DetailsThe poem, its numbers, and the conversation.

(A)Gnostic

Member since 2002 · Posted 1 Sep 2004 · 6 comments

Failing eyes, and more senses become lost Lines into whiteness of a person cut off. Leaving behind my intent to deceive, Time to restate some things I believe: Myopic eyes Transmit only blurs Without aid. I cannot tell if they have intent to deceive, But Iâm already bored of stating things I believe. Because they Lead you nowhere Nothing here but Lines through whiteness. That lead nowhere, Only here where I cannot stay: Burning eyes, my life has become lost Forced into firelight through theories of cost. We all reserve the right to deceive, I wish I could know that I do not believe. More sense Of being lost, I used believe in nothing And then construct things To believe. But then mistrust them Because they are constructs. But everything is a construct I know this because I have read it In books by people cleverer than me. Who spend their days in scholarship and never watch bullshit on TV We laughed but didnât understand. We read until our eyes stopped. Cut off. Only white lines now: Failed eyes, all senses now are lost. Lines into whiteness from you are cut off. I confess I had only intent to deceive. Trying to remember if I ever believed.

Rate it

0 is the worst, 10 the best. Pick a number, add a comment if you like, then send it. Keys: 0–9 pick, Enter sends.

mean 6.40 weighted 5.17 rank 5015 views 257 View voting details →

5 votes so far. Yours would make 6.5 votes so far

6 comments

[5] rnsbreeze 1-Sep-04/6:28 AM Reply

Sometimes it rhymes, sometimes it don't, it is very hard to follow and understand, and should have been edited

[n/a] Nicholas Jones › rnsbreeze 3-Sep-04/2:09 AM Reply

All of this is deliberate. My theory is that artistic expression is best when you are barely in control of what the words mean. My experimenting with the words, even if you don't understand them, you arrive at linguistic truths. Read 'Ash Wednesday' by T.S. Eliot. Editing would destroy the fact that this embodies my mind making connections between words and ideas.

[n/a] ==Doylum › Nicholas Jones 20-Sep-04/10:35 AM Reply

My (By?) experimenting with the words, even if you don't understand them, you arrive at linguistic truths.
I simply have this to say Nicholarse Jones:
What?
What, in the name of all that is common, decent, hardworking, coalminerly & Welsh, are you parping on about Jones the Poet.

[n/a] -=Dark_Angel=-, P.I. › ==Doylum 20-Sep-04/11:03 AM Reply

Parp up you sodding Zeppelin of dork. You wouldn't know a linguistic truth if it cacked on the mantle.

[9] eliastemplar 6-Oct-04/9:28 AM Reply

I enjoyed this. We all struggle with faith. Faith is a self imposed struggle by design. Often our final refuge is faith in ourselves, creating a conscience to trust. Sometimes we are teased by spots and smears that appear on the blank page. Spots that our minds create from staring too hard. Faith comes at discount prices in a combat zone. You strain harder for answers when you realize your life could easily be cut short. Somehow it cheapens the discoveries you make, but you can ill afford to ignore them here. As though I were treating an ill patient I do whatever is necessary to comfort myself. In the end I find myself retaining more and more objects of faith close to my heart. Your poem reminds me of the fear and the struggle that always remain no matter how much faith you retain. Thanks.

[9] lukehanney 9-Oct-04/3:45 PM Reply

Nicholas Jones = Legend

Subject to the but of my poetry and took it all very well... if you don't mind Nicholas I'm working on Ode No. 4

http://www.poemranker.com/poem-details.jsp?id=19492