Life Philosophy Poems | Examples
These Life Philosophy poems are examples of Philosophy poems about Life. These are the best examples of Philosophy Life poems written by international poets.
'Time' and 'Death' are the only axioms.
Things you cannot manipulate.
Together, they eventually destroy everything.
Then, breathe life into the ashes.
Forgotten concepts, even gods who don't bleed.
I smile in Annihilation's face.
Life is an abattoir hymnal written as a Jisei.
A poem that always ends with a question/mark.
The mortician finishes your storyline, not you.
Punctuation through confrontation with both.
My job is important, I bring closure.
And I create monsters to negate certain fates.
How dare society treat me like a freak...
Every single time I ask for coffin options...
Each time I ask for lipstick preference...
Everyone reacts how you'd expect...
Now, ask yourselves, why do I write splatterpunk?
(“The Longest Journey”, 2020, original encaustic)
All That We Dream
When George Harrison sang,
“Yesterday, today was tomorrow
And tomorrow, today will be yesterday”
He was making a simple observation
On the nature of Life as a flow
We attach our momentary labels of time.
But he could also have said this applies
To all of us simultaneously in the flow
While attaching those labels as if outside,
And that this simple shift in perspective
Is the key to liberation, at least
From the burdens of this Life’s stress and strains.
Each day we do things
And when they are done, tomorrow or the next,
We are not the same person who did them.
The beauty of this is the one planning
Is never the same as the one executing
Nor the one enjoying the result.
So plan away, aim for the stars
Take that step, take the baton
On the endless journey
The endless stream of doing
As time and being flow together
Effortlessly accomplishing all that we dream.
(9/5/25)
Let me tell you what I know
about Piet Mondrian and Mark Rothko,
two painters so rectangular and square,
you'd swear there is no life there,
till you look with a little more precision,
a little bit more care.
I sit, legs crossed, typing away
Doing homework, my hair uncombed
Listening to songs I don’t love but don’t hate
And I stare out the window and wonder,
Is there something more than this?
And my fingers type away
In a never-ending game
It’s raining. I feel nothing
Writing bad poems in the dark, and I wonder,
Is there more to me than this?
Procrastination, adrenaline, headphones,
Cell phones, whiteboards, deodorant,
Romance, hardback books, college, drama,
Movies, concerts, lectures, hormones,
And I wonder,
Is there more to youth than this?
My thoughts are scattered, my eyes unfocused
My brain stretched in five directions
And I don’t know who to be
Because we’re pebbles in a muddy stream
And in a world of distractions, 8 billion voices ask,
Is there more to life than this?
Like a song we all like to improvise as we all go along.
Like a stageplay we like to have reasons to pretend and play.
Like a semblance we like to be with whom bring us balance.
I reincarnated into this life to calmly observe.
I am also here to experience what I deserve.
I am still on this journey learning just whom and how I shall serve.
my body ache and feel so old my soul torn and winter's cold i've lived too many lives
they say, "teenage is the best years of life but carelessness can bring you demise" lost in the petty things of life i lost a precious chapter of my life
my body ache and feel so old my soul torn and winter's cold i've lived too many lives
they say, "teenage is the best years of life but carelessness can bring you demise" lost in the petty things of life i lost a precious chapter of my life
The world is crazy,
believe me or not—
it knows neither good nor bad,
only flows forward,
shaping wonders
for you to see.
A meal needs its patience:
chop, fry, stir,
each in its turn—
only then
can you taste its truth.
So too with life:
blended as you seek it,
revealed only
in its season.
Everything takes time,
wrapped in its own package.
Do not blame time—
stay open,
for it will come
when the moment is ripe.
balancing the inward and outward
marrying material and spiritual as an artform
showcasing the objective and subjective
conjuring both philosophical construct and aesthetic ideal
the aspiration a way of life
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
They glare with eyes like frozen steel,
Piercing, yet blind to what is real.
They see the frame, not the flame,
And brand me with a borrowed name.
Their hearts beat cold, devoid of grace,
Slander drips from lips that never face
The truth I carry, bold and bare—
A golden heart they wouldn’t dare.
They speak in tongues of defamation,
Crafting myths from accusation.
As if I’m carved for crucifixion,
A symbol of their own affliction.
But I do not break—I crystallize.
I rise beneath their shallow lies.
Resilience is my quiet hymn,
A light that does not beg to dim.
So I ask you now, with open hand,
Do you think I’m a sacrificial lamb?
Or am I the storm they failed to tame—
The soul they tried, but could not name?
I am cold-forged, born of frost and flame,
A heart of gold beneath the blame.
Not prey, not pawn, not silent ghost—
But the truth they fear to face the most.
With Borrowed Faces in a Place
We are turning around with no faces,
Just in cases.
Heaven in our places,
Just two faces.
Screaming out so everyone hears our bases,
We can't hide our faces.
But truth still chases
Through hidden mazes.
Slow and smoky phrases.
Now we are visible - with our borrowed faces.
Time erases.
There are no traces.
We are turning around with no faces,
Just in cases.
Heaven in our places,
Just two faces.
Why resist, when it’s much cheaper
To admit that life’s a dream
You are just a lifelong sleeper
Who keeps walking out and in
Sleep provides refuge from sorrow
A small solace from old pain
On a bridge towards tomorrow
Over dreamland rides your train
Waking up is always late
It's a dreamless phase of sleep
In Orwellian deep state
We are human-looking sheep
Everything is topsy-turvy
In the most accustomed way
So you don’t express a worry
About anything they say
Life’s a comedy of errors
A tricky business from the start
And we have to be its bearers
Playing our little part
What they say they never do
But it’s hardly a surprise
They are human cockatoo
Who can sound a bit too wise
Life’s a dream, and we are sleepers
Otherwise we can’t be here
In full conscience and so helpless
Till the day we disappear.
On a warm, dew-weakened day,
Watching the grey void of a lost
Sense, anxious moments recline
On whiffs of ancestral propitiations
When rafters regain possession of
Filched roast fish, balanced with
The fumes of a wild dance heckled
By chokes of a chagrined weekend.
Who rises faster than smokes of a
Low tar, ascending
Gently,
Whimsically,
Lazily,
With rings of white life
Extinguished through banalities,
Through clamoured waste? . . .
Such rise — gay, sensuous rise
Of the thin beam,
Goes with every thread of meaning
Long since posted on the banner of
Meaningful dreams.
Lord, I have come,
ready to do your will.
I know the call is for everyone,
but the chosen are few.
Though the last shall be first,
I stand a stranger at your banquet.
Make me worthy,
that I may sit at your table.