Philosophy

Philosophy comes from the Greek word meaning: Love of Wisdom.

Write me a philosophical poem.

Anything goes:
-Any length
-Old or new  
-Infinite entries
-MUST TITLE

If you disagree on someone's views, respond with your opinion only in a poetical format. I do not want caddy fighting because of a difference in opinions.
No discussions here please. However, positive feedback is always encouraged.

http://cache.gawkerassets.com/assets/images/lifehacker/2011/03/faces-flickr-zohar-manor-abel.jpg


Faces Of Death

Stop; look around…
The faces of death surround you..
But; do you really care…
Can you see past your own nose,
Even if for a brief moment…
Where did humanity go; when did
You stop caring; truly caring for others…
The one’s you hastily judge and disregard like
trash…
They need an unbiased mind and  open ears to hear them…
Not persecute them into suicide…
Wake up before you find yourself in their shoe’s,
Wanting to rip them off and discard them in the nearest
Roadside ditch…
You won’t like where you stand and bare feet will make the
Pain far worse…
So look around at the faces of death…
Stop and ask are you okay, what can I do to help you…
The answer you get may be surprising…
Can you see past your nose, test yourself and find out…
You might just save a life…

SO FREE,WE’RE BOUND
We’re so free that we let political jargon sway us into who we should trust.
We’re so free that we give over our wells (and children) to men and organization that say they believe in GOD, when what’s done in the dark always comes to the light.
We’re so free that giving money to a charity somehow absolves us from actually serving our fellow man.
We’re so free that Life is death and death is Life  
We’re so free that the greatest sacrifice is rewarded with distain.
We’re so free we believe the lie against what we see with our own eyes  
We’re so free that guilt is based solely on the amount of money in your bank account.
We’re so free that longevity is a curse
We’re so free that the very idea of peace is seen as weak
We’re so free that my body no longer belongs to me
We’re so free that hate is tolerated while love is refuted
We’re so free that right is wrong and wrong is right.
We’re so free in this country of liberty that we’re bound.

drogedarain said:


Faces Of Death

Stop; look around…
The faces of death surround you..
But; do you really care…
Can you see past your own nose,
Even if for a brief moment…
Where did humanity go; when did
You stop caring; truly caring for others…
The one’s you hastily judge and disregard like
trash…
They need an unbiased mind and  open ears to hear them…
Not persecute them into suicide…
Wake up before you find yourself in their shoe’s,
Wanting to rip them off and discard them in the nearest
Roadside ditch…
You won’t like where you stand and bare feet will make the
Pain far worse…
So look around at the faces of death…
Stop and ask are you okay, what can I do to help you…
The answer you get may be surprising…
Can you see past your nose, test yourself and find out…
You might just save a life…
I agree sistha!

Love in a Box      
Love is in a box when it’s unyielding to the Spirit of Love.
You put LOVE in a box when
you love only those that look like you
….. that talk like you
…... that dress like you ( ink/ piercing)
……..with your skin color
.....who believe just what you believe
……..who worship GOD the way you do.
Like GOD (The Alpha and Omega/the Being and the END) is narrowed minded like you. Please!
….. those in your inner circle
……. those who can offer/give you something
……. the Book rather than the man that book Loves
……. your rules more than people those rules are to protect
……..your money
……..your position
……..your looks
……..your youth ( elderly)
……..your possessions
…….there is so many things that hinder the Spirit of Love
Love is enslaved when your love is boxed in, unyielding.
Open yourself to the possibility of LOVE
its true FREEDOM

Okay, no more preaching

Imagining said:[quote-91018-drogedarain]


Faces Of Death

Stop; look around…
The faces of death surround you..
But; do you really care…
Can you see past your own nose,
Even if for a brief moment…
Where did humanity go; when did
You stop caring; truly caring for others…
The one’s you hastily judge and disregard like
trash…
They need an unbiased mind and  open ears to hear them…
Not persecute them into suicide…
Wake up before you find yourself in their shoe’s,
Wanting to rip them off and discard them in the nearest
Roadside ditch…
You won’t like where you stand and bare feet will make the
Pain far worse…
So look around at the faces of death…
Stop and ask are you okay, what can I do to help you…
The answer you get may be surprising…
Can you see past your nose, test yourself and find out…
You might just save a life…
I agree sistha![/quote]

Thank You Glynis,
It would be more
than nice if more
agreed... The Old Nigerian
Proverb was more than right
that reads "It Takes
A Village To Raise A Child"
If the villagers took a more
constructive and less destructive
approach there would be far less
suicides in this world...

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Pretty Much

           Panic, shock,  

                lucidity,  

   all multiplied by

        infinity,  

       according to  

                insanity,,,






{My apologies for the size of the photo}

No worries about the size of pics, I like that they were added.

Great entries so far, thanks all!

Chains

There are chains that bind it all.
They bind your future,
Your freedom,
And hopes.

These are the chains that crush it all.
Your dreams,
Your power,
Your very essence.

These are the chains that agitate you.
The chains that anger you,
The chains that spoil you,
The chains that harass you.

But these chains can also soothe you,
Calm you,
Revive you,
And let you rest in peace.

These chains are inevitable.
They will endure forever,
For these chains will never be broken.
These chains will remain in us forevermore.

These chains,
Are words.

Can't Just Vanish



She asks me "what's wrong?"
I reply "nothing"
but even in dreams I'm fenced in.


An uneducated scholar
In this lukewarm fishbowl.
Dying between each
forgiving ripple,
observing how the others fly.

I am the weak with
an impenetrable
titanium mask.

The bird with concrete wings
scaling the highest mountain
waiting for a hurricane.


My thoughts turn to a skeletal leaf
embedded in the unforgiving pavement.
One of Autumn's fossils.
It's then that I realize: You can't just depart
without leaving some trace.

Would I be able to enter prose?

Oh absolutely
Anything goes

I'm Not Giving Up, Dear.

I'm not giving up, dear.  

I could have popped out a kid or three
got myself a nice council house
with a brown fence and a yard,
settled back in a chair
and watched the dandelions grow
from crevices in the party wall
as the sun was over shadowed
by chimneys

But I didn't.  

I could have maybe got a good job
with a salary and a pension scheme,
got myself a desk
and an anglepoise lamp
and stared at the people
who looked like ants
from the third floor
and maybe achieved something great.

But I didn't.  

I didn't just roll over and die.
It's not quitting
It's just fucking living

And no,
I might not have the kids you have
or the job
or the wealth
or take pictures of holidays in Spain
and get Botox
and bright blonde locks
and have productivity guides
on my Ikea book shelf

But no. I didn't give up.

I just didn't
give
in.  

Philosophical Shit
(Fictional Prose)

Dear Diary, May 3

I got wicked stoned today and had the epiphany that the world is just like a massive Barbie playhouse, where we're all at the mercy of a bunch of sadistic and childlike Gods. Liam freaked out when I told him and informed me in no uncertain terms that if a giant Ken doll came anywhere near him, he'd chop its nuts off. I told him Ken didn't technically have nuts. He seemed to miss the point, and pissed in the fish tank. Said he figured if we were all made of plastic, the fish would be fine... they died.

Dear Diary, May 7

I got stoned again today. I seem to be doing that a lot lately. I know it's not good for me, but it feels good, so I'll take the risk.

The world around me appears to be fitting in with my Barbie playhouse theory. Everything felt really small. I felt really small, and I swear everything was made of plastic. Seemed a little less plausible when I came down, or up, depending out how you look at it.  

Liam bought a Ken doll, just so he could torture it, said he's been dreaming of it. I'm thinking Liam might be latently gay.  

Dear Diary, May 12

Craig, Liam's older brother got stoned with us today. I told him about my Barbie playhouse theory. He asked if the shit we were drinking was made out of plastic too. I said it was a possibility that we were drinking plastic coffee. He thought that was gross, but that I was "deep man". I thought he was an idiot but didn't say so and asked him to call me ma'am instead, as I am lacking the appropriate anatomy to be a dude. Craig then commented that he wished I had a rack like Barbie to check out. I kicked him in the shin, under the table.

None of us drank any more coffee.

Dear Diary, May 19

Slept over at Liam's last night and found his Ken doll under his pillow. I asked him if he was gay. He blushed as brightly as a fake orange tan, his olive skin choosing not to go red like mine does when I blush. I told him I loved him whether he was gay or not, and we smoked a joint out of his bedroom window, before he decided it was a good idea to kiss me. Just to make sure, he said. I kind of wish he wasn't gay, it was a good kiss, and turns out weeds make me... amorous.

It's kind of weird that I unearthed his sexuality with a Barbie playhouse. If my little sister hadn't been playing with one in the lounge room when I got home that day, stoned off my head, the whole theory wouldn't have even begun. I probably would've made something up about the world being like Liam's fish tank instead.

If the world is a big Barbie playhouse, I don't really give a shit, more power to the sadistic kiddie Gods. They've got us to play with, and me, I'm about as un-Barbie like as they get. I could do with a Porsche though.  

Maybe I'll write a story about life in Barbie's play land... hmm... maybe not. It's all kind of crazy really.  

Whatever, I needs me some more weed. I can't believe my best friend is really gay. Reality blows, and I need a new philosophy...

http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/32324-philosophical-shit/