.
It's a dilemma creating false hopes,
resulting in broken dreams and forgotten promises.
Destiny keeps playing games with her spirit,
whilst fate falters like premature butterflies.
Only her heart knows the truth of her heart -
She hides behind a veil of personal poison.
In the molestation of her mind,
she kisses the silence in between each echo,
yet the sands of time bring her no respite.
People keep throwing stones,
bruising her every time,
she has no desire to live as a victim
of broken pieces from her past,
but wounds keep resurfacing.
Tired from drinking venomous embers of elixir,
which pierce like shards of sorrow,
penetrating an eternal hole in her soul,
she cries for healing and understanding.
But In a world full of dark skies and rain,
her sanity slowly fades,
like a paper bag of emotions,
floating in a muddy puddle within a concrete pot hole.
Intoxicated by kismet's chalice of impatience,
she has learned fate has no mercy,
it offers no remedy to soothe her sorrows,
nor heal her horrors.
her life is a metaphor known as an avalanche of time.
When truth becomes a dying star
and lies shine brightly as the sun
That means we have lost the way
as webs of deceit are spun
Some remain in oblivion
and continue to cling to the lie
Others embrace the truth
Using its armor to fortify
The light of truth continues to dim
As the truth many flout
But what will we do
When the light of truth goes out?
He
lies on
a small bed.
There are no friends.
Nor is there a spouse
with him in his last hours.
All those he loved have passed on.
Terror grips him; it’s all he knows.
He starts to choke; a nurse comes running.
Oblivion is swallowing him whole.
Written 12/9/2015
Is my fate to go on living in this impervious place
where everyone dons a mask to conceal his face?
I'm floundering in this troubling tenure of time,
in which no one understands the rhythm of rhyme.
I need to search the deepest corners of my mind
for a region where oblivion is no longer defined.
I hunger to locate a habitat where I can be me,
a sanctuary where my inhibitions can be set free.
Mankind has become such an abstract machine,
all walking to the beat of the same tambourine.
Egotistic are those blind to the needs of others.
A depth of indifference that stifles and smothers.
When did it happen, that it became a world of greed
where everyone wants more than they'll ever need?
Bump into me on the street. No one seems to care.
The oblivion in society is greater than I can bear.
I cling to the prospect of a world in which I behold,
a race of benevolent humans, in stories long foretold,
where no disguise is ever worn to conceal a feeling,
and no secrets are kept for embarrassing revealing.
If there is a place where these human qualities exist,
it's an Eden in which I could more than just subsist.
I wish to withdraw from this callous, obdurate place,
to live where people do not behave as a robotic race.
September 23, 2021
"O" Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Short shadows stretched by a sinking sun
Dusk denotes that the day is done.
And Sol slips over the edge of the Earth
tethered to oblivion,
by the Hope of Dawn's light.
Twilight morphs into Dusk, summoning night,
while a canopy of twinkling stars shine.
And the moon imbues a setting sun's light
with magic, where wishes and dreams entwine.
an ebony sea
a constellation of stars...
candles in the sky
Skulking in the shadows,
dementia devastates;
as sanity slowly
begins slipping away.
When your memory fails:
Life loses all meaning
and you become depressed;
bewildered, and confused.
Your heart morphs into a
desolate derelict,
a floundering vessel
that love's anchor; can't save.
Hope has been depleted
and trust does not exist:
not even time stays true,
in this fugue state of mind.
And while reality
seems stranger than a dream:
Alzheimer's tethers your
soul to oblivion.
To see and yet not see, the world around,
As time passes unattained, unadmired, silent.
A ghost in a realm that seemed to confound.
To which dereliction a truth compliant.
Yearning for yearning is a futile dream.
While gathered thoughts grow from worthless gardens.
Tilled by false promises of self-esteem.
Left with lies of invisible pardons.
To die in a place where life is barren,
And no one understands the crying voice.
From rags to bones a cold lifeless carrion
Died alone to perish, a beggar's choice.
To be an old story that was unheard.
Those around never heard a single word.
contest Oblivion
12/9/15
for all things, the only absolute- oblivion, the final stage
March 30, 2019
Contest: Monoku Pick A Picture What Cha See #2
Sponsor: James Edward Lee Sr.
Picture #1
I'd hoped the sea remembered me,
accepting me so easily,
as evening peaks and
the moon draws out the tide.
She wrapped me in her icy shift,
eyes closed shut I'm set adrift,
and through the wash
I'm tossed with every stride.
Caught within her brackish flow
my beating heart begins to slow,
Katrina's won,
the pain will now subside.
Sit and watch the thin, blank dawn
that never quite sweeps you off your feet.
Wrestle with memories that don't want to be suppressed,
and repress the urge to canon-ball into the ocean.
(sinking: sinking slowly, because you never learned how to swim.)
Listen to rainbows churning in oil-spill puddles,
and wait for the beautiful oblivion to take its toll.
Somewhere inside you know things will never be the same again,
but that's okay with you, sickening as it seems.
(you want to float away into seaweed forests and play fetch with the big, bad wolf.)
Dream of living a full, happy life
while you tear your world apart.
Sell your body to those dark, dank demons in your cerebrum,
whimpering and wondering deep into the night.
(praying for a chance to show your worth while you still exist.)
Sink low beneath the foaming sea,
wring out your hands and paint your thighs with scarlet letters.
Let the wolves lap the salmonella from your fingertips
and wrap yourself in red - lay face down in the snow, don't breathe too deeply:
(someone dances in snowflakes nearby.)
Watch the thin, blank dusk
that never quite sweeps you off your feet.
Wish for brazen arms and a warm crook of the neck to rest in.
Hug yourself beneath the covers and silently cry; you know now...
(no one wants to comfort a girl who craves suffering.)
You will never be what anyone wants.
*****This poem was inspired through the idea of there being no life after death, or the belief in atheism. In recent years more and more young people are commiting suicide; recent studies have shown that there is a commonality between atheism and suicide. My personal belief is that atheism is anti-philosophy; it is not so much the disbelief in God that bothers me (and I'm a theist) --- but what is the alternative? If one digs enough (like this poem implies) there can be no morality or value or meaning to life if we are born, live and die and we are no more; this feeds the subconscious ego which can justify all manner of evil, including extremes as war, racism, indifference --- suicide. I had a friend who was a staunch atheist and now millionaire ---- very high IQ --- when cornered he would admit there was 'something behind life'. It makes my skin crawl to think that some atheists may be telling their children that they'll never see their grandmother again or even themselves after death --- it would be less damaging to 'lie' and say there is a heaven; I think in many ways this is why Christ and others mentioned paradise and heaven because of the psychological consequences of the contrary*****
Oblivion, thou dark star;
so lithe thy face...
so shadowless among the stars
doth thy nativity;
But a word in the hearth of gods and heroes
and the scheme of all things ---
are thee but a word?
So naked thy garb...
nothing ---
to be ashamed of,
but the sanction of fools;
'There is no god...
only I, who cannot but speak ---
save through the naysayers of life;
if they are born, live and die ---
and no more they be, like I ---
to save the world entire...
will be like I,
to destroy it will matter not;
or to save it ---
for no hero shall remain and speak again...'
Oblivion, sometimes so tempting...
to accept thy endless Kiss of Death;
a great sleep where no bed hath a softer slumber...
no pain...
But fear I the long wake,
for what horror shall come of me,
should I long to rise again,
and cannot?
Obsidian hearts – no longer beating -
Buried under magna and turned to stone.
Lodged in stupor – consciousness deleting -
In a state where the sun has never shone.
Vast emptiness surrounds them now like outer space.
Infinitude of blackness . . . is this hell?
Obtuseness overwhelmed them and stole their grace.
Never-ending nothingness – it serves them well.
Sept. 23, 2021 - Theme #1: Oblivion
For the '''O'' Contest, NEW POEMS' Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
I have this fear that beyond my years
Every word I’ve said or written will be gone,
Like dust in the wind or seas where rivers end
These thoughts of mine will vanish with the dawn.
No money or fame do I proclaim
Nor legacies of great things I have done,
No battle scars or discovered stars
Or a trace of any race I’ve lost or won.
Like most of those whose time now holds
Their words and thoughts erased,
Confetti like into the skies
I fear that wordless fate.
The dying of the poet’s dream
Of living beyond oblivion,
For someone to read these words indeed
Would save this soul from carrion.
Only time will tell if letters spell
The end of all these phrases,
Mere scribbles now that may somehow
Be read on future pages.
© Terrell Martin, 01/05/2025
Billions of galaxies,
Plenty of planets,
Moons and suns,
Unfathomable stars,
Bountiful black holes,
Drastic darkness,
Yet on this esoteric earth
My minute head is
Filled with frivolous
And quizzical questions,
“What should I have for dinner?”
“Am I going to be a winner?”
Funny how we take everything
For granted guilelessly,
The thing we call life,
Feels like a distraction sometimes,
Birthdays, weddings, anniversaries, funerals,
Imbecilic circle,
Just like a circus,
Fathers on hamster wheels,
Mothers on tea cup rides,
Children on roller coasters,
Is life a distraction from life?
Free will is another topic
Of a mystery map to
Deeply dive in and discover
That all that matters is
The clouds in your coffee,
The sun in your pancakes,
And the moon in your pain au chocolat.
Eternal Torment,
Condemned to Self-Destruction,
I'm Oblivion.