The title for “The Poetry Challenge” this week was “Truth Or Truth“. Every entry this week has been quality, so a round of applause to everyone who submitted some work!
Thanks for everyone that took part once again this week, please vote for your favourite poem on the poll at the bottom of the page.
The winner will be added to “The Poetry Challenge – The Top Voted” page :)
Also follow me on twitter for updates on future challenges and so I can ensure I don’t miss any of your posts – @CoreyPoetry
Why doesn’t she see me?
I’m am a man made of cellophane.
Drifting through life unnoticed.
If she saw me the way I saw her.
I’d be a man made of everything.
Feeling sorry for the man I used to be.
The man that smiles no matter what.
Can a cellophane man even smile?
When the mirror reflects nothing but nothing.
The burning in my chest.
The cellophane melting around my heart.
Now does she see the cellophane man?
Of course not.
Even my beating heart is transparent.
No one can see it breaking, because no one can see.
Truth is truth, excepting the occasions when it is not.
My Truth is not my friend’s truth,
Not my father’s truth, my child’s.
Truth can only be expressed in words. Relative and poorly constructed.
And words are fallible, unstable, misused and abused.
Words are no more than signs and symbols,
Signifiers of a subjective existence.
A Childs’ game of categories, to compartmentalise a continuum.
Words change, expand and contract, as endlessly they shift
As grains of sand on a beach.
There is no truth in a dictionary, every word a lie.
Words cannot be what they seek to represent,
They cannot transcend.
“Ceci n’est pas une pipe.”
Truth is the trick of a conjuror , the white rabbit
No longer in the hat. With Sleight of Hand our daylight truths
Become in darkness, our deepest fears.
“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God,
And the Word was God” but my God is not yours,
Real truth lies only with the Omnipotent.
And what treasons are committed in the treachery of the word.
Innocence slain, commands, orders, and just cause for the belligerent.
Give your life only for love.
“Verum esse ipsum factum” – All truth is a lie.
I spill through you, in the echoes of interstellar space
Yearning for a dream unbroken, a dream adamantine in
The presence of our murderous hesitations. Will we ever
Be more than defeat? I remind you of the absences, of
The silences that precede war and in this world I have
Never hated anyone more than myself, unforgivable
These hands that do not reach when gripped in uncertain
Prayer, disheartened this necessitous mouth that shrugs
On inquiry, language soluble in saliva. I have failed you,
Myself mostly, when did therapy go from aphrodisiac
To anesthesia? When did Depression become the focus,
The destination to which we are unwittingly conveyed?
I watch as you divide hope, discarding the amphetamines
Valium over tea, lets be calm and simple, let’s not struggle
Or fight, let the constellations purr fluorescent blue, forget
The sun with its howling perversions. My blood seethes, I
Have a poet’s proclivities for extremes, for rusty red anarchy
But my mind, she sleeps, falls through the crevices of a life
Carved out by instincts. I am too superstitious, too defensive
To believe in any logic that a fiend would conceive. I am not
Hominal despite the application of crushing grievances, I wear
Your skin, my own crystallized with prenatal violence, came to
Feel nothing. I wear your smile freshly pressed against my own
And your vitriolic tears, ink, for a soul incomprehensible
You who have taught me compassion would now bid us sleep
The greatest tragedy of all is believing that balance is ever
Achieved, there is nothing passive about contentment, it
Comes from labor, if we never move, will we as stone
Erode? Will our oppressed organs weep? Have we not to find
Just the right amount of uncomfortable in order that we should
Wake? Isn’t that what you taught me when I ceased animation?
I don’t want to belong to the machinations of a convention made
Ego-structure. Let us survive with our honest hands in motion inside
A reality that we as individuals can singularly perceive