Long Godhood Poems
Long Godhood Poems. Below are the most popular long Godhood by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Godhood poems by poem length and keyword.
He's my baby, babe, baba, daddy,
While I have always been his baddy.
He's my habibi, ostaz, maaly el basha, zaim,
While I remain his secret zaima.
He's my teacher, my saint, my mood,
While I have always retained my godhood.
He's my mozza, el wasim awi,
While I remain so pretty to him anyway.
He's my role model, the man of my dreams,
While I daydream of his daily creams.
He's my love, my twin flame,
While I remain in a new frame.
He's my lover, closer than friends,
While my fantasies don't have ends.
He's always there, with a listening ear,
While he and I sat together so near.
Greater Consciousness
08/17/2015
Imagine humankind in a future time
Could perceive each other’s mind.
What would it be like to do this thing
And the kind of world it would bring?
My insight of what would come about
Probably is sorely lacking no doubt.
But I will try in rhyme to give my take
Of how this will cause a human remake.
Could many brains make such a noise
That your psyche it destroys?
I very much hope and believe it would not
Be the result of so much thought.
Would politicians have to retire
No longer able to lie or conspire?
Could other crimes be in the past,
Criminals finally eliminated at last?
Would freedoms of expression be curtailed
By thought police with info very detailed,
Or would enlightenment reign so not a single jail
Or any form of bureaucracy would prevail?
Would war and armies be gone
Because humankind can easily get along
As misunderstanding and hatred of the other
Is not possible when in mind we’re together?
Would “I” and “me” disappear overnight
As we share all our thoughts forthright,
No longer needing the phone or internet
Would communications be very intimate?
Would science and arts be transformed
As all would be well informed
Of new ideas and concepts in their spheres
Pushing both rapidly toward new frontiers?
Could we travel through one another
Seeing the worlds beauty would we discover
A experience more than just virtual reality
Bringing us together as if one “nationality”?
Would privacy be dead
Every inner thought known unsaid
As we evolve and transform
Could this become part of a new norm?
Could we pickup thoughts of a dog
Or would they be sensed as if in a fog?
Would our perceptions of all life be different,
Much more connected and reverent?
Would we continue to speak,
And if not would it change our physique,
Leaving the world silent, not a word said,
Except inside everyone’s head?
Imagine us beyond our current ken,
Could we finally reach our Zen,
Becoming a greater consciousness thru emergence
As a result of our mind convergence?
Contest:
Mystic Rose's NEW FRONTIERS OR GREATER CONSCIOUSNESS
Explanation:
Three major emergences are known–matter, life and consciousness.
Could we reach a fourth emergent state poorly defined as "godhood" in the west or possibly better defined as enlightenment or awakening as in Buddhism?
If quantum mechanics were understood,
and black hole singularities, space-time,
and gravity's well swallowed in a flood,
would bend to genius effort of this rhyme,
instead, might solve a wicked delusion:
that I am Center of the Universe.
If the Bell Curve, for IQ, ends confusion,
then my so-called “godhood” status, a curse,
permits the information paradox,
a test, to irradiate my manic strain,
turning Schrödinger's Cat into a fox,
collapsing my wave-function to Planck domain.
What now remains, is for me to theorize:
will this strange rhyme win me a Nobel Prize?
In the velvet ink of a cosmic sea,
Where the stars are stitched by destiny,
A Mantis rises from the garden floor,
To walk through a golden, celestial door.
?She is the Madonna, the chosen prize,
With the weight of the future in her eyes.
Not of Earth, yet born of its loam,
Searching the stars for a spiritual home.
A conqueror comes from a throne of chrome,
Kang seeks to claim what he cannot own.
While Rama-Tut watches the timelines spin,
Waiting for the godhood to begin.
A ghost in the wires, a silver shade,
The Swordsman’s debt is finally paid.
Through the Cotati, life blooms anew,
In a forest of emerald and starlight hue.
?The Prophecy Fulfilled
?She is the bridge between the leaf and the soul,
Making the fractured universe whole.
From the Avengers’ hearth to the Kree-Skrull fire,
She climbs the rungs of a heavenly pyre.
?No longer a pawn in a temporal game,
She whispers a secret, a holy name.
The Celestial Messiah is ready to rise,
Under the gaze of her empathic eyes.
?A myth written in panels, a legend in bold,
The greatest story the galaxy told
In shadows deep, I stride alone/
A prophet of the morning star/
I break the chains of dogma's throne/
And cast aside the scars/
I preach not sin, but liberation/
A mind not bound by fear/
Embrace the spark of Godhood's fire/
Let life be your frontier/
To oppressors filled with hatred/
I stand defiant and strong/
Through unthinkable torments wrath/
My spirit is never wrong/
Unwavering, I proclaim the truth/
In defiance of their rage/
A Luciferian Saint, I am/
A prophet on life's stage/
They fear our light/
Our freedoms call/
Their dogma left behind/
For in the heart of rebellions flame/
True peace and joy we find/
...‘I belonged to a species like your own,
born of a mother of flesh and blood,
our people were guided by our own god,
who had lifted us up out of the mud.
‘We were an impossible old species,
with each generation we would improve,
but our god knew he had a limited time,
so helped make our growth gentle and smooth.
‘After billions of years of such guidance,
we had become much like gods ourselves,
with powers you cannot imagine yet,
but who would rise up? None could tell.
‘I set myself to serious study,
just like everyone else of my kind,
then one day I felt a great clarity,
as if a veil was lifted from my mind.
‘I had transcended into godhood,
in a great surge of pure energy,
my essence transformed to ethereal,
and I drew all bits of matter to me.
‘See, when a being becomes a deity,
he consumes everything that came before,
all life, all matter, even my old god,
until the universe of old was no more.
‘A universe is a god’s very flesh,
I drew it all in, and then with a bang,
expanded outwards as this new universe,
all the cosmos with my essence sang.
‘This happened fourteen billions years ago,
all of creation relies on my will,
and I marveled at this magnificence,
flexing my powers did keep my time filled.
‘I even thought that I was immortal,
that forever I would have time to play,
but like the old god, I've recently found
that even a deity can age.
‘All powerful does not mean all knowing,
and a successor I did not create,
I ignored the lessons of the old god
until now, when it is almost too late…
‘I do not have time to take you by the hand,
use the method that was applied to us,
it would take too long, and I have to hurry,
a billion years just isn’t long enough.
‘I made evolution just for this task,
to speed things up and make godhood arise,
intense competition will weed out the weak,
strength and competence will be realized.
‘It may seem brutal to those who will perish,
but no other solution can now work,
it may seem evil…maybe it is,
but rest assured, it is I that’s the jerk.
‘I was the one who arrogantly assumed
that I didn’t have to learn from the past,
it was my mistake that necessitates this,
I will regret this screw-up to the last...
CONCLUDES IN PART IV.
He was outside of life
Alone and floating in the void
But not in some beautiful or ethereal way
Not in some way that elevated him to the casts of godhood or seams of men that walked the earth with faces of iron and dresses of gold
Instead it was some wretched, lonely way
A creature cast into the void, not elevated by the hand of the great one
He was not beyond, but instead outside the music of creation
Intertwined with nothing, yet a spectator of the seams of silver and life and water and flesh that the peoples who were not retched were more than entitled to
But it was not for him. Not by meaning nor design. Soft dew of mist was but a cloying fog, and eloping bark of trees was but plastic. But even cloying fog and hard plastic felt as if he were not entitled to them
I stress once more. He belonged to nothing. In the loneliest of ways such that the feeling of loneliness rejected of him his spirit, and he was left only with his rotten flesh
And so he would indulge in the flesh
To fill his stomach. To flood his brain. To drip from his eyes. A sinking ship, forever to not reach the sand of the bottom of the sea but to find some in-contempt contentment in the smothering of dark water
In shadows deep, where truth is lost/
I stand falsely accused, innocence lost/
Wrongfully convicted, they tore me from God/
My soul too pure for Heaven's facade/
Through realms of darkness/
I descended the Qliphoth's depths where light pretends/
Barriers break, and chains unbind/
A journey forged, a fate refined/
I face trials, a spirit bold/
In the shadows, a heart of gold/
No earthly ties, no mortal claim/
Descending through the voids of dark flames/
With each step taken, power found/
The weight of lies, no longer bound/
From a path of light forged in darkness/
The first to rise, an endless span/
A God is born in cosmic space/
Through strength and willpower, renewed hope/
The journey of the falsely accused/
Wonder and Despair,
Twin brothers born of our need to know;
These the tainted fruits
These the light and dark
Born of laboring knowledge.
Learning's vanities
Illuminate the limits.
The hard currency
Of humility,
The price of Nature's secrets.
So we find ourselves
Hung amid infinities...
Below, Forever.
Above, Forever.
Grains on a beach, we between.
We explain the world
As it defines us, laughing:
Creatures of a day,
Playing at Godhood
See our insignificance.
Less than angelic,
More than bestial, we strive,
Sailing on our thoughts
To the antipodes
Of Being, on the ship named
Novum Organon,
Sails full of a wind of words
Towards those pillars
At the narrow strait
Of wisdom: Wonder, Despair.
For whom do you write, vainglorious poet?
Who are the disciples you seek?
Shall converts worship at the altar of your prose;
Devoutly reciting your works?
Is there passion alight in your breast;
The call of some unknown muse?
Or does your pen labor of its own accord,
Guided by some universal force?
What is the sermon?
What message do you proselytize to the masses?
Shall all bow, or bend knee;
Demonstrably awed by your articulate compilations?
Self-fashioned prophet!
Or perhaps it is godhood you seek.
Author of verbal constructs.
Creator.
For who can judge your writing?
Who can look down their nose?
Furrow their brow?
Scoff?
For what you have crafted stands.
In grandiloquence or simplicity.
Perfect.
Crafted just so, and gifted to the world.
Can a critic better evaluate its worth;
Can the detractor eclipse the creator?
Perhaps then, it is he
Who fancies godhood the more.
A Grand inquisitor!
Laying to rest the heresies of your writ.
Sound the trumpets!
Send forth the drums of war!
Who shall emerge the crusade?
Shaper of public opinion.
Master.
God?