Best Self Deception Poems
INFATUATION, DECEPTION
INFATUATION, SELF DECEPTION
WORLD OF LIES CROWDING MY SOUL
THINKING IT WAS REAL
THINKING IT WAS TRUE
BUT IT WAS JUST A
SELF DEPRECIATION A
MAD INFATUATION
I THOUGH IT WAS LOVE
FOUND OUT THE TRUTH
YET ANOTHER INFATUATION
HITS HARD JUST LIKE
AN ADDICTION
UNHEALTHY FOR MY HEART
WEAK TO MY SOUL
CLINGING ON IN MY MIND
UNSAFE AND UNKIND
©GDC2014
You believe your lie today and
and tomorrow you still believe your lie,
as being your plain truth, then you are embrace
with the deception of your own creation.
Be not one who lives in the realm of self-deception
only to realize that your truth is not the
truth of life. Nevertheless, you will be one who
will walk alone and decieve alone and expire from
this life alone. Oh what a tragedy to exist within.
A serpent with a lion's head
Believes himself a lion
He'll never raise his lowly tread
But kudos, kid, for tryin'.
Gliding past the mirror, the visage of sophisticated sensuality,
tall with head turning legs that stretch to heaven, dark and tan,
little black dress, tastefully shrink wrapped about hips and breasts,
stiletto heals, black patent, defining calves and thighs with each step,
but her smiling red lips can't hide the tear in her questioning eyes, “Who am I?”
06/08/2018
When we find our convictions attacked,
we rely on a deck neatly stacked.
There’s a cool little bias
that will always supply us
with a handy alternative fact.
We all know that someday we will die.
When and how’s at the whim of a die.
But way deep in our heart
there's a minuscule part
that will mutter: “Who, moi? No — not I!"
I eased our kayak into the river of lies.
There was me, Dave and Jim, experienced guys.
The current grew stronger, Jim said he would quit,
He said it felt wrong, the scene didn't fit.
Dave urged I go upstream and fight the pull.
I called him a deceiver; he called me red bull.
A rock of hard truth lay right on our path.
I swerved around it; he grabbed on in his wrath.
[chorus]
So many tributaries to the river of lies.
So many ways that untruth can disguise
Be ready to debate, take heed every clue.
And paddle along with a dependable crew.
The waters funneled narrow; cliffs did arise.
I pursued a half-truth on this river of lies.
I shot through Shriek-wind Cleft, and Down-fall Gap.
The kayak shuddered, but I did not turn back.
Went down the rapids, with a groan and a gasp.
Flew out of the boat, into realities grasp.
Crawled up the bank under the merciless sun.
All water was gone, nowhere to run.
I should have credited the feeling of doubt.
High walls all around, how could I get out?
Then found devil's advocate canyon.
Realized I should have trusted each companion.
[chorus]
So many tributaries to the river of lies.
So many ways that untruth can disguise.
They say hindsight's 20/20, that excuse may be true
But when anomalies arise, they're talking to you.
The causes you believed don't believe in you.
False friends fall away, despised friends now ring true.
You overrode the warnings whenever you could.
The paradigm shift was too late to do good.
At lost chance ravine, there's blood on the water.
Down its walls faint echoes of torture and slaughter
Know this - under the din, warnings can be true.
To live you may have to change your entire world view.
Homeless wanderer
my bohemian moon.
I continue my journey
till the clouds manipulate.
Crisp sky favours the stars
in dark night of gloom
of your failed promises,
and my goddess of ruin.
self-deception was a great relief !
Golden praise can do no harm.
You were targeting the great sentences,
and easy flows the river under sun,
there was nothing left in the desert
and slowly burns the cauldron of craft.
That sudden spurt of rage and tears,
strangle of dreams, roses and hopes.
My empty hands, white skin, leafy eyes
Why ? Am I tremendous, expanding like sea ?
SATISH VERMA
The Holy Spirit through our souls searches
and in despair silently He cries:
there are so many Pharisees in churches,
exhibiting hypocrisy and lies.
About Christ abundantly they know,
their knowledge they're happy to parade,
but not His holy image they show,
preferring to fake and masquerade.
Insulting Jesus Christ, our living God,
they're blind to His teaching's higher goals.
Theology so often twisted, flawed,
is flourishing instead of building souls.
Before you know, they can destroy
all hopes to find there a brotherhood.
Not fruits of love, self-discipline, and joy
they plant - not any seed that's good.
For self-promotion they grab a chance,
and their faith is shallow indeed,
and wallowing in their pious stance,
to their perils many others lead.
Cesspools of self-deception, gossip, strife,
they follow the idol of the day,
and in Christ's body they stifle life,
when they wicked qualities display.
Unable to detect their own sin,
unable to repent on their knees,
they care more for their own skin,
and their nature they want to please.
They easily their own wrongs excuse,
besides, Christ forgive them, they say,
but ready to condemn and to accuse,
they carry on to slander and betray.
They're always learning, but in their pride
the simplest truth, they cannot understand.
Who disagrees with them, they will deride,
such person from their circle will be banned.
They like to flock - it makes them feel secure
in their errors, which they promote,
and with their understanding immature
they verses out of context often quote.
They cannot listen, dim in their brains.
For them compassion is, alas, unknown,
and malice clogs their arteries and veins,
when arrogance is sitting on a throne.
Self-righteous, complacent with their sins,
of their salvation they themselves assure.
But what does their error underpins?
It's not the Holy Spirit, to be sure!
Oh blind pharisee, alas, alas!
You may appear dignified and smart,
but vainly you search for a bypass
to Jesus, who is looking in your heart.
29.02-1.03.2024
She brewed it slow,
the thistle steeped—
a greyish brown
in porcelain grace.
Each sip, a sting—
a bitter bloom,
but she smiled,
claiming peace.
At first, a wince,
then less, then none—
until the taste
was home enough.
No sugar added,
no honey balm,
just thorn and grass
and quiet aches.
“How did she bear?”
they often ask.
“It’s the way I like it,”
she often says.
But bitterness
never just begins—
it’s learned,
one sip a day.
Until bitterness
becomes a friend,
and even the sting—
a kind of warmth.
from a safe distance we sympathise
we feel good about ourself
without touching
ego plays such games
to deepen stupor and delusion
knowing our attention span is limited
Unlike a Spurgeon, I by dull words unfold
The limits of my Sarah's love for me,
But I realize that the rot and stink and mold
Are all within my mind, beneath my See.
There is no other person who can love
For me. It is my duty and my joy.
It is the Truth that True Love is made of
It is the difference of man from a boy.
I am no counter of the counterfeits
That weigh love by the dram of sweet words said,
But rather, I am one who from above
Receives the gifts whereby he bakes his bread.
Into the practical and humble things
I'll pour my Constancy and give love wings.