A little criticism for Plato by heyDowntown, literature
Literature
A little criticism for Plato
Manifestation of Utopian Guidelines
Platos ideals have helped form the moral and political norms that we, as citizens, utilize today. Socrates spoke, in The Republic, of a metaphysical world that we should model our own society to. His guidelines are strict and utopian concerning education and media. But with his particular ideals of censorship, concerning education and media, perceptions of morality can be altered according to the agenda of Empire. Citizens are being engineered to serve a particular role as proletariats, consumers, good people of God, and patriots; each of said designations supports each other. These guidelines are e
You are an oasis of color in deserts of gray.
And if you are a mirage, imagine me running
About the deserts alone, gleeful in my madness
But Glory, happiness is a race against mortality.
And the blue perfection in the form of eyes,
Wells that never run dry.
I have studied these, like words I have chose to use.
Dreams go winding through your eyes.
And every time I close my eyes against that dull
Gray sun, I can see you kissing at me with closed eyes.
But there is so much to say
And if words are puppets,
Then I should be vigilant not
To have the strings tangle about my fingers.
Then if I am too wordy,
Wash out my
Let my muse be the autumn,
the devil's choice in crayons.
Let the winter be my tragic tale of loneliness...
Mark my springs as epiphanies for myself
Let me arrive where I've arrived at in the beginning.
Let me love you forever. PLEASE!
I see your eyes, every time I close mine.
I have the image in my head, all I have to
do trace against a canvas I call my brain,
It seems I'm the only patient lamb,
not waiting for the shepard, but the other lamb.
To decide the shepard, a lamb himself.
are you dreaming tonight? by heyDowntown, literature
Literature
are you dreaming tonight?
Are you dreaming tonight?
Of lips that last met in passion?
And I with my simple
Metaphor that just wont cut it anymore,
Slip away,
Still away.
And mad thoughts
Of me loving you
Were fermenting in my mind;
Like with wine,I couldnt wait
To get drunk on.
With an awkward tongue,
because such is the nature of mans' tongue,
I unfold the cadenced utterance of myself to you.
I disturbed the even temper of peace at mind- or close in resemblance-
and lost you in the echoed corridors of my art...
It was a game of fancy lies that tell the truth.
And in waiting for my face to match my words,
you watch in discern,
as I present to you a growing baby boy
whose only art is becoming man.
And with awkward hands,
because such is the nature of man's hands,
I chisel the fixtures of my face
into deep quarters, in secret.
I mold as I wish, contort at my ease.
I pull hide over my eyes, hiding all
In a wake of a dream,
I find myself living inside my
words...
I Hold tight to the centrifuge
now,
living in a
house of mirrors,
drifting into a world
Of empty vanity,
I try to suture
My wounds with
Rope burn.
This is what poetry
Has always been.
Not of sorrow,
But of always asking
Why.
And hasn't poetry
Meant to contradict itself
Over and over?
We discussed the
Career of Neruda;
Imagine sleeping
Beside your inspiration
Every night, dreaming of
And beside it, and waking to
It.
100 hundred love
Sonnets.
We argue as
If we rehearsed in front of
Our mirrors prior
To coming to cafe
how many times did we
turn over these thoughts
in our mind?
it's funny,
Artists are open-minded,
But just more open-minded to
Our own ideas.
Are you dreaming tonight?
Of lips that last met in passion?
And I with my simple
Metaphor that just wont cut it anymore,
Slip away,
Still away.
And mad thoughts
Of me loving you
Were fermenting in my mind;
Like with wine, I couldnt wait
To get drunk.
I, a passerby
In both senses of the word,
have not long in
continuing in my wanderings. And
through this season of the colors
of the devils choice in crayons,
i am reminded how short the spring
and summer are.
Like communism,
I look my best on paper,
I sound even better
Enough to which,
That someone, somewhere,
Would give me a try.
I speak through smiles,
A birth and stir of voice is
Lost in shambles of
Tangled words, murmurs
And sound, strewn
Over sifting sand sounds of the
Hourglass, ticks and tocks.
open!
unlock
doors-
no longer
cringe
at Self.
i open
my mouth
and
swiftly
offer the
words,
that cut these
lips
(i love you)
poetry is
a silence
that stutters
words misleading...
a dreamlike, o dear,
o my dear- fondest
curious slant
of a man-
a dreamlike homage.
i'm the sentuality,
the sex, the smile,
the kiss, the naked,
the embrace--the gesture--
the music between
every soul like
a fish
and death
a child.............................................................................
.................................. only teach
a child enough
about fishing
to keep the color
on his skin.
in dreams
i'm dispersed.
every particle
strewed across the sky
like stars.
But tonight,
i can't sleep,
i can't dream.
and if poetry is as
celestial as dreams
and stars,
almost every line
dreamt up,
fabricated from
what dreams
are made,
then i am of dreams
and subtle
reverberations
in the throat
and scribbles on
a page.
every poem,
every word,
every syllable softly spoken,
is strewed across the sky
as me, like stars.
i'm just waiting
for someone to
connect the dots.
by kisses,
i can have the (now)
take it in hand,
like how eyes see sight,
and cherish it.
by kisses,
i can learn
life like reading
a textbook,
take notes.
by kisses,
i can tend dreams
forgotten
and foster strength.
by kisses,
i can forget all
about fists,
guns, death.
by kisses
my dear,
i can stand the fire.
immortal among the pages by heyDowntown, literature
Literature
immortal among the pages
I, one who is freshly acquainting with life,
Commit my soul to paper, my heart to ink,
Until my flesh is committed to earth.
I mold myself,
As a song of nature- for I am one who is acquainting myself with nature-
lingers in the air as a butterflys dusty flight, and as a flickering flame conspiring to live, as the rose, beautiful and formidable, reaching ever to the sun, and the decaying vessels.
I am nature that thrives, longing to be pictured and framed in my apex.
To go unframed, O poetry never shared!
I mold myself,
Defining my contours, every curve and every line.
And always sing the song to question, our freedom, our pot
I watch you flourish as a flower,
And I witness a ghost escape you.
These hands, such hands that build cathedrals,
And your neck O and the curvature of your back,
It all captivates me.
As a pioneer, I tread
knowing, learning, and discovering
All poetics of your flesh.
And I love the pounding flesh, hastening as I
move about you.
i had satirical eyes-
torrents of over-sensitivity
which is indigenous
to my soul-
when you said that
the ocean holds our
dreams
dont wait for the tide
please stay with me and fall
asleep.
and your eyes
scolded the
hands of the boy
all used to know.
once a boy
once a boy
said to
himself
about a girl
Youre a fountain
I could never see
my reflection in,
a place where my own
Image will never
Be broken by the
Ripples in water
Or ever conjure
The music between
Our souls, you and I.
But there will be no
Elegy for me.
By: A.L. Brown
Amongst the wilting flowers
I remain.
Freshly in my
mind were dreams
of lips
i should have never kissed.
And in hand,
were poems
written of
eyes i last saw in tears.
I could not chance the romance...
This twilight;
a meeting of night
and day...
So i leave destiny
to the favor of these
wilting petals,
she loves me
she loves me not
for if they make their
gesture to my favor,
these flowers will wilt alone
these hands write with cracking palms
skins dried like desert summer
with nails chipped like broken bird's beak
worn thin by countless tragedies
i've become numb
i'm a master of the act
i put on the show.
i can't take this anymore
your silence
but i could be to blame
i've been biting my tongue
for ages waiting
for words to slip from your lips
please, at least just move them
or something...
anything.
i listened to you
talking in your sleep
nonsense words
mumbled quietly over dreams
like music over film
when i think about it
it's like trying to
inhale salt water
with collapsed lungs...
i get choked up.
It feels that my mind is incapable of good thoughts of now. Well, don't think me pessimestic, because I have been trying to think joyfully. I still laugh; I still look up; I still have hope. Alienation seems to be the common narrative and reason for the lack of my mind's joy. Have I ever stumbled across proof that I am not alone? Connection is fleeting without the presence of a special someone, one that makes me feel truly alive. If she is a manifestation of my brain, I want to keep dreaming. Through her eyes I persieve the world anew; every moment with her is my magnum opus.
I think I've been systematically going crazy and that my thinking cannot be organized. I have frantic moments that cannot be controlled and that is driving me crazy. Not only that, these moments have grown to minutes; these minutes have grown into hours. I fear that the hours will grow into days, and still further on. I have my skapegoats but insanity has been coming on for some time now.
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