Poetry-Lovers-Club

The night drapes over me, a shroud as dark as a vanquished spirit. My head, heavy, bows under the weight of sorrow, Visions of this world's relentless terrors etched deep within the folds of thought. Will this shadow ever lift? Can we turn a blind eye? Dreams of honor, courage, and purity plunge into an abyss, buried beneath concrete and earth. My heart, weary from the struggle, pulses with a tormenting rhythm. A glimpse of lives once carefree, dancing in ignorance or indifference to the looming storms, under ominous clouds pregnant with fury. When the final flame flickers out, who will stand to bear witness? Maybe, just maybe, a tender rain will fall, rousing us from our stupor, washing away the grime of yesteryears.

Within the boundless realm of existence, we stand as mere mortals, wrestling with a sense of entitlement, convinced that the world is indebted to us merely for our presence. But do we truly deserve praise and glory, for simply occupying space and breathing? Or is it a relentless pursuit, a race with no finish line in sight, a mirage we can never grasp? Our desires are insatiable, we crave more and more, Our yearnings, boundless as the starry night, In ceaseless pursuit of endless delight. Lands vast and treasures untold. We accumulate and accumulate, trying to make the emptiness whole. A comical display of our trivial vanities, and insatiable greed. What's the point of all this gettin'? To win some praise, some fleeting cheer, For all our shiny trinkets and treasures, Before we say goodbye and disappear? Beneath the soil, we shall return to dust, Our bodies, mere sustenance for the worms, As nature reclaims what was always hers. Shouldn’t we yearn for something else, a

We are all one thing Everyone is everything We’re one entity

In the caverns of existence, Where shadows dance with fractured light, Nihilism whispers secrets to the wind, And existential dread weaves its strange design. The stars, indifferent and ancient, Gaze upon our fragile souls, Their cosmic eyes devoid of judgment, For they know not of purpose anymore. We wander through the void, Seeking solace in empty spaces, Our hearts echoing the void's refrain: "All is dust, all is fleeting." Existence, a paradoxical gift, Bestowed upon us without consent, Freedom, both blessing and curse, As we grapple with its weight. Choices like fractured mirrors, Reflecting many of paths, Yet each road leads to the same dark abyss, Where meaning crumbles like ancient stones. In the quiet of the darkness, Existential dread unfolds its wings, A raven-black specter perched upon our chests, Its talons digging into our ribs. We question the stars, the gods, ourselves, Yearning for answers that elude our grasp, Yet the void remains silent, Its laughter echoing

In the quietude of midnight, when stars hang like lanterns in the celestial tapestry, I seek the language of the void. The moon, a silver coin tossed across the cosmic expanse, whispers secrets to the wind. Its craters, ancient scars, tell tales of forgotten gods. I walk barefoot on dew-kissed grass, my mortal feet tracing patterns of constellations long extinct. The night sky, an inkwell spilled, holds the musings of eternity. I ask the stars: “Are we but stardust dreaming? Do we carry the echoes of distant quasars in our bones?” The silence answers, a cosmic sigh woven into existence. I am both particle and wave, observer and observed, a fleeting spark in the cosmic dance. The black holes yawn, hungry for knowledge, swallowing light and time. I stretch my arms toward infinity, grasping at the edges of existence. Perhaps the answers lie in the spaces between atoms, in the resonance of pulsars, in the curvature of spacetime. Or perhaps they elude us, forever dancing just beyond

In this solitary space, a realm of disarray, I sit, the lone spectator of my own play. The world around me, a symphony of chaos, A cacophony of life, a never-ending crescendo. A rat scurries by, a tiny life amidst the mess, Its tiny ears dancing to the world's silent distress. Feasting on scraps, a reminder of survival, In this moment, it's the only source of revival. Beyond these thinning walls, a disturbed coupler rages wild, A couple's fury unleashed, unrestrained and undefiled. Their voices, sharp as daggers, pierce through the air, A symphony of discord, a sonnet of despair. Their anger, a fire that burns with intense heat, Sending icy tendrils that my soul does defeat. But in this madness, I find a twisted solace, For I am not alone in this urban malice. The chaos, a companion, whispers in my ear, A reminder of humanity, ever so near. For in this absurdity, I find my place, A pawn in the game, yet still part of the race. The couple is screaming from across the hall the sound

Unfolding memories, like a weird movie, play within my mind— A reel that refuses to unwind, looping selective imagery. A dance of repetition, certain words and phrases collide, Worlds entangled, a vortex in time. Places shift, yet remain the same, Discriminatory pauses etched into my brain. Programmed, perhaps, or a code to break one day, Deja vu, each moment old yet new. What does it mean, this tangled thread of existence? Sensing another plain, a whisper of elsewhere. Listen closely to the echoes, the unspoken truths, Messages to ourselves, unread, awaiting revelation. Can we decode our own essence before we past, Or is that knowledge reserved for another place and time? In the silence, let us listen, for within lies the key, Unlocking the mystery of our souls. Each memory a piece of the puzzle, A fragment of the past that shapes our present. A mirror reflecting our innermost fears and desires, A map leading us to our true selves. Embrace the weirdness, the

I'm always alone. In a room full of people I'm invisible.