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david mungoshi Jan 2016
waiting for something to happen
gives a false sense of motionlessness
but that's all in the mind

waiting for someone to notice you
takes forever and that's sure and true
but again that's all in the mind

the moments that stretch endlessly
and those that pass all too quickly
are really no different

our frantic little dances in the world
must look to some god out there
like the ants we watch as they wander

and these forever moments of pain, suffering
or solid success unlimited in scope or duration
are mere dewdrops in the scheme of things

thus i ask in utter bewilderment
how we explain eternal damnation
in proportion to the whiffs our lives are
Yanamari Sep 2017
A cube exists around me.
A cube of darkness closing in,
A cube of walls unknown;
Walls that are endless and confining.
A cube isolated and alone.

A cube of turbulent motionlessness,
Intertwining in my veins,
A cube of perpetual poisoning,
A cube of living death.

Light does not enter it,
Nor does it escape.
Rather, it is ****** in,
And implodes at sanity's end.
Peter Balkus Apr 2016
After work
I usually go home
to rest my body in a motionlessness.

I'm watching tv
and think how fortunate I am to not to be on the screen. And that this world
is a sad place to be, for you don't suffer yourself anymore,
and you don't suffer seeing others suffering,
doomed to emotionlessness of Twenty First Century.

After work
I'm watching ****. That is my way to bring my dead body to life,
like electric shock for someone who died.
Don't blame me for that.
We all have our own way to survive another day in "paradise".

I'm watching
bodies ******* bodies, and I forget for a while, that I am nobody,
and that body
is all what remained from soul,
and that *******
is all what remained from love.

And that all we've managed to save from the End
is naked certainty that there's no God left,
only us, only our bodies,
craving to be alive and copulate.

I hope that is what you wanted to hear.
Onoma Dec 2014
Subtlety employs all works in
progress...as silence resounds
angels in snowy landings.
How close can reality get before
it begins to reside within that which
it stands before?
What to do with all these impositions
that make or break the walkable line?
Perhaps...allow the spilling of the proverbial
cup, that it may overflow...engender the already
engendered Chaos...(your Face was already wet
before you remembered to face the Shower Head)...
cheers to Harmony!
There's this deep impulse to walk until collapse...
akin to a wild horse running to death...motion seems
a necessary evil.
Call it excess energy...superfluous stone to sculptor's
block...a burning candle keeping pace with the prayed for.
Enter death's repose...motioning motionlessness...
for the first and last time...All Subtlety becomes overt.
Music is much like Life:
it begins and it ends
it goes through stages
it has an ebb and flow
it is arbitrary yet structured
it is abstract; relative only unto itself
and once it stops, it's over.

The first thing that happens
defines a point of relativity
and around that rhythmic, melodic and harmonic axiom
everything else is free to move;
but, once it has ended,
silence;
perhaps applause.

Otherwise, peace.

An encore wasn't in the contract.

The only dissonance
is internal;
cognitive.

But,
once it has happened,
if if it significant enough,
it creates waves that ne'er cease to ripple and refract
and in such a way they are immortal
and in such a way they are free
to have a causal effect on the rest of Humanity;
on the rest of Reality.

Music, much like Life,
comes from Void
into Existence,
then it suffers the physical world
and then it returns again
to motionlessness,
perhaps even Void again,
and from there,
who's to say?

So, I suppose, the moral is
to not be afraid of who you are;
learn it and come to terms with it
and learn what drives it forth
and then utilize that
and do it to the utmost
that others may see thy, as well as their own, Light
that they, themselves, may be inspired
to shine bright
that Light of their own.

In that way and that way alone
shall we bring forth an Enlightened World.
Tiffany Tran Sep 2015
The view of the city appears washed out
And tinted with sepia during this time of day.
The sun had reached its peak
Bearing itself in motionlessness.

*Ennui swept over me.
Absent Motility Against Staid Inertia

impossible to describe listlessness
     bedeviling this body electric aye attest
motivation to counter glumness
     seizes motility temporarily

     to stave off staid purposeless at best,
yet aware poetic obfuscation chest
barely delineates fierce hopelessness
     assailing me,

     when'r awake and/or at everest
feeding melancholy feedback loop
     sparring against faintest
momentum - writhing psyche,

     asper an unwelcome guest
emotional friction
     bringing motionlessness,
     where lunging futility

     summoning ability
     to muster joie de vivre
     defeated willpower
     no matter mental health

     propped up
     with pharmacological medications
     prescribed by Doctor George Adams be hest,
yet tis NOT suicide, but general malaise
     as if poison (or stung by a scorpion) jest

permeates thy being
     sparking existential angst
     hoop fully communicating figurative soffits
     facilitating emotional bulwark lest

ye **** sitter
     this lix spittled chap messed
up in the head, but also that empty nest
syndrome - aa bird den, and nefarious pest

disallowing merrily rowing my boat
     subjected to turbulence that doth wrinkle
     space/time continuum quest
punctuating any attempt

     to take fig yurt heave Newtonian rest
without being assailed
     of drab quotidian predictability
     re: envious papa

     towards daughters adventurous lives
     he rejoices (albeit vicariously)
respective lives where offspring lasso lassitude,
     viz both their electric kool aid acid test
how fate didst in vest
waning wily woebegone zest!
Triscuit Sep 2018
The I.V. undulates momentarily with life before settling back into motionlessness, liquid still passing through smoothly, coolness flooding the vein.

Is that chill ever deep enough? The one I left with the last time my leg grazed the metal rests of a hospital bed.

Pain is limitless when the mind never rests, crisp white linen tucked thoughtfully around the outline of your sullen frame. Is it you? Or is it them? Who do you blame for the ache?

I remember years ago in a state like this, that I had wondered almost the same. However, back then I would've said, "surely it is you if I feel the sorrow." Now I think I may be to blame. I cradle my emotions like a colicky babe.

Once again a fool to a game that ceases to end, running in circles only to bite my own tail. The monitor hums.

Eyes grow heavy from the weight of obsession, mind on overload, sifting through piles of useless information and intense thought.

Wake up tomorrow to run another race, maybe we'll meet again one day. I'll see you at the finish line.
Left alone in a sea of thoughts.
Cor
Beats of a drum
Thumping for...
Who?
You and only you.

"L" met up with "o"
Then "o" met up with "v"
Then "v" met up with "e".
We share them together
As a whole on our journey.

Very vital,
You flow
To bestow me
With oxygen.
If you did not,
I would stop..
Dead in my tracks.

And would be overwhelmed into motionlessness.

I doubt that you will
Allow that to take place.

No one can take your place.
Be here to stay..
I am.

(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith

(Originally written 12/18/10
Revised 9/24/14)
this is the loudest of all your silences
and to allow you to thrive and thieve
  the moment from beginning to end
    is a tremendous task.
  to let you pullulate from the first letter
   up until the (exalted) last, to permit
  you to brood and intrude like a stranger
  abounding the train at midnight and
  a shadow alight in the next, aching stop,
  to watch you move and regret your
     motionlessness as i hunt for a trace
  of movements in the last room that
    you have been in and to desire you
      still in the following room

  only to find that the voicelessness
     in all of the world is the loudest
    of all the silences.
Andrew Owens Jan 2019
What is death
it would seem like the end of life
but does life really end
when one life dies there is still more life beyond
maybe death is just part of the cycle
like death is the opening of a candy wrapper and eating the candy
death is the wrapper that no longer holds anything of value
death is the shell that is now empty
death has no inhabitant
so what is life
the thing that makes everything move possibly
not just simple movement
but conscious movement with a thought of where it's going
so when life and death meet
where does life go
and why does death stay if it is really here
if there is one thing I feel
it's weight
life and death weigh on me every day
pushing me down
making everything take more effort out of me
like I am made to suffer just so I know what pleasure feels like
life is pleasure and pain
death doesn't feel anything at all
life is finite and infinite
death is life's shadow knowing one day it will be gone
when life finally dies
death lives forever and becomes nonexistent
and there it is
nothing
the thing we see when we are looking for something we cannot find
that's what is weighing in my heart
what am I looking for
some kind of sign that there is magic to ease the suffering of life
if not to make it thrive despite being constantly surrounded by death
I feel as though magic is science that cannot be explained by modern terms
maybe one day
but not today
my own life isn't so mundane and yet I don't want it
I feel it calling me closer
it's voice getting louder through time
time which was merely invented
all I see is motion and motionlessness
panic and calm
love, hate and indifference
my love and hate battle while indifference plays video games
ignoring everything and every thought
because reality is ****
suffering is how I know it's real
I don't want to be real anymore
I don't want to dream anymore
just let me sleep
I am tired
but no
I have to keep going
I have to see the end
I can't give up on my secret search for what I consider magic in my time
what is magic in my time
well, it's love
unconditional love from someone who isn't your mother or father
someone who chooses to be your family
it's a pleasant surprise that doesn't end in an instant with a dose of harsh reality
magic is having your pet be your equal like another person
it's knowing that when you die, you will be fine
it's being being real in a world of fakes
or being fake in a world of real ones
magic is the opposite of reality perhaps
the imagination at its' finest
or worst
you decide
*****
you think I'm done
I'm not
I'm just getting started

— The End —