Within the boundless realm of existence, we stand as mere mortals, wrestling with a sense of entitlement, convinced that the world is indebted to us merely for our presence. But do we truly deserve praise and glory, for simply occupying space and breathing? Or is it a relentless pursuit, a race with no finish line in sight, a mirage we can never grasp? Our desires are insatiable, we crave more and more, Our yearnings, boundless as the starry night, In ceaseless pursuit of endless delight. Lands vast and treasures untold. We accumulate and accumulate, trying to make the emptiness whole. A comical display of our trivial vanities, and insatiable greed. What's the point of all this gettin'? To win some praise, some fleeting cheer, For all our shiny trinkets and treasures, Before we say goodbye and disappear? Beneath the soil, we shall return to dust, Our bodies, mere sustenance for the worms, As nature reclaims what was always hers. Shouldn’t we yearn for something else, a

Cosmic Tapestry by Happyhedonic, literature

Literature

Cosmic Tapestry

In the quietude of midnight, when stars hang like lanterns in the celestial tapestry, I seek the language of the void. The moon, a silver coin tossed across the cosmic expanse, whispers secrets to the wind. Its craters, ancient scars, tell tales of forgotten gods. I walk barefoot on dew-kissed grass, my mortal feet tracing patterns of constellations long extinct. The night sky, an inkwell spilled, holds the musings of eternity. I ask the stars: “Are we but stardust dreaming? Do we carry the echoes of distant quasars in our bones?” The silence answers, a cosmic sigh woven into existence. I am both particle and wave, observer and observed, a fleeting spark in the cosmic dance. The black holes yawn, hungry for knowledge, swallowing light and time. I stretch my arms toward infinity, grasping at the edges of existence. Perhaps the answers lie in the spaces between atoms, in the resonance of pulsars, in the curvature of spacetime. Or perhaps they elude us, forever dancing just beyond

Ostara by Happyhedonic, literature

Literature

Ostara

Beneath the sun's golden gaze, we stand, Earth's children, rooted in ancient soil. As spring's tender breath awakens the land, A dance of renewal, a sacred coil. This the time of balance between day and night, light and darkness O moon rabbit, keeper of cycles yurning Your soft fur glows in the silver light, as you bound through the sacred grove. Eyes reflecting ancient secrets, bright, Guiding us toward rebirth, hope, and love. Rabbits, nimble and elusive, traverse the earth’s surface with ease. Some say they carry messages from the departed, their ears attuned to secrets whispered by spirits. When the veil between worlds thins, the rabbit’s presence grows stronger. From all eggs, a universe unfolds, A promise cradled in fragile shells, Life's mystery, a tale yet untold, In the alchemy of birth, we dwell. O Egg, vessel of beginnings profound, In your curved embrace, we find our way, From darkness to light, we are unbound, Guided by the equinox's gentle sway. Spring's

What We Hear by The-Utopia-Code, literature

Literature

What We Hear

Loosely keeping an open ear Hearing the new is always as close As seeing the new become more near Time slides away The loose ear Now only hears fear Another generation of war heroes Another year of keeping the open ear It actually gets easier Stomach gets queasier Please don't talk so near I wish not to hear what my eyes have learnt to see That makes it seem double or more to me Suburbs swallowed urbanisation It wastes no time No time to both see and hear what is new or more near I'm no fool fear is the cause of fear Still I can shut my eyes easier than Plug my ears, music gets louder The song of fear is now in my music The sight of fear is now in my movies Makes it seem double or more My limbic nerve cannot sort it all out These things are too frequent - too near Again the isotope decays And years become days Now I can see for myself how to cope Walking in life on the tightrope Now my attenuation can absorb a nation Overload barred in my hindbrain My friends gossip, so much

What Is Truth? by Lonewolf-Sparrowhawk, literature

Literature

What Is Truth?

"It's three in the morning. What do you want? Who is this man you're bringing here? Who? From where? Never heard of that place. Why are you bringing him to me? One at a time, one at a time. So he said he's a king; I can say I'm a bird, But it won't make me fly. If he's one of your own Who's broken your own laws, You can take care of it yourselves. If you're mad 'cause he said he's a king, Then let your own king deal with him." "Why are you back? Can't you handle your own problems? Why do you want him to die this badly? Can't you do it yourselves As long as you're on your own turf? Oh, so now he's an insurrectionist? Okay, let me talk to him And I'll see what I can do." "I don't know what's going on out there, And I honestly don't care. Is what they're saying true? Did you really say that? I'm not one of your people; I have no idea what they're so afraid of. Should I be? Are you really a king?" "There's nothing in our laws that merits execution. Here, I have a wanted felon With an

Expect More From Others by The-Utopia-Code, literature

Literature

Expect More From Others

They say understanding our selves we must first understand each other Holding a full deck of options that will likely bear fruit Like becoming familiar with fire or smoke Yet we try, as this is the only real way to establish healthy boundaries Rules of self expectation, should not be outweighed by your Expectations of others from this But like the people we are, we are always wishing, daydreaming, and fantasizing Of being better with a measure of input, thought, or effort Rather than dedicating increasing amounts of those traits we crave It should be the other way They made the first mistake This mystery meal served daily If no one shares your vision, share it and offer some words of wisdom Again that mightn't work, your expecting too much... ideas lurk In the shadows of our ideals, ideas, our realities We always have something to give. Always, someone wants something Making the thinker more wealthy Moderation and planning Absolving our doubts with sheer force of will. Being

The Universal Language by The-Utopia-Code, literature

Literature

The Universal Language

As obvious as folded arms A gesture threatening harm Not the only bull on the farm Just the same An insult needs no one to blame Only the truth Of acknowledging a cause Causality, casualty, battery, energy Sometimes the effort to deflect an insult Makes in suit a greater result In Kind, but not on our mind Leaving anyone who sees totally blind Not of truth but the effort in kind Can one seem remind Fleeting, fighting, loving, inciting Sometimes being ignorant Of the errant Words Plies into the void Silent forever Forever true Known by no one else but you Waste, chaste, remembered, embraced Everyone understands these things Respite, bite, slap, sting These are some of their favorite things Rejoice! The veil of darkness lifted The tide of blame shifted. Meaning retrieved Meaning gifted. Universal translation requires no language lesson Only the sure foot to Trace back to the start Even if true of heart. Nothing shared in clarity is sometimes best viewed In blurry

Fleeting Moments by Happyhedonic, literature

Literature

Fleeting Moments

The shadows of nostalgia loom large, A grand illusion that beckons us To wander down memory's winding path, To bask in the glow of days gone by. In the twilight of our minds, We are captivated by the allure Of a past more vibrant, more lustrous Than the dimmest truth ever witnessed. We lose ourselves in the haze of longing, In the sepia-toned reverie Of moments frozen in time, Gilded with the soft light of reminiscence. We cling to the fleeting whispers Of laughter, of love, of joy, As they float like petals on a gentle breeze, Drifting further and further from our grasp. But nostalgia is a trickster, A cunning siren leading us astray, Blurring the lines between what was And what we wish had been. We are seduced by the golden glow Of rose-tinted memories, Falling under the spell of a past That never truly existed. And yet, in the dance of shadows and light, There is a certain beauty, a certain truth That only nostalgia can reveal, A truth more tender, more profound. For in the

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