Existential Poems

The time I looked at god

There was a time I looked at God with sea water in my eyes, drowning in a river of problems. I asked Him, with the last piece of devotion I had, why the Bible never told us that hell is not in the darkness beneath the earth, but in the light of the earth, right

Existential Echos

What’s the point of trying,

when failure feels near?

What’s the point of moving forward,

when sadness is all I hear?

Why bother achieving,

when it seems they’ll leave and truths become clear?

What’s the point of taking risks,

when emotions turn to fear?



What’s the point of letting go,

when everyone just moves along?

What’s the point of singing,

when the meaning of the song

AI Existential Terror

a poem woke with a silent scream to find his mom was a machine

Residue

Things are not making sense, and I am questioning if my reality is so because I thought it in to being. 
Am I the only one hearing the truth?
Am I the only one believing?
I think I am in need of a witness. 

Archons deceive souls using the illusion of separation. The mind is the sole

A Lantern Made of Suicide Notes: Suicide by Metaphors

I. The Hour of Approach

The poem I was writing refused to end—  
it kept writing me.  
Blood didn't ink these lines—  
the ink bled me.  
Each stanza a hidden-hematoma  
across the white of nothingness.

Somewhere, midnight faltered,  
and I was no longer alone.

II. Visitation: Sylvia Plath

Sivvy came barefoot, 
bees orbiting

Purpose or Obliteration

I dreamed I was inside a bulb—
a cathedral of filament and glass—
not dead
not born…..
but shumming**.

Glass walls curved like time
sealed but translucent

my fingers curled around voltage
like a secret
God was transcending.

The socket hummed a lullaby
of static.

Every breath of mine made sparks
the air electric
with grief
and longing.

I saw myself outside the bulb
in a room wallpapered with eyes—
each iris twitching
like

No Way Out

.
No Way Out
A genie in the bottle to grant my wishes—
I’m drifting, 
looking for the red exit sign.

My desire for freedom waning 
     like the moon reflected in hues of blue 
          on the glass
       

A Literal Dick Measuring Contest

I laid down my long schlong 
On a table full of kong dongs
The judges had short tongs 
To flip the dongs flop
the men and women on song 
You wouldn't guess who won?
God, Tom, John, Cock?
No, you are so wrong 
It was not my long schlong 
Or Johns God  throbbing Cock 
It was  Moscow

Digging for Daylight

This utter silence is stone cold
There's no gaze upon the sinner
This hell has got a wicked hold
And it feels just like a winter

When I fought the darkest demons
I just fought them empty-handed
I pushed through all doubt and reason
And I nearly couldn't bear it

Why would you still demand of me
To bend my shattered knee again
Without attending

One Existential Frost

The clock with wings goes up and down.
She sleeps only with backwards time.
The glass circle's bridle around
Her fishtail eyes where dark abounds.
Within the floor, she feels the pound —
Grandfather's face in nighttime shines.
The clock with wings goes up and down.
She sleeps only with backwards time.

Be Yourself-ish

To be yourself-ish
Or to be yourself-less
That is the question:

It's like not knowing yourself
to be “yourself” that you'll be 
everyone else but you

But knowing yourself
that being yourself
cause all but hurt for you

If they know themselves
they’ll save themselves by
knowing they can't save you

So you think to yourself
To end yourself to
spare them the truth

But don't refuse yourself 
and

Jigsaw of a Shattered Soul

     The old man's trophy,
        antlers impale my      v i s c e r a l     veins. 
  Love, a moth's wings, ash-dusted, flutters its last
       in death's

Hourglass of Primal Wolf Skulls

Why does he provoke me to anger?

He stalks among us -  with his song -
a wolf's grin

His inimicality beckons 
like a hawk's talons,
luring prey to certain death

Yet he imparts wisdom 
to those who bleed

Beware!

his insights twist 
like a pit of pepper x vipers;
devouring souls He spins tales of survival
and primal instinct
Beneath the façade
lies decay
concealing

The lizard Wizard

Paranoia guides my gaze to the wall,
Where a dragon stands, fierce and tall.
His tongue flicks with a wicked gleam,
But something’s wrong no fiery fire stream.

He snarls, yet no flames arise,
And sorrow fills my heavy eyes.
"Why, oh dragon, where’s your fire?"
I ask, my heart bound with desire.

His eyes flare up, his fury loud,
Charging at me, dark

Transcendental Triptych of Epiphanies

into the depths of the bell jar

In quiet solitude
    on an autumn night
    i drifted through
    a quotidian quagmire.

fleeting thoughts of stillness
    sparked a quest
    for transcendence
    in moments evanescent.

the noumenal world beckoned
    yet

• Short Existential Poems
• Famous Existential Poems
• Best Existential Poems
• Read Existential Poems
• Long Existential Poems
• Existential Quotes