#existential poetry

[noneyah1251]

[laurachouettepoetry]

“I like to leave a little bit of poetry in everyone I meet—but in the end, I find there’s a little bit of poetry left in me whenever they go.”

- Laura Chouette

[definegodliness]

Unquiet Light

I am not really here, and that's all right As long as I'm not actually trying to be. Maybe if I close my eyes I'll disappear; Nullified to a certain degree; dehusked, Or dehumaned; a myriad of posphenes, Traversing eigengrau. That could be me: Hankering reds and mystified blues and Emollient greens. That could be just me. Restless though, there still brims yellow, Ever longing to burst. Should I let it (go)?

--- 19-5-2026, M.A. Tempels ©

[threespringspoet]

Did time ever mourn, poem by: @sanitysipper, time never lost a bet, not even when it stood still.

[autistobrat]

To exist is to ache in a language no one fully speaks.

And it is beautiful in its way of being abstruse.

[evilzephyrsociety]

Maggie Nelson, Bluets, 2009

[de-morte]

Let the world paint you dark now. Let it drag its dusk across your name. Let the silence swell inside your ribs, And shade you in tones only grief understands. Now wear the cloaks of oblivion— heavy, creased with years and unspoken things— where the world cannot claw nor claim. What they glimpse is but a vestige, a shadow dulled by history’s weathering hand. Let the dark make you invisible, let it armour your heart in quiet steel, so even longing won’t know where to find you. Channing M// Vault of My Books

[chemical-bunz]

So how do the Pandora and his HMS feel about being hundreds of years old?

Pandora is, without a doubt, the most distressed by it.

He’s spent more of his life inside the loops than outside of them, by this point. He can’t remember what his life was like before this, before discovering what he could Do. One horrible week for all of eternity- or, at least, eternity as far as a human brain could conceptualize it— your brain starts to lose bits and pieces. Rebuilds and replaces every last cell. He isn’t the same person he was at the start, he can’t be, whoever that poor bastard is- who he was- is nothing but discarded planks and screws. if you lose everything that makes you a person, what is left of you?

As for the others, they’re just happy to have a life at all. They’ve had lifetimes to form a bond stronger than any would-be-god’s self hatred, and they can’t wait to enter this new world together.