Most bypass the shadow throat,
That world of swallowed measures,
Illusion of a distance —
The ceiling just as close as heaven.
Cogito ergo sum —
All else does cease to be,
My breath the last life whisper,
My memories the library.
In bowels of night’s leviathan,
The sun forgets she ever was,
Disciples sleep to spurn the moon,
Ruling by Medieval laws.
Discerning shadows lost —
Of space and logic gone —
Until returns the bursting dawn,
And christens hay fields, harvest gold.
some loves bout lost come go almost all sorts
motives remain true pure until find not
list least cain hope fewer no good reports
still life like love moves backing forth cold hot
back outing again own each such sigh wish
loss lasts long gone fast run use eye oui next
stuff split rough two there one bright here blue dish
but still be same unself self sans pretext
wait patient fourth floor first ready confess
one day then now was dreamed real life unfold
four most seven great death comes not success
some would telling kisses end life untold
try may believe yes if not near reverse
mind conceives lives another universe
There is paint painted on me
It is a kind of paint that whose pigment can dust
And cause a different kind of stain on you
If and when;
You glide on me,
You lean on me,
And colide with me.
I keep myself away because of that difference
So as to avoid such kind of confusion
"You treasure what's yours but again confuse it"
Eager to prove me wrong but will you believe me?
Give ears to listen to the different kind of story!
The story that makes my paint that way.
Will you distinguish and help me see
If there's that I don't see that I should
Yet you shouldn't always expect that
"There must be something you see that do not"
The truth is You never know whether I looked further
Further than your eyes made there sight
"We are the same" but, "just made different"
Though even so
How much can you make up from those two statements
"We are the same" but, "just made different"
Or is it that I am the foolish one and,
Don't deserve to sit amongst you
Just because I have a different opinion.
Surely, we walked together...
But just like shadows,
Some cheap ghost climbs in nightly,
Pondering the same.
Were all our lives rich folktales?
Panic knots tighter,
As I must have lost your face—
The one that was mine.
Tonight the dark feels darker
As if the light is trying to hide
Even the sounds of the night
Have been silenced or died
There's no moon softly glowing
Or any stars illuminating the sky
There's only this vast emptiness
I'm able to grasp with my eye
The darkness consumes my being
An eerie feeling begins to arise
I observe my surroundings in fright
Only desolation fills up my eyes
Lost in this darkness that is life
Im looking and hoping for a light
That little flicker of distant hope
That will assure me I'll be all right
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?
A poem is an artform –
well, not always
A poem is an idea –
hmm, not necessarily
A poem is all rhythm and rhyme
Ha! What about ‘free verse’
A poem is a thing of beauty
--though some are pretty ugly
A poem is a window to the writer’s soul
--though not to Shakespeare’s, whoever he was…
O, A poem is what’s just been written
Whoever thinks he can explain one
~ that person’s got to be kiddin’
Death wears blue
Hollowed eyes
Sleepy grin
Twisted mouth
Smiled at me
As her voice
In my dreams
Between his rattle
And her breath
Silently screams
You're killing me
Though fate appears a riddle yet unsolved,
Its edges blurred, its pieces hid from view,
By Nature’s grace my worldly needs resolved,
Her gifts like morning rain, both rich and true.
Yet in my heart love’s branches twist and break,
A garden bright but strangely bare of bloom;
Misread affections, words we can’t remake,
Bring shadows creeping through my inner room.
Some pattern weaves itself, unseen, unkind,
A cycle spun of silence, doubt, and fear;
And though my cup is full, it leaves behind
An echo where love’s music should appear.
If heaven grants me every other part,
Why must a puzzle still divide my heart?
When all is said and done !!
Listen the voice of silence ??
As the truth turns into an illusion
And our life a bittersweet lie
Our emotions a distorted smile
Of nothing but wasted year
That have been washed away
by the sands of time
Listen to the voice of silence
As Humanity embraces its inner beast
Stick and stone my broke my bones
But words kill
You see the devil will give you so much
Love he will infect you With so much affection that you would want to spend
The last day in hell
In a world were purpose is forgotten
We're a man seeks Fame , rather than a good name
We're the is no shame in the process
As long as you get the proceed the end justifies the needs
We have been trained in the art of deceit
We nolonger know how to stand for the truth
Even in death we never speak the truth
I think that's the reason on the grave it's written here He/she liars
We leave in a world were our dreams will find you sleeping planting the hopes our tomorrow
In death beds
Life seems like a prison
If a parliamentarian votes yes,
Does he say A or Aye?
Can we trust that politician.
If instead he says AI?
Is he speaking tongue in cheek?
Is he confused, merging A and Aye
Or using a new form of double speak?
Might he be a historian
Lost in thoughts of Israel’s Ai?
When asked mother may I
Write my essay with AI
Whatever comes of AI
To a data dump say Aye
But an AI tome please deny
May it never meet the Eye!
Crossing the addictions
of body and soul
Delirium tremens
is taking its toll
Like Nitro and Glycerin
waiting to strike
Their coupling disastrous
all day into night
My spirit when willing
the flesh all too weak
Those few days I’m able
my willpower bleak
The detox not working
no cure comes my way
All food tastes like poison
these shakes here to stay
A bomb ticks within me
its fuse ever burns
Tomorrow a concept
long stolen unlearned
With nerve endings fraught
and my body destroyed
These nightmare’s the worst
— when in daylight deployed
(Radnor Pennsylvania: September, 2025)
*Kindred Spirits*
I am often labeled as possessing "special" needs, and while there lies a kernel of truth within that phrase, the needs which burn brightest in my core are no different than yours, dear friend. Just as you crave acceptance, I ache for it too; a longing that colors every sunrise and sunset I witness in this grand tapestry called life.
Like you, I dream of companionship forged through laughter and shared confidences, bonds that render the weight of solitude obsolete. And just as knowledge illuminates the path ahead for anyone brave enough to pursue it, I yearn for chances to learn and grow, to fill the wellspring of my mind with wisdom gained through experience and discovery.
In classrooms filled with desks of various sizes, I sit, eager to absorb lessons tailored to nurture my unique potential. Though some tasks prove elusive, my spirit remains undeterred, for I understand that progress is not measured solely by speed, but by the indelible steps we take towards becoming the best versions of ourselves.
awake usual thoughts
failures made imposed
turn others sleep
those like may also awake
guilt not helping light
rest night fears conflicts
wars doubts known not
all prepositioned
keep hope peace joy love
isolated chambered atomized
quarked vanquished
Lord Jesus maybe will
many claim dead still
resurrection appendage
little importance since
not fit soteriology
identity not body
only survives death
timeless eternity reincarnated heaven
space sans time spent looking edge
those not yet arrived
waiting again undiscovering
one another simultaneously
except frozen eternity
Lord be raised embodied ongoing
time continued timely together
see those sleep those cannot
night pray
now three two hours
now one before dawn
When trying to grasp thoughts through our mind’s haze,
It’s like trying to escape a thought maze.
As the bits and pieces accumulate,
How will they connect, how will they relate?
We try to relate them to things we know.
Each thought should be placed right where it should go.
So many topics to assimilate,
We constantly add and have to update.
Without clear focus they may lose their flow,
By first burning to bright then losing their glow.
Without definition, they will not last,
Some good ideas will drift to the past.
Give each thought it’s time, make sure it’s defined,
It will be its best when finely refined.
Specific Types of Confusion Poems
Definition | What is Confusion in Poetry?
Poems Related to Confusion
anarchy, bewilderment, chaos, complexity, complication, consternation, difficulty, disarray, dislocation, disorientation, distraction, embarrassment, mistake, trouble, turbulence, turmoil, upheaval