Long Nihilist Poems
Long Nihilist Poems. Below are the most popular long Nihilist by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Nihilist poems by poem length and keyword.
There shall never be another dawn…
Never another day to greet your family
Or hold the ones you love dear
You will never know the coming nightmare
Or look into the eyes of damnation
Never greet a great new day with optimism.
Or know a benevolent god.
There shall never be another dawn.
Never again read the writing on the wall.
Never watch a great play of humanities tragedies
Never feel the golden rays of a setting sun
Or stroll the moonlit beaches under the watchful eye of a silver moon
There shall never be another dawn.
No more radio, no more broadcast of television
Or digital streaming of data across a worldwide Web.
Your nation’s will be memory, your leader's ash.
Gone are the petty squabbles of infantile Presidents.
There shall never be another dawn
Forget your faith in an empty deity of crosses and bleeding scared hearts.
Or bald men deep in their inner universes.
Forget all you have learned, all the books you have read.
Never dream dreams again.
No more tears.
No more suffering.
No more nightmares.
Horrors.
Or despair.
There shall never be another dawn.
Written: September 05, 2023
This or That, Vol 20 Poetry Contest Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
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In the Zen kingdom, where thoughts coincide.
Nihilism is a canopy of shade; it dares to confide.
A conflict between reason and meaninglessness.
The universe has wonders and incredible minuteness.
An all-powerful deity rules over
A cosmic dance where all is in order.
Nothing can occur without its sanction.
The omnipotent creator god is our ultimate captain.
Whispers of the divine echo through time.
Unveiling the mysteries, so sublime,
In the vast expanse of galaxies and stars,
The hand of the divine, crafting wonders afar
But amidst the grandeur, a question arises:
Does purpose exist, or are we just prizes?
In a universe so vast, can meaning be found?
Or are we simply adrift and unbound?
The nihilist argues that life is just a game.
No purpose, no meaning, just a cosmic flame,
Yet deep within our souls, a yearning remains.
For something greater, a purpose that sustains
The voices of the divine are calling to us.
To seek worth and to have faith and trust
In the pattern of an infinite power.
To discover meaning in every hour.
In the realm of Zen, we understand,
That the universe, so vast and grand,
Is not a void of chaos and despair,
But a canvas for us to discover and share.
The whispers of the Divine remind us all,
That we are not alone, destined to fall,
With faith and belief, we can find our way.
And create a purpose that will never stray.
So let us embrace the whispers divine,
And let them guide us, such a sacred shrine,
As in this enormous and magnificent universe,
We can wield our fate, for brighter or worse.
Scores of years... post high school graduation...
Whether with/without
spectacles regarding myopia, yours truly
boasts twenty twenty highsight
able, eager and willing to site
emotional, mental, physical
and spiritual deficits
lamely attempting to
explain how one bright
eyed and bushy
tailed older fellow
oft times described
existential nihilist plight
unable to validate
lifetime psychological blight
purportedly manifesting while in utero
citing reiterating “fake”
trumpism statement might
eventually assume truth, I aver delight,
yet neither blaming those
who begot me quite
willingly, masterfully, consensually..., nor
said male offspring dejectedly write
ting total purposelessness, though
abysmal, dismal, normal... thoughts invite
themselves to take residence much
to mine evil doppelganger's delight
generate, foment and excite
once upon a time did
zealously and roundly kickstart
damnation, humiliation,
lamentation, positioning twilight
xing analogous brutal dog fight
to the death, courtesy
psychiatric intervention did alight
reprieve against near rigor mortis,
whereby mortality inexorably did not bite
the dust, yet left emaciated fright
this then starved boy day and night
scaring, mortifying, horrifying...
surviving kith and kin ready to write
untimely obituary whose
freed atheistic spirit,
would ascend stairway to heaven
forever celestial transcending
manumission to infinite height!
I do not have a
common last name
(inherited from my
father), but I'm simple as
My mother's Silva ...
I am proud of that
I'm a sort of people ...
I'm not tutored
by anyone,
not ridden by
knights,
I am from the light of radiance,
I'm not from twilight,
I'm Paraíba, not from
rough land ...
I'm Portugal ...!
I'm an enlightenment but
i am not french,
i love beatles but
I am not English...
I’m not "cool",
I'm a bridge, I'm not
nihilist, I'm Kant ...
I am Brazilian
with a beach flavor,
French with taste of champagne,
I Love Arab woman who smell
camphor, oriental
that perfume of peach ...
Anyone who wants to be a friend
never come to me with subterfuge,
come with sincere friendship,
not with real state or latifundium...
My property is not
of this world ... my kingdom
it's much deeper, large as
unlimited universe ...!
Figuratively tack one hundred
and eighty degrees away...
where joie de vivre underscores
poetic theme, no matter every day
brings gut wrenching tearful tragedy,
thee attention for heart warming
(powdered milk biscuits
of human kindness)
doth shyly beg to gussy
esprit de corps with elan
evoking a reddit ting, snapchatting,
or twittering blue jay
mood, cuz most everybody
(including your truly)
dislikes constant emphasis on may
hem, sans mindless
violent murderous sprees,
nor natural disasters Earth quake
king, viz flooding,
out of fires burning, et cetera
thus, a concerted effort
(minus con vol fluted
schmaltzy arpeggio piano play,
drumroll, or trumpet blaring),
where pomp and circumstances
(composed by Edward
Elgar) try to stay
bull eyes euphoria kvetching,
and uttering oye vey
spin upside down
with a yippee yawping yay
plus countenancing
only gloom and doom
will conclude myself tubby
a cynical secular nihilist
making the ghost
of Missus Muir, Friedrich
Nietzsche, and David Hume
come to life (at least
in my imaginary presence),
and render a meta
physical/ philosophical loom
by expostulating their
respective profound Kant
mind bending room
min nations, even prophesying
after a body becomes deceased
(whoops a slight
non lethal faux pas)
cremated or buried
(with victuals for the after life)
encrypted within a tomb.
In shadow's tomb—
A dim, aimless flicker...
Void's grip, timeless
claims all.
Fantomsound: life's song is just a cognition in the null.
Rain, pain—
Stardust, dust, flesh
patternless on oblivions loom.
Decay's dance a molderwaltz,
Fingers grasp at phantoms
no hope
Peace in the abyss's open arms. Not…
Unveiled—darkness, despair's shroud
enigma's veil.
Hearts, no soul, toll; unpaid.
Dreams surrendered.
Woe's tale on wastesphere's icy breath.
Void's sigh,
Sun bleeds on the endless fight.
Souls adrift, yearning
churning, burning
Accept, the void's silent
starlit song mute.
From nothing, is nothing, in nothing /
to nothing, for nothing
Fade to black...
The whole truth
and nothing but the fu(king truth
That laws, and math, only help solve
local temporary problems,
All of which fall way short
on the infinite needs scale
were we rely on estimates, theories,
and other manmade truths
Still here we are,
alone on a goldilocks planet
All 8 billion of us milling around,
living our lives
guaranteed nothing
other than this moment
and whatever came before
To think otherwise
would be presumptuously human
As for choice is there really any
other than try feed ourselves
and sate the instinct to survive and thrive
We are a civilisation built on
disparate societal values and creeds
Each day is an imperceptible handover
from one generation to the next,
with no guarantee they’ll do a better job
But the real problem is not truth,
It’s why!
Why anything at all,
Why life
Why the fu(k am I asking these questions
I’m apostate, No!
I have little faith, No!
I am honest, No!
A nihilist, No
It’s because I have a sentient,
curious, unapologetic mind
that compels me to ask why!
Sometimes I think
i’d be better off a sponge
floating in crystal clear turquoise balmy oceans
Soaking up oblivious unintelligible surroundings
Indifferent to mortality and the universe,
popping off a few buds every once in a while,
or whatever sponges
brainlessly do to further their species
Such basic life is so very tempting
but just doesn’t sit right
Never to experience love
however fleeting,
Never to endure pain
However crushing,
Never to feel like throwing in the towel,
Even if just to mop blood
off the floor like a sponge
See, I’ve had moments
unimaginably beautiful,
Alongside unconscionably awful ones,
Moments so real
they can’t have been synthesised
by any stretch of any imagination
I believe a God or the universe
created me as a vessel of interpretation
to perceive itself
from my unique perspective
Well not unique per se,
more a personalised handicapped view
I am nothing and everything
in the grand scheme of things
No more! No less!
One that uses swear words
language you may not like,
yet clearly understand
The weirdest part is not the feeling
I’ve written this fu(ked up poem
in previous carnations
It’s my swearing
just seems to be getting worse
By
David Kavanagh
I don't have a common last name
(inherited from my
father), but I'm simple like
Silva from my mother...
I'm proud of what
I'm like I am..
I am not protected
by no one,
not ridden by
marauders assemblers,
I am of the light,
I'm not Lucena,
I'm from Paraíba, no
Maranhão...
I'm Portugal...
I'm an enlightener but
I'm not French,
I like Beatles but
I am not English...
But I'm not "mass",
I'm a bridge, I'm not
nihilist, I am Kant...
I like Brazilian women
with a beach flavor,
of French women with
taste of champagne,
Arabs who smell
camphor, oriental women
that smell like peach...
Who wants to be friends
that does not come with subterfuge,
come with sincere friendship,
not with real state or latifundium...
My property is not
of this world... my kingdom
It's much further away
sans universe limit...!
Here on the cusp of all things, is where I succumb
Ceding my stuff blindly, toward oblivion and none
Unwilling to persevere, without a modicum of fun
Listing in perpetual stasis, til the spasm’s undone
And yet a god may save me, or a talisman of love
Some prophet of euphoria, quelling ennui thereof
Placing good tidings, into a universal equation
Edifying eternity…..revealing its exact duration…..
Alas he speaks in riddles, and treads a mobius strip
Each cycle forming a twist, convoluting his trip
Determined I follow, my awareness in collapse
Narrow-mindedly stumbling into mortality traps
Now I sense the endgame, but decline to exalt
Its a distortion, an abortion, a cataclysmic fault
Chance meeting with a nihilist, yields positive results
Unable to see past zero, he reveals nothing but cults
Here on the cusp of all things, is where I begun
A contorted brain-f*ck, had no choice but to come
A demon of clarity, with an open ended measure
One who gives to please, but prefers taking pleasure
To believe for one moment, I’d live off a dying spark
Only denies potential, when again life goes dark
With more light to come, my sunglasses prepared
Eternity’s not polarised, just infinitely layered
If a blind man articulates, I’ve seen all this before
Screaming and convinced “I’m a seer at my core”
Could be he’s mistaken, or deluded with Déjà vu
Begs his final question, “do I have a point of view”?
She was just seventeen
The flowers had started blooming
The flower doesn't bloom for itself
It wants to mingle in another breath
The parents scolded heavily
The petals moaned with pain in the veins
The flowers didn't stop blooming
At the pot of seventeen they seldom stop
What's the point in the blossoming
if the scent can't be exchanged
at the intoxicating corridor
with the eyes closing in the blue uproar
of scarlet cascades
Over thousands of blades
The hailstorm was brewing
the moon needed to awake
She was kept confined to her room
School teachers came and counselled
None could feel the heat
None could heal the corporal twitches
Attempt to commit suicide alerted the father
The petals turned nihilist
Was taken to the psychiatrist
Was given anxiolytics
The petals faded, the scent closed the door
The cage revolted for the blue sky
An uncle said he knew a psychoanalyst
Who could deal with the disease deftly
The father agreed and the uncle
accompanied her to the boy friend
The fusion was magnetic
The norwester raged about with lightening
The unspent birds got released in the garden
The buds were keen to return
The depleted river returned too
And the cool full moon sat in the wind
The psychoanalyst then reoriented her thoughts
The uncle gave her woolen friendship
The ship now sailed in the river with blue red and white flags
The viewers on the bank would not even blink their eyes
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March 4, 2018
Random Acts of Kindness - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann