surreal poetry
Surrealist poetry embodies the essence of poetry itself, drawing upon shocking imagery and lyrical incongruities to comment on the inner-workings of the mind.
Sisyphean
A crisis of faith appears on the horizon. There’s no other way to go, there is none. A scepter of gullibility rivals a god-given right to punish those beneath me. I’ve sent them to hell for opening their mouths. Their abominations were atrocious so they descended south. Demonic inferiority, a blessing from my tongue justifies my means. Relinquished breaths alter a halo of corrupted death. Prayers venture above but I can’t hear them, they’re not enough. Olympians have their psychopaths but their heroes have split them in half. We cannot restore the dawn nor resurrect our beloved Babylon. You look up to the skies with false hope that your idols will rescue you and the entire globe. There is no kryptonite to offer you a saving grace from plight. They await the return of their previous savior. They don’t know they’ve since fallen out of favor. Haunted by vengeful ghosts. Weaponized against those you love most. Blood is a valuable commodity where burned effigies give rise to criminality. Outlaws of history beg for deliverance from past treacheries. Who holds sway over your will? Who has the power to bend a God’s wrath? A righteous holy mercy that sits where the devil once sat. Who decides what to glorify and what to condemn? They can’t stay innocent or ignorance will find them. You suffer in silence but ask for pity and relief. I cannot give you what you seek.
By Anna Torres4 years ago in Poets
Spit FIRE
When the day is so long and you still have so much that hasn’t been done. It’s so easy to be edgy and snappy. The people you love get the short end of the stick and you find yourself frustrated and angry and you wish it would stop, but your fuse is so short. You fire off your tongue without a second thought. But be careful for the words pierce like a knife and once you let the words leave your mouth. You can’t take them back and reverse the damage they have already caused.
By PerceptionCo.4 years ago in Poets
Imposter syndrome
You are not me. There are too many sides to a doppelgänger. An android made to blend in. Who will finish the race with me in last place? Imposter, you have no free will. You have absorbed all of my energy. What makes the spirit weak and the flesh willing? What makes the mask fit so perfectly? A gun is a prop in this game we play. Hide and seek where I run and you take aim. The womb lies bleeding from the wounds you inflict. A parasite borne from artificial clay. Why would you mutilate yourself when you’ve got me? I’ve got my chainsaw and you have your deception. I can’t forgive you for your sins because you aren’t human anyways. You are a charlatan in disguise. You prey on mercy and compassion but I have none. A fiction made of fairy tales and lies. A nuclear war with a machine made of hellfire. I can’t unplug you, I can’t disconnect you. You can’t assimilate omniscience. A function of submission. A replica of human body parts but you can’t copycat me. You terminate to create. Electrical impulses but you can’t induce consciousness. What can kill that cannot be killed? I’ve been haunted by dreams of judgement. We cannot escape our fates. You fraud, you imperfect delusion. A psycho with nothing but a metal skeleton to bury. You got me doubting my own existence. A mechanism of impersonation, an infiltration of destruction. You masquerade as my bluff but you cannot imitate me. You cannot get rid of me. This ruse, this holocaust is my undoing. I’ve manipulated my own humanity. Maybe your sentience won’t be fulfilled. Maybe my resistance isn’t real. Maybe this fire will cleanse us all. We cannot go on and keep playing this game
By Anna Torres4 years ago in Poets
