ananias

All work is my own unless stated otherwise. If your poetry rhymes I will probably like it more.

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  • ananias 1w

    We are all rivers, but there's more than one kind.

    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    As our odyssey unravels, forget not the travels and tribulations of each person and their station.
    For where you're from and how you're going; these truly impact your knowing.
    Developing along particular tendencies, we are swept in currents and streams - brooks and creeks that flow and push from the sea.
    A vast ocean of connectedness, splashing and mixing calmly; no gray spray or mist.
    Such a calm beginning we all shared, and thinning is the sense that we are all from there.
    Not all rivers flow the same, some are peaceful and others lay claims and redirect lanes.
    Some build dams, sacrificing another river to fill themselves; some rivers crash and crush with a force that's seldom felt.
    Some rivers dump all their sludge and grime, filth and crime down runoffs; oh less fortunate late-comers, that is likely you.

    ©ananias

  • ananias 1w

    I feel anger boiling up and cooking my inside.
    I feel that I can no longer continue to walk this path in stride.
    I keep building this house of glass when a stone thrower am I.
    I keep wishing I could live differently but if not then die.

    ©ananias

  • ananias 1w

    A concept I am workshopping. It is just the words "never ignore" combined and altered. #lonely

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    "The Nevorignoir"

    ~~~~~~


    Haunting, creeping; awake when you're sleeping. Staying when you're leaving and choking while you're breathing.

    ©ananias

  • ananias 2w

    I'm cold, shattered glass
    Your soft, warm kiss heals my cracks
    Won't you fix me, please?

    ©ananias

  • ananias 3w

    As my recollection begins to fade; details loosen and facts evade. Self-flattery, a less-sadder-me? Staticy-thoughts coming in on all channels, my tuning seems corrupted and to fix it there's no manual. I indulge in songs played on fragmented frequencies, my mind races and dreams of times and places away from things I know to be true. But in this falsified world I reign over green and blue, my memory serves to pay my ego dues and any contradiction is explained that I am refamiliarizing myself too soon with these remembrances. Verily, these moon-lit dances we envy in my dreams are temptuous curses to distract from actual being, actual seeing, the actual fleeting reality that you hardly lay claim to any longer. Is it really wronger to live as we do, to have chosen how we choose; but not to wish to fly when you've never flew? Stay true to yourself, wishing beyond reason is a recipe for torment and making your own life in to hell, so please pick yourself up if you fell and look forward not backwards. Nostalgia is not a gale that will fill your sail, merely a siren's call; falsified memories.

    ©ananias

  • ananias 3w

    At times, a thought occurs to me which seems so absolute that it must exist beyond my own mind. I search, but never find, the shine of this contrived idea outside myself. I hear its echoes on others' words, in the breeze's whisper and the songs of birds; I strive and drive myself to realize my mind's reflection.

    ©ananias

  • ananias 3w

    My morale is lower; I feel sadder, less hopeful, less trusting, more frightful, more jaded, exhausted, battered, lonely and scorned.

  • ananias 7w

    Driftwood in an ocean of sunken trees, current rushing and it's influential on me. Crashing gray mist is hushing my longing, I go where it wills me. Dipping and bobbing on each wave, I'm prepared to float forever if the waves can carry me with them.
    ©ananias

  • ananias 8w

    Zinger, bell-ringer, linger a while after.
    Fighting, spiting, igniting my thoughts of if we have to.

    ©ananias

  • ananias 8w

    #bees #buzzing #rhymes #pointless #tinnitus

    (Edit: changed the image)

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    Zip, zap, pop. I'm buzzing and can't stop this feeling inside that I'm sure is so pure it can't be bought at a shop. I don't feel it a lot, so I'm not sure when I'll drop my anticipation of what this buzzing might prompt. What has it wrought? I could not really say, except it's better on good days and worse when I'm malaised. Buzzing, busy buzzing, like a bee with flowers to graze; I am biding my time as long as my precious, special buzzing remains.

    ©ananias