Long Nonexistence Poems
Long Nonexistence Poems. Below are the most popular long Nonexistence by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Nonexistence poems by poem length and keyword.
What if you were an inhabitant of a world
Where there's no hate, greed, jealousy, envy, and pride;
And one is not enraged by the prosperity of another?
What if conceit and enmity are erased from the course of history,
And malignity is perpetually swallowed in the deepest of pits,
Sinking to rise no more?
What if your subconscious ideate a world
Filled with love, peace, and harmony?
What if Seven Billion human beings could live together under one canopy,
Tending to and upholding high esteem for one another
As benevolence becomes the ultimate act,
That reigns over all timelines?
What if we put aside the destructive comparisons and competitions,
And every individual follows his or her own path
While uplifting all others at the same time?
What if the promotion of individuality and self productivity,
Was the niche of every human —one to another—
And every gift and talent was equally consequential to society?
What if there was no lust for power
And political leaders as well as government officials,
Assume offices not to seek their own selfish interests
By misappropriating public funds, and embezzling state owned belongings to enrich themselves?
What if they had the sincere dedication
To ensure the welfare and security of the state and its citizens?
What if this world was a sanctuary of peace with the nonexistence of violence,
Where nations were aimed at building, rather than destroying one another?
What if unity becomes a compelling force
That binds the Earth to its core,
And compassion remains the lifelong element
That keeps the Universe in motion?
What if the globe was entirely void
of racism, prejudice, discrimination, and partiality;
Where each and every human was afforded equally the same opportunity
Regardless of their race, sex, ethnicity, culture or nationality?
What if we could finally dwell in a word once dreamed of by Martin Luther King Jr.,
Where "humans will no longer be judged based on the color of their skin, but by the contents of their character"?
There is an extreme power in these questions!
But what if they were a reality, can you imagine what we could all achieve?
What if you allow that imagination to create pictures of transformations?
What if you act stepwise from these unceasing questions,
And give it a chance to become a momentous action,
To make this Planet a better Creation?
Long ago in the short-time lively spring
In the grassy plains of a small island
Came from nonexistence a young sapling
Nurtured by the love of her mother’s hand
The world accepted her newfound nascence
Fueling her a love for joyfulness
Beaming out from the depths of her bright heart
A Happiness no being could contest.
With the blessings from the sapient world,
She quickly discovered a lifelong friend.
His solicitude for her unbounded,
They were surely a match made in heaven
They always walked together as one,
Carrying each other through life’s sojourn
Truly did the love between them abound
But all good times must arrive at an end
Her childhood soon sped by before her eyes
The novelty of memorable times
Fading into the dark depths of her mind
Pleasant memories like leaves in the wind
Her transition into adulthood near,
Deep concern for her friend’s future life flare
Taking no heed of her own life troubles,
She does what she can to help him succeed
At the zenith of springtime season’s bloom
She invited her dear friend to a club
A group of three girls all connected by
Their adoration of books and poems
It pleased her heart greatly to see her friend
Forming and bonding with new companions
Yet, unknown feelings of jealousy formed
As her indulgent desire for him grew
Like the swirling typhoons of the oceans,
The tsunamis that wash away cities,
Doubt flooded into her mentality
Confusing thoughts fogged rationality
She bottled up her true feelings tightly
Suppressed the complex emotions duly
Only ever showing her happy side
Wishing to see no concern from her friend
Each passing moment spent in the classroom
Watching his relationships with others
Deepening, evolving, and ascending
Left loneliness to consume her insides
For three days she tried hiding her sorrow
No longer could she veil her emotions
Despite her friend’s kind attempts to console
He only shatters her heart into shards
The following day, lying in her bed,
She looks up at her room’s ceiling and thinks
“Why get out of bed? Why am I still here?”
She recalls her friend, breaking into tears
That day, Sayori never came to school
Leaving her friend worried and bewildered.
In his concern, he traveled to her house
Only to find her hanging by the noose
Suspended . . . tormented, in a mind so distant
I arrive at the said destination with a sigh. . .
What I expect is mortifying
What lies ahead still remains a meddlesome mystery
The air is thin—the water droplets seem. . . warm
But I feel a coldness when they hit my skin
The skin that only once touched your hand. . . . .
It is comforting when surrounded by shadow
To feel the soft embrace of long-yearned rain
It is dully consoling to know I am Alone. . .
Chemical reactions are made in instances
Each second of despair heightened by the electrical pulses
Going mad when the waters clash
And the feelings of comfort are gone yet again
The thoughts that used to hold me up
Have collapsed from under me
And Alone is felt in a new shade…darker than the shadow of comfort
The tears replace the rain. . .
Boiling the skin on my face to redden and shame
The burn provides little distraction to despair
Knowing the one I love will never be here. . .
Even now I envy those who can speak…
Who scoff and spit—and whine, groveling in grit
Those who can see and clearly feel their enemy
How they spiritually dispose of their peer
Through lack of understanding and jeer
I would much easier embrace my darkest enemy,
Than be with the one I love
I would much rather abuse myself
Than lay a finger on the precious one who wrongs me
Because you have abandoned all thought of me. . .
Through your life and innocence,
You have harmed me—wronged me. . .
You were mistaken. . . .I can never understand you
Because I have never truly seen you
At times I can almost feel you. . .
But all I feel is pain
All I feel is the burning rain. . .
I envy those around you. . .
Like the madman straight out of prison
I even envy your opposers
In truth, I obsess over the thought
Of Alone:
The definition of “Without You”
. . .
Without you here,
I arrive at no destination
What lies ahead is only despair
The rain I feel . . . are tears—
Comforts that never last
And all that used to hold me up
Is merely a heart-broken collapse. . .
I never wished to cling onto your nonexistence. . .
Believe me—
All I ever wanted. . .
Was a thought
A. . .chemical reaction if you will
A simple “I am here for you”. . .
Without you, Alone, I confess,
Sometimes one can only dream
When I learned my mother had cancer with zero time to live I went into shock. Like being thrown into another dimension. All seemed surreal --like when the desktop changes setting and display switches to high contrast with the colors more vivid-- similar to euphoria without the happiness so not on the same plane, since the poles were not happiness vs. sadness with degrees of happiness down to an abyss or void. I was flipped to a mode amplifying emotional effects outside the boundary we normally dwell. Like a message doesn't fit into your concepts already known. While i was suddenly confronting a self I could barely recognize, later i realized that this self of responsiveness isn't always aligned with best self but so far away from the recognition of ideals, like a disconnect from the spiritual --the thing addressed by religion-- while I was displaced by my love for science and technology. A realm defined only by logic, so now it was incomprehensible that this person I've always known and could not know life without, would soon to be in the unreal or nonexistence. I watched my mothers entire life passing before me. I could feel the essence of earlier times, the sounds slowing down with each passing decade, playing like a movie in my mind with impressions of my mother thru the stages of her life. Those influences reflected upon her. I saw much more than I could glean from old photos or by events described to me or even seen on TV, which now I scrutinize. Like being in a cocoon i'm just now growing out of. A long time after absorbing the truth that my mother is not just gone, but she's actually dead, i come to recognize that I had been preoccupied by the presence of an unidentified woman, standing off to the side of my mind, silently waiting for me to notice. Then it became clear that this image was my mother, just the self I had not known. It's like she was waiting patiently for me to acknowledge her so she could say goodby. That's when I realized that the years I had spent seeking to find my "True Self" --a self better than the sum of others effects on me-- i now see an answer to a question not yet realized. Our true self is our spiritual self, the total essence of us with our ideals intact, untainted by the toll life takes on us and the purpose others impose.
In the depths where the hounds of nonexistence bark,
Vigilant guardians of silent eternity,
On the land of somber undulation, the dogs of death howl relentlessly,
They are the keepers of the secret in the tattered webs of time.
I hear their deep cry and recognize their feeble sentence,
Rainhearted, we cannot delay the ferocity of death.
Even if we strive in vain to tame the fleeting passage,
Enslaved by blind fate that leads us, pauses in nonexistence,
I confess with a shame-burned cheek emerging from the depths,
The greatest sin is not that we exist, but that we are not eternal.
The dystopia of death with its outstretched arms encompasses heavy horizons,
In the realm of silence where the spindle of light has never rolled,
Under the humble earth, we shall entwine coolness in a night,
Becoming amnesiacs to the thought that once animated us all.
In the great abyss of nothingness, an uninvited shack lays its threshold,
A refuge for souls that cannot withstand oblivion,
There, with knots playing with thoughts, I bow in respect,
In the labyrinth of silence, I kneel, making an altar out of the spark of a weary world.
Towards the cycle that returns, where the threads of life and death intertwine,
The warmth of a new beginning burns me in the tumultuous crucifixion that repeats,
In the myth pulsating in the depths, where life becomes dying the moment it enters,
After the forgotten universe lies, draped in yesterday's cloak over today.
The copulation of worlds, that cruel game of ignorance,
Childhood and old age mixed, the eternal tale,
Constantly enveloping us in the cloak of false hope,
I wander like forgotten dreams among memories that attempt to quench my thirst.
I let the echoes of deaf death soar over the embers of silence,
The poetics of a lost soul, the song of inkless passage.
Time flies and takes shape in the chaos of estranged grandeur,
Like an altar raised for the madness of unknown and unmarked gods to come.
Yet the dogs of death howl with a crescendo that shakes my bones of history,
Their tears reveal themselves like acid rain over dying and distant times,
Under the weight of the earth, our sins prepare for solemn decay;
We were born and live in a world where perhaps we shouldn't be.
Reindeer herd - heard clattering
Rangifer tarandus kept
this deep sleeper awake
cavorting, deer ring
escapade haint fake
dreamt only a smattering while
Santa did shimmy and shake
with ho...ho...ho...
no worry mate - everything's jake
resonating resembling thus Spake
Zarathustra jollity did quake.
Yours truly (i.e, me)
awoke with rapture
forty hooves with
four "toes" on each foot
surreptitiously, soundlessly, and simply
did invisibly bore
I noiselessly swore
sizable wrapped holiday box
with duct tape to secure
merchandise found thee missus
(Abby) excitedly tore
painstakingly, neatly, and lovingly
my feeble protest she did ignore
(think lame gesticulations)
ah... lo and behold goodies galore
unable to deter impetuous more
or less analogous to child like roar
ring with giddy excitement
December twenty fifth,
could not await opening your
linkedin holiday deliverance
including Trader Joe's gift card
to "fake" Monseigneur
Matthew Scott with dogspeed
to wish thee (Andy, Ansley,
Marley - if by ghost of chance...)
plus other kith and kin) bonjour,
and joyful new year, whence two score
orbitz will find me
newly minted centenarian, argh... your
brother not yet ready to explore
afterlife, which grave kismet unavoidable,
courtesy grim reaper conquistador
though... even now no fear arises,
when permanent sleep shall nevermore
witness generalized (anticipatory)
anxiety cease to perdure,
which bouts of panic
running rampant near winded seen yore
citizen banker (me) disgruntled
as if possessed by maniacal führer
running me rampantly ragged das
exhausting emotional furor
takes (and/or took) toll, I deplore
and decry lifelong psychological struggle
germinating while in utero,
when my nonexistence
no bigger than a spore
biological vagaries manifestation
nine months before
set figurative deoxynucleic acid
blueprint stage permanently
etched to the core
every cell sporting mutation
begetting, coding, dunning ensure
ring subsequent generations
oft times pondering,
whence final breath of relief
will signal time to scatter ashes
buzzfeeding boughs of sycamore.
The empty air of the cosmos, sucking every life of void. You feel nothing, and
yet, emptiness feels you. With deadened eyes that search nullity as if though the
very nonexistence would apparate before your very own gaze. With Shadowed
ground and fathomable dusk. Light, which, may not even glow, is as an eclipse, light
hidden by walls of the mind. The cage of mental lies, you may call up, bring forth the
sanity that you question. Insanity in Lunacy swallows up the mind.
With no one to rely on, when no one is compelling enough to to trust, the mind
falls apart in the darkness of thought. Ears, muffled of words and screams, rush and
reel with the silence of the unbalance. Hands pulling, grasping, straining, to rip you
apart, to hear your scream. Yet, no sound emanates from your throat. The pulling,
grasping, and straining hands cause a dull ache. The scarring claws and nails are soft
fingers against cold skin. Thrashing movements, ones you cannot understand, you
register as your own. Screams filling mute ears, stifled sobs of desist now are clear in
the smothered ears as water in a crystalline glass. Melancholy hidden in the words,
singing out in pain.
Bright walls seemed dulled, voices drowned out by grief-filled silence. Cold air,
rushing through the empty space between lungs and skin, between cloth and flesh,
warmth leaving your very being frozen. Not finding one fraction of detail to take in as
solace in the darkness of this gloom. Crying out as If you were able to find an anchor
and hold on. Said anchor is nowhere in sight as dark as the blackness of night, you
cannot see. In this mind of mental lies, everything is as an illusion. Reality is just as
cold and foreboding as the dusk of light when the dark of your shadows begin to
creep out to spread black fingers of cold, into your very soul.
I actually wrote this when I was in 7th Grade, what do you guys think?
We were supposed to choose and emotion and right it out, I chose the Null of
Emotion, or simply, the emptiness of them.
You will not often find me
In amongst the fold
Being chased from the pen
Wherein your treasure lies
I will not clothe myself in sheep
I cannot be but that which I am
lone
I am wolf
If we are inclined to meat
I will grant what is yours
But choose to hunt me down
And I will eat you alive
I’ll gnaw through my own limb
Before I’m trapped by your design
Neither day nor night possess danger
I will not gladly face
My wisdom is measured in scars
Pain has taught me to outlive
Those who shrank from its lesson
I follow in the footsteps
of those who were never ensnared
And my prints will in turn
Mark the way for those that see
simple symmetry
Lone
I am wolf
You will not see me
Where trees stand in rows
I may come once called
But if you cry my name
Through the village streets
Torch lights will find only you
At the gathering of pitchforks
I will not clothe myself in sheep
My song is not for the broods of man
Beyond his reach the forest is my domain
I sing of mountains and of moons
The chorus of my own kind
Many hear sorrow in these strains
Ever avoiding the presence of solitude
Never knowing the solace of hearing
Voices echo from every distant hill
Harmonies dancing upon the rocks
I cannot be but that which I am
My coat finds no friend
In the blazing glare of the sun
My eyes shine for the gentle glow
Of lunar light and sparkling snow
The flicker of the firmament
The aurora’s phosphorescent stream
The smell of pines rising
From their blanket of ice
The taste of the air
Lately bathed by the rain
Crystals crunching under tufted paws
The soft brush of willows
Upon the weary brow
past present future
Simple symmetry
Lone
I am wolf
I can cipher the patterns of my world
But your structures are fig leaves
To cover this naked earth
The hairs on my spine, alone
Acknowledge your nonexistence
In nurture and in nature
So shall it be
Past present future
Simple symmetry
Lone
I am wolf
fight till the end
I can't sleep at night
cos responsibility is a score
to win
the high ways knows
my shadow
cos laziness is never
an excuse
for the youth got to grow
if a man is not alone
then survival can never
be a nonexistence issue
in a needy world
a hustler wish to stop struggling
only but one day
but until then he oath to
fight to the end
fight to the end
I can't rest in a day
cos the battle is hot
out there the victors are few
among the few I need my count
so each morning is another
privilege to buckle my shoes
for another hot day
to earn a life
were bills seize never to
be obviously obvious
what chase a man out there
start from home
a hustler never leaves
his family hungry instead he
fight to the end
fight to the end
I can't avoid my people
cos they are the God
I see
the Gift I adore
the life I share
the write I pen
the memories I glow
they are the angels of my
star
no wonder out there
I carry them alone
no wonder still tonight
I can't sleep
I keep writing for them
I keep thinking for them
even miles away from home
yet I just
can't stop the heart beat
for their sake
now I understand why
I will always
fight to the end
fight to the end
isolate your energy from worries
for the world is never meant to be easy
it is obvious right in our view
so why not get out of shadows
left up your head high
turn down your fears
let it burn along with your worries
there is always a good morning
no matter how dark is the night
yes tell the world I said so
if not blame my misery
why my pen bleeds again
cos am also a victim
this pains of survival
for sure I wear them too
but it burden I refuse
to be my obstacle
so again I spark another
soul to rise and live again
never gave up your hope
on the hopeless streets
of poverty
rise like a new sun
fight till the end
It doesn’t matter if a droplet falling into a pond is early morning dew born from a petal, rain drop gathered from the misty air on one of those gloomy day’s afternoon or simply a flake of weightless snow. The reason ripples created by such droplets are, not like the surging waters disappearing in a cloud of spray after beating upon the break-water in the air, the commotion of surfs monotonously coming to shore and returning sea disguised in white bubbles left on the sands, come calmly with no affection but simple artless form.
The reason why I like the ripples started from the drop of water on the pond is, they spread as multiple rings come and go without a sound, and therefore, its soundless sound touches my heart as if deep sigh of the long mistreated forsaken men or a pure and clear mind of a man who attained the highest state of enlightenment through deep meditation thereby well understood true meaning of the life and the death.
It doesn’t matter where the ripples come from: an exuviae of
a dragonfly fell on the pond from wanting to return home where he spent his larva days though an imago flew away long ago to find his mate, a colorful petal faded away when the flower withered after its glorious days were gone, or a leaf, though there is no wind, fell in the pond dawdling for a while because it has to leave on a journey of no return holding a grief of decay.
For the water ring moves only forward and, as if it’s the rings fate, vanish away without expressing emotion of any sort when it comes and touches the shore. Since the water ring doesn’t have place to return, there is no lingering attachment whatsoever; since it has no need for plausible excuse to justify its existence or nonexistence there would be much easier to live through its given life and leave quietly.