How to Live

We always have a choice

in the ongoing story of our lives,

whether to keep ourselves small

or to be part of something greater.

Whether strictly in our own journey

or taking in the bigger picture,

it is our duty to make the best of ourselves

and be the fabric of that tapestry, for one or all.

It begins with something pure,

a dream that gives us hope.

However grand or small,

it’s what measures how we rise or fall.

But we aren’t impervious to corruption,

the poison nectar of temptation,

nor to broken hearts or failed friendships

that make rivalries from petty passions.

What matters is we never lose our way

from the core that was so pure.

There will be hardships,

but only if we let them affect us.

Making ourselves more than who we are

is our duty, to ourselves and to all.

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Women’s game

Everyone does it, so I figure

“Why not play the game?”

Good guys have been good boyfriends

And I bet I’d do the same.

But women hold the monopoly

and men are the game.

Standards abundant of coolness and hot

Disqualify me from lofty desires.

Women. I just don’t get them,

or their mindset when we’re meeting.

But I love them nonetheless,

their strength of being, so enticing.

 

I don’t know who I am

If I’m to be defined on my own.

It is said that people are marked

By those with whom they mate.

You know, dating’s not my thing,

scarred by rejection for anything different,

but I’d thought I’d give another try

And find the one who’d stand at my side.

Some say no, others tell me to go

And more say “It’s not you, but me.”

This game is tougher than it looked,

with feelings and moments so fleeting.

 

This is all made much harder

In the face of guys with beauty or power.

I’m a living, breathing string of bad luck

that doesn’t seem to be improving.

I don’t understand. Nice guy or no?

Am I too nice, or is it overthinking?

What am I supposed to do?

Is there a rule book on how-to?

Is there a standard stressing how to be,

the ideal man for these ladies?

Oh, good grief, is it me!?

And yet, I was as gentle a man as I could.

 

Their constant passing me is disconcerting

and at times, slightly depressing.

When she says “I have baggage”,

what should I say? “And I have luggage?”

I’m lost for words with no reply

That won’t be our premature goodbye.

Everyone played this game, so I figured

My chances had to be good.

Now I’m sitting, changed and vetted

feeling broke and misunderstood.

I was like a new toy that nobody wanted,

New, not used, resold on e-bay.

 

F*** this. I’m out.

I’ll go at life alone.

Void of emotion

I saw him once at the party,

Forcing himself to be among friends.

I could see some of him in me

Through the blank, dead stare in his eyes.

It’s like he was an emotional void,

Constantly seeking new mediums of joy.

But none of them really helped his mood

And this party barely helped in that regard.

So I went over to him, asked how he felt,

He told me: “I’m numb, barely here,

An emotional void that seeks to find joy.

I’m awake, and yet this is my nightmare,

I can’t wait to be dead, for then, I’ll truly be alive.”

I wished him well and walked away,

Hit with a sudden empty weight.

Then I realized: joy is only a passing feeling

that must be fed in the face of hardships.

Where does love begin?

The fearful sentients bow to symbols of oppression,

Never giving fellows a motion of compassion.

Resentment follows, each to cleanse their palettes

And off to war they go, sounding their trumpets.

The fearing things bash the beings that they fear

And the feared claw for recognition, to see and hear,

to be as beings in decency, respected with humility,

But humiliated, protect by restricting the will to be free.

Lifetimes are told by battles, the ash and blood of our kind,

and duels still raging, defining the darkness of our nature.

Where there’s a fire, we are the cause,

Committed to our egos, to hell with all else.

It seems we are blind to our blunders and binders

and have forgotten our duty to be kinder.

The clash of fear-mongers and avengers claims all,

Far cries from the valorous neighbors we claim to be, live.

When does the politicking end, this incessant warring,

And when would love enter? Where does love begin?

Vigil

There only ever is as much darkness

As we choose to let in our own hearts.

When the darkness enters our lives,

Do we chose to compromise our minds?

Do you stand as a candle in that dark,

Standing in watch and silence

For the fallen few consumed by the depths

Never to return to the warmth of open arms?

Do we choose to honour actively

by being sparks of light, in spite of our demons,

demons that defy the march of freedom and equality,

that continue to draw lines of divisiveness?

Stand in the night, candle in hand,

All you nations of beings, shining so bright,

Let us stand in solemn vigil with these fickle lights

To brighten even the hollowest, darkest of all nights.

Leave no sentient behind that fuels us forward,

let it be without need for observances in sorrow.

Let there be understanding in peace, for those to come

So that those that are gone are so, but we be forgiven.

On Snow

Snow

It’s the front and back-end of the line,

the last of the seasons in the cycle of life.

Snow tumbles down from the sky

and everything falls into the calm of night.

You can absolutely be forgiven

for not appreciating or seeing the beauty

in the feeling of peace that snow passes on

when taking to the street in darkest night.

For all you see in the distance when looking out

is a thing doomed to be plowed

off the length of the driveway you own,

and on to that of your neighbor’s land.

Have you forgotten the snowman,

the snow angels, the snowballs?

All these little joys of our youths

that only come once a quarter-year?

I see no valid reason why

this weather be so damned different,

as there are many treasures to find

with every speck of snow that falls on the ground.

 

 

 

To The Stars

to_the_stars_by_pr3t3nd3r

(Cr. Pr3t3nd3r)

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(An original poem by Coeur d’un Poète.)
(Originally posted on Weekly Writing Prompts by Coeur d’un Poète)

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One needs no more than to gaze
at the wars we wage with eachother
and wonder when the bloodshed and anger,
fear and hatred will be passed and over.
We see so small this world shared with others
we’ve never left, nor gotten to work leaving,
that wondering what will mixes with wishing
for worlds beyond our reaching, waiting in the night.
Silent stars shine their light, lonely in sight,
their stillness sees through eons of existence
we’ve barely begun to scratch, safe in primitive science
saving the wonders as mysteries we’re not worthy to see.
This is the primacy of the modern human species,
of solitude and shame for the anomalies to conformity,
making deities in man’s image as excuses for piety,
to shy from curiosity, and combat what’s meant to be.

Survival’s our essence, discovery’s a necessity,
disovering causalities and commonalities beyond familiarity,
beyond the blue skies that boast their own natural beauty
and in the space succeeding, seated between struggle and survival.
Such is the hope surpassing that of one man
manning ambitions and expectations barely surpassing their nation
and not accounting for the needs of the whole over their own
now in need of nurture and structure to ensure all our futures.
Endeavour for the enterprise that brightens existence,
but ensures for everyone a sufficient subsistance.
The stars in the sky demand the strongest dreams
and the ambition in hope on which we grab hold.
Heaven is on high, but nigh an afterlife,
rather, a liberation from endless deliberations and confrontations
and the expectation of extension and outreach,
to reach our journey’s end and extend the stellar family.

Space is the stage by which progress is profoundest,
where hope most abundant may never hollow out or fade,
where our ultimate challenge as a unified collective
convinces us of the strengths of all of our convictions.
Uncover the discoveries of the former, dormant universe
and unwravel within the mysteries where life begins.
Unity is a strength scolded not uncommonly,
but uneccessarily broken by the shackles of immaturity.
Go beyond, break the barriers of our Gaia,
and grow man’s reach through these gentle, waiting stars.
Faith in the familliar is as fickle as it is fruitless,
and fosters the failing of long forbidden longings.
Anticipate the needs along the length of time
and our ancestry will be one of a long line.
Hope of survival is the host of our struggle
but enduring life is lived in the lineage eternal.

Endeavours are enduring, as long as there’s no end or ceiling,
no Empire or enforcers to endure, and end this feeling.
Fumbling at first is the best measure of our learning,
for unending is the endeavouring of our pioneering beings.
Broker the prosperity that paves a better path,
and build the proper power to ensure a world free from wrath.
We are the architects of a world waiting in the wings
and waining the wills of hurts and hates of old.
Holster those harmful weapons where war is unwarranted
and work to build the homes of those yet to come.
The stars in the sky demand the strongest dreams
and the ambition in hope on which we grab hold.
Space is the stage by which progress is profoundest,
where hope most abundant may never hollow or fade,
where our ultimate challenge as a unified collective
convinces us of the strengths of all of our generations.

Oligarchy

Somewhere, far beyond this land,

the forefathers of revolutions and true democracies

are tossing and turning in their graves

over the degeneration of their demos cratos.

“By the people, for the people” was the anthem,

but has become “by the masses, for the wealthy”.

Liberté, égalité, fraternité no longer precisely translates,

but is taken for property, privilege, and politics.

What is it with rich armchair politicians

who flash public office as a fashion statement?

Do they feel no remorse for their gluttonous greed

that stagnates the growth of human societies?

 

Fukayama was fundamentally flawed in stating

that democracy was the final stop of human history.

For now, history has fought back in the form of aristocracy

and decmocracy has been remade to satisfy their image.

Take note – we are no more than ants on the ground

hurriedly evading the crushing heel of the rich’s boots,

trying to carve out a decent living, and be recognized

in a system that no longer truly recognizes us.

When did our politics become little more than trash zones

for the despicable elements to find their feeding grounds?

Are we not more than bottom feeders forever meant to feed

the fortunes of those whose fortune dwarfs all commons?

Just as ancient free Greeks lusted for leisure,

and common folk labored without ease on their lives,

here we are again, at the whim of the gluttenous

who care not for the earthly dangers that threaten us.

From dependance propaganda to desperate devolution,

they will say anything to ensure their continued dominance,

to ensure common folk are always fighting each other

and to disturbed by themselves to end this damning cycle.

 

 

 

A collection of verses – I

A flower,
without nature or nurture,
is doomed to wither.

Death is
an inescapable destination
in the course of life.

Growth is essential
to find the essence
of a being.

Stagnation is a danger
that strikes whenever
growth is stunded.

New opportunities are
to growth
as success to advancement.

On Outward Perfection

Fear is a powerful motivator,

but the worst of the influencers.

When you close yourself off to others

it had better be to make yourself better.

You curl up in a ball for better protection

and to facilitate innate introspection

against the dangers of the hostiles outside

that seem, for you to be little more

but murderous, and meticulously devious.

 

Fear is a powerful feeling,

but does not build the inward perfection

we more often than not feel

is our ultimate destination.

Do we not grow

when we challenge our status quo?

Do we not improve our comfort

by fighting the feelings of discomfort?

 

While it’s fine to be fulfilled

by finding our inner whole,

we build our contentment

by seeking that which adds to our core.

For we may stagnate

by simply staying in comfort

rather than growing with discomfort

away from the static state of innate.