#reflective poem about life

[decaffeinatedthinggentlemen]

Vida infinita

ida infinit

da infini

a infin

infi

in

Fi

a fin

da fini

ida finit

Vida finita

[m00wd]

There are people who live in love with the sky regardless of the weather. Someday you will find someone who loves you the same way.

—m00wd

[laurachouettepoetry]

In this life, you don’t get many choices. Real choices. Meaningful choices. So once one of these comes, embrace it with all life and consequences. Make something out of it. Make it count. It’s that simple— it’s not the right or wrong choice you made, it’s about the opportunity.

Laura Chouette

[foursaints]

saints. my embarrassing secret is that whenever i have a crush on someone, i start making pinterest boards of our wedding. and i'm so serious about it because i'll make a whole new thing for EVERY function (in my culture, we have like 2 week long weddings). and i match our outfits, and literally plan out themes and decor for every event. i haven't told anyone about this but not because it's so cringe (i consider myself above such things ← girl who has already been at her cringiest) but because of how much time i put into it. and the truth is i don't even have to like that person that much!!!! but i always make a board i don't even know what to do about it

♡♡ nooo i think we're sisters at heart!! this is exactly the kind of anon i want to receive... you are simply participating in a grand tradition of romantic fantasy and living life close to the marrow.

maybe its just me but like you're being creative with the vibe curation… and i think you're really exploring the contours of each specific desire when you try to distill it into a board like that. you learn about your own feelings! if anything this is a really helpful tool for self-examination and if anyone doesn't get it then maybe they aren't #loving hard enough

[dontdieonmeyet]

now, i'm not so sure

we were friends

we were in love

we were dating

and then we became distant

and now it's like we are who we are when we first met

and when people ask me "what are you two?"

i say the three things, a fourth

and "now, i'm not so sure"

[ohwaitwhatdamn]

Thinking about a night in Peterborough when I almost got t-boned by a short cisgender white man in a very large pickup truck.

He ran the red light.

Thinking about how he sped up and got out of his truck at a red light while behind me. He threw his cigarette down on the ground after taking a long and hard drag. His fist raised to my driver's door window. Scowl on his face.

I took a right turn and sped off.

He followed me.

I got away from him.

I tell myself if he would have caught up with me on a bad day. I would have psychologically ripped him apart, but with empathy.

Treating somebody with kindness when they're not very kind to you is the best.

Smile warmly

[jacksintention]

Still unwell about Rilke and PH

I love the dark hours of my being.

My mind deepens into them.

There I can find, as in old letters,

the days of my life, already lived,

and held like a legend, and understood.

Then the knowing comes: I can open

to another life that's wide and timeless.

So I am sometimes like a tree

rustling over a gravesite

and making real the dream

of the one its living roots

embrace:

a dream once lost

among sorrows and songs.

[badolmen]

Soldiers kill sheep in the streets and I see bison skulls piled high, the bullets are made in the United States.

Trees are set ablaze by tanks and I see Moses kneeling in fear and reverence, God does not speak from these flames.

The people starve and I see seaweed gathered in baskets on Irish shores, Dutch tulip bulbs boiled with rabbit bones.

When they said ‘never again’ it was never for love of the hundreds of millions murdered, nor fear of the systems that allowed such evil to rise. They said ‘never again’ to shipping lane inconveniences, to stock market woes, and to being seen for cowards.

At least a coward would sit in quiet fear, content in inaction. Now they sign over billions, condemning millions to the total destruction. Where is the shame? Where is the apathy? At least in that I can call them mere cowards. What else am I to call them but the evil they so long taught me to revile?

God have mercy on their souls. God have mercy on ours. For the body is doomed - the bombs will still fall, the blood will still spill, the graves of thousands will fill.

(How long is the queue to the pearly gates? Is St. Peter agrieved to see so many young faces? Are wives rejoicing or grieving the reunion with their husbands? Does the brother laugh or cry when he finds his sister among the crowd?)

From Carthage to Auschwitz we were warned. From Roman roads to shipping lanes we watched the weapons trade hands. And when we cry out to the powers that be, they turn away - unseeing, unhearing, unfeeling. Machine men, with machine minds and machine hearts.

But the horror is in knowing they are not machines. This is not their nature. They are men. Born with a love for humanity in their hearts, a desire for community and companionship and art. How did they lose such a fundamental part of their being? Was it beaten out of them by bitter men before them or did they discard it themselves, as though it were a cancer to be excised? Does it matter when they so zealously jump knee deep in blood and bone among bomb shattered homes?

And while it is troubling to consider that, being human, we too can have our hearts hardened, it is far more uncomfortable to consider that, being human, they may one day revert to natural compassion. And what does one do when the machine becomes man again? When he proves it was a choice all along? A choice he refused and snubbed until the bodies cooled and the graves grew grassy with age?

God forgive what I cannot.

[brownsugar4hersoul]

“Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself.”

Leo Tolstoy

[m00wd]

Growing up, deep down, is an art of goodbye

—M00wd

[laurachouettepoetry]

A soul is a monstrous thing, weaker than the heart yet stronger than the mind. What you can’t give your heart, feed your soul with— and reveal everything hidden.

Laura Chouette

[thee-person-writes]

Do you ever stop to think about how much music is embedded in Being human?

We love music so much that we made sure Mars Rovers can sing "Happy Birthday" to themselves. Alexa products can sing random songs. We programmed music into laundry machines and dryers, 3D printers, and vinyl cutters. We made sure phones, cars, and practically every bit of technology can play a song.

Kids learn the alphabet and even math equations in song.

Whales, birds, wolves, crickets, and so, so many animals sing. We herd through calling the animals in song. Electricity hums.

We make music for books, movies, games, shows, and simply to say "I love you".

We sing in prison, we've sang in slavery and freedom, war and peace, birth and death, weddings and funerals, sex and aftercare.

Music isn't a nutrient biologically needed to sustain life, sure. But it's proof of us and we can't help but listen to it in the world

[dontdieonmeyet]

so we improvise

i used to fear having too much to say

but then i realised that i am without subtitles

going off script and following my own story

writing my tales and chapters beyond

[afyerarchive]

The Weightless Road Home

It's my celestial question

Where the time went

How that little hand can revolve around a planetary being

Like a weightless little guy

I can feel that, certainly

A similar feeling through a car window

As I awkwardly stare at the polluted skyscape

Lost in market aisles

Merging to a lane of common confusion

The world keeps on living

And it drags me with

[accidentalpoetsstuff]

[neo-shitty]

it has been weeks and my chuuya brainrot has not ceased, in fact i felt it get worse yesterday. so in my attempt to appease this need to inhale anything related to chuuya, i decided to read nakahara chūya’s poetry and here are a few that made me want to scream cry and jump off a cliff (long post bc i wrote down so many 🤕)

“i’m oppressed with an insistent lonesomeness.” - voice of life 

“evening, under the stars, when i consider my being as one point among many, among all things, i have no complaint.” - voice of life iiii

“mary mother of god! i’ve just been spitting blood... you won’t let my feelings in, i don’t know where i’m coming from... of course, it may be that i wasn’t obedient, it may be that i had no will, i loved you in the most natural of ways, and you loved me, but so... oh mary mother of god, more than ever, there’s nothing i can do, but at least it’s better to know this... that to love naturally and be loved in the same way is not all that common a thing and knowing this is not permitted to everyone.” - blind autumn

“there was a nine-year-old child the child was a girl and as if the world’s atmosphere were hers as if she could lean on it she tilted her head when she spoke with me i warmed myself at a kotatsu she sat on the tatami an exceptionally mild winter afternoon my room aglow with sunlight when she tilted her head her earlobes seemed translucent trusting me, fully at peace the girl’s heart was of an orange color its warmth neither overflowed nor shrank like a deer i forgot about everything then and gently contemplated time.” - sheep song iii

“even so, my heart is lonely, every night, alone in a boarding room, thinking thoughtlessly about thought, a monotonous and wretched heart’s duet... i hear the sound of a steam whistle and think of travel, my childhood— no, no, i don’t think of childhood or travel, but see what looks like travel, what looks like childhood... my heart, which thinks thoughtlessly about thought, is closed, like a casket fuzzy with mold, white lips, dry cheeks, fade into the cold stillness... the more i get used to it, the more i endure. this painful solitude. without my realizing it they fall, sudden and strange, tears which are no longer tears of love...” - sheep song iv

“once i believed love poems were foolish now i read love poems just for the sake of it and yet perhaps i want to reach a higher state of poetry i don’t know if that’s right or wrong but such a feeling persists anyway and something irritates me provoking outrageous desires once i believed love poems were foolish yet now i do nothing but dream about love.” - exhaustion ii

“how strange we are before we die.” - autumn poem

“‘in the woods was a very strange park, where women, children and men would stroll by smiling wildly. they spoke a language i didn’t understand and showed emotions i couldn’t unravel.” - prose poem: never to return