Tag Archives: existential poetry

The Tiring Masquerade

Posted in Poetry English by
d7fr35-e4074830-a645-4675-9f5c-17b838c48e78

An intimate confession from behind a carefully guarded shell.

_________________________

You will never really know how I really feel;

I may laugh my head off, or even if I may cry

You will never really know who I am in real;

no matter how long and how hard you may try

_________________________

I always wear a mask, I never reveal my true self;

I lurk behind the shadows, I hide myself so very well

You will never guess who I am – a human or an elf;

I am so well-guarded, you’ll never get past the shell

_________________________

I do not hide because I am pure evil or a white dove;

perhaps I am a mix of dark shadows and bright light

I hide because the care is selfish, and there is no love;

I hide as there is only business, maybe wrong, maybe right

_________________________

I am both dead and alive, both delusional and aware;

I am both yes and no, some conflict and some strife

Delusions of grandeur and an awareness of what’s fair;

conflicting desires and the chaos inflicted by a dull knife

_________________________

That you will never find me, it’s a fact, and a promise too;

it’s not a challenge, just a statement and so very true

That you will never discover me, it’s not just my view;

and that you will never love me, is a truth that I always knew 

_________________________

Life is a long masquerade, it’s so very long and so tiring;

that the end might be near, it’s awaited and so very certain

The desperation is real, it’s so sad and so very depressing;

that there is no hope, it’s about time to drop the curtain

The Autumn Outside, and the Autumn Within

Posted in Poetry English by

A season that never ends.

_____________________

Outside, autumn reigns with colors of gold and rust,

walking in fancy colors, is really a sad, old whore

Within, the autumn stays forever, heaps of ash and dust,

it was born when I was born, will die when I’m no more

_____________________

Outside, there is a verdict, a cruel and harsh judgment,

unsolicited and uninvited, yet delivered firmly in the face

Within, there exists failure, dark, rotten, and repugnant,

it was born when I was born, will die when I quit the race

_____________________

Outside, there is refusal, a hard and cold rejection,

imparted cruelly, yet justified and utterly sensible

Within, there exists misery, a bitter and dark dejection,

it was born when I was born, will die as I am dispensable

_____________________

Outside, there is warmth, an almost useless affection,

a product of reciprocity, mere courtesy, and manners

Within, there is love - a brightly burning perfection,

it was born when I was born, will die with lowered banners

_____________________

Outside, there is sadness, and within it is always blue,

in perfect harmony, the weeping violin and the crying cello

Outside, the autumn reigns, and within, there is an autumn too,

were there when I was born, will fade as the ink turns yellow

Depression and Me – Till Death do us Part

Posted in Poetry English by
demons_by_captainnutmeg_dcf5t0d-fullview

A marriage vow written in shadows: depression doesn’t ever leave, it keeps on waiting in silence.

____________________________

All the faceless monsters lurking under your bed,

and grey smoky ghosts, hiding quietly in the shed

They are still alive, and though very much well fed,

their appetites grow stronger, smelling your dread

Oh, you were so mistaken, and you were so wrong,

they are still here, and they are still very strong

____________________________

You thought they had gone and had finally left,

leaving you for once alone, happy, and not bereft

Letting you grow freely to move either East or West,

was something so obvious, but you were so obsessed

Oh you were damn crazy, and stupid to think so,

it is not over yet, the dark misery and the grey woe

____________________________

Yes, they look different and may have new faces,

their new but scalding words leave new traces

Their horror remains a fact, and it has a rational basis;

you are an idiot; you were never in their good graces

Oh, you are confused and bewildered by this shit?

No worries, you may run, but you will again be hit

____________________________

Yes, you will forever run and hide from them in vain,

but you will meet them always, again and again

There might be a brief respite, and maybe a little gain,

but then will come suffering, and definitely more pain

Oh, you will scream, and torture yourself to death;

you will suffer and burn till your very last breath

____________________________

But listen, my friend, and listen to me with care;

they are of your own making, so it’s only fair

They might frighten you, and they might even scare,

but sensibility and you? It has always been very rare

Oh, you may protest, and you may angrily differ;

you are their creator, though this may sound bitter

____________________________

The ghosts and monsters will forever stay with you;

the shadows, the dark, and the legion of demons, too

You will keep on feeding and rearing them, it’s true;

but they will keep on torturing and tormenting you

Oh, you may try, or you may find your hands tightly tied,

but good fortune is a horse, you will never ever ride

No Need for Metamorphosis

Posted in Poetry English by
metamorphosis_by_crisvector_du8k4b-fullview

A meditation on futility, longing, and the ache of wanting what was never ours.

___________________________________

No need for metamorphosis and change,

when the change won’t ever change the mind

Of all the shooters standing on the range,

people I love, both the hateful and the kind

___________________________________

No use of running and panting with ambition,

when the path doesn’t really lead anywhere

I should only walk and with complete submission,

trudging down the dark lands of nowhere

___________________________________

No need for dreaming of fragrant flowers,

when the vine is bound to wither one day

People only like to sit in high, mighty towers,

their love and affection, always held at bay

___________________________________

No use of reaching for the shining stars,

when the stars aren’t really meant for me

What is not ours and will never be ours,

shape-shifting shadows, as I behold and see

___________________________________

No need for claiming loyalty and true love,

when all the desperate pleas fall on deaf ears

Hearts filled with a poisonous, fuming brew,

eyes darkened with memories and fears

Questions that I often Ask Myself

Posted in Poetry English by
puzzle_by_shadowtuga_d2wcvhe-fullview

Who am I? What am I? What is my existence? Where am I heading? What will become of me?—Five questions, no answers, only increasingly dark possibilities.

___________________

Who am I,

when I laugh so loud, and also when I cry?

Am I a terrible figment of God’s imagination,

or perhaps, as I often tell myself, a mirthful lie?

Perhaps, I am what was meant to be discarded,

or maybe, to be ignored carelessly, or meant to die

___________________

What am I,

when I beg and beseech, looking up to the sky?

Am I a chaotic and messy pile of junk and trash,

or perhaps a weird collection of impossible thoughts?

Perhaps, I am a useless and wasteful hand of tarot,

a card with no picture or symbol, only stains and dots

___________________

What is my existence,

when I examine my state from some distance?

Is this just a never-ending nightmare, 

or perhaps just sand slipping through my grasp?

Perhaps, there is really nothing that I truly have,

and maybe the rope of hope is just a venomous asp

___________________

Where am I heading,

with a resolve all strong, and my wings all spreading?

Am I diving headfirst into an unfathomable abyss,

or perhaps heading towards doom, with a loud roar?

Perhaps, I am driving down the road to hell,

while the shadow of doubt grows even more

___________________

What will become of me,

will I ever know for sure, and will I ever see?

Will I always be searching for what I dream of,

or is the door just locked forever, and there is no key?

Perhaps, what I touch, will one day become gold,

but by then, all the light will be lost to the dark sea