Myth is neither a lie nor a confession: it is an inflexion.
Roland Barthes in "Myth Today: Reading and Deciphering Myth," Mythologies
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Related quotes
how do you know that God is a myth?
a myth
like the sphinx
and the phoenix
as the story goes
on and on
somehow
there was this death
at the end
and then immortality
in the same way
that my God
died and lived
forever
killing a myth
can be another myth
like asking how do you kill a myth
that does not exist?
when you finally give the correct answer
about our humanity
the sphinx gets killed.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Confession
Listen up
This is confession
This machine motion is sure to break my heart
Listen up
This is confession
Recorded music sticks in the throat of god.
I o u, you dont own me
I o u, you dont own me
Party time, one mor night, everybodys affected
Listen up
This is confession
You are a poison that flows into my veins.
Listen up
This is confession
Ive never been so scared of letting you down.
You know me, so come closer
You know me, so come closer
Party time, one more town, everybodys affected.
I know you, you dont need me
I know you, you dont need me
Party time, one more girl, everybodys affected
Listen up
This is confession
They tell me heaven just has to be somewhere
Listen up
This is confession
Id lie to God if I could make him believe.
You owe me, and I need you
You owe me, and I need you
Party time, one more game, everybodys affected
This is my confession
This is my confession
Party time, one more lie, everybodys affected
song performed by by Gary Numan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Any crisis is a point of inflexion in which, generally, there are adopted inflexible measures.
aphorism by Hasier Agirre, translated by Dan Costinaş
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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On The Verge Of
Though alchemists in every continent worked hard,
to change the cheap metals into the precious gold,
they had never succeeded as it was not the truth,
hidden in the electronic configuration and a myth,
myth of mummy's resurrection from the pyramids and a cave,
myth of witch's spell and poor women's haunted look,
myth of piped piper and the following of the rats loot,
myth of the split ocean that paved the way for the joy walk,
myth of human intelligence and its relation to the races,
myth of ether that found in the space,
myth of flat earth, myth of spirit,
all are not lies, but steps taken to find the truth,
truth hidden in nature, that has hundred more elements,
everything derived from these, even the love and lust,
even the diseases and wellness,
concept and convenience of communication,
We have found something to explore other things,
we cloned the new things to produce substitute organs,
We are one step backward to find that God,
Who controls us to be happy and sad,
Creation of life in a cell, then,
Man will be the creator, until then,
Would we be alive or would we be destroyed,
if Gods of religions like to keep the secret or,
the intelligence of human dig its own grave.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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I Know There Are Other Kinds Of Poetry
I know there are other kinds of Poetry-
I know for many a confession cannot be a poem-
But for me my confession is my poem
And my writing what I most intensely think and feel
And need to say-
It may not be Poetry for you
And it may not speak to you at all,
I don't want you to waste your time
With what is meaningless for you-
But if the poetry of Confession
And mine in particular
Can be poetry for you,
Thank you for giving my lines
Some time and attention.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Like Father Like Son
He was raised in the english way
His daddy taught him respect, he taught him how to pray
They sent him off to boarding school
Where he learned how to live by someone elses rule
And he went to confession
He went to confession
Holy father wash my sins away
He went to confession
He went to confession
Mother mary take the pain away
He read letters from home at night in his bed
And got this uneasy feeling when his father said
Fear of God and the feel of the rod
Will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod
Will raise a good boy
He bought his daddys car and he learned to drive
And when he left school he got a nine to five
He met the girl and he got his spouse
And they had the child and they got the house
And he went to confession
He went to confession
Holy father wash my sins away
He went to confession
He went to confession
Mother mary take the pain away
He loved his son and he helped him build walls and fronts
He knew hed heard it before
Someone had said it once
Fear of God and the feel of the rod
Will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod
Will raise a good boy
He raised his son in the english way
And he taught him respect, he taught him how to pray
He sent him off to boarding school
Where he learned how to live by someone elses rules
And he went to confession
He went to confession
Holy father wash my sins away
He went to confession
He went to confession
Mother mary take the pain away
It must be something much deeper than fear or pain
Another child learns a pattern he wont break the chain
Fear of God and the feel of the rod
Will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod
Will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod
Will raise the next boy
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Do It
make your confession alone
before yourself
'in front of a mirror
you man weak
with the will, and the act,
do it
make your confession alone
before yourself
without the priest
put the candle
and beside mirror
even rather small
clean your conscience
more lightly
for you will be
to die...
every your thought
direct
to God
not to people
and stop
already deluding yourself
don't search
at other
consciences
one's you put away
where? I don't know
try to find
make your confession alone
before yourself
in front of a mirror
poem by Maria Barbara Korynt
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I Confess
It is true.
I confess.
I have been spoiled.
And My Father,
The Almighty...
Knows this confession best.
When I feel I have a need,
And I please My Father...
With deeds I attempt,
And some not successfully...
My Father decides,
To then surprise.
It is true.
I confess.
I have been spoiled.
And My Father,
The Almighty...
Knows this confession best.
When I pray each day,
And express my gratefulness...
I don't take for granted,
Those blessings from My Father...
I know from Him I get.
When I find I struggle,
And I am wet with sweat...
I am comforted by My Father,
Who then allows...
My peace and rest.
It is true.
I confess.
I have been spoiled.
And My Father,
The Almighty...
Knows this confession best.
Before Him I place no 'thing' I value more.
Before My Father,
I profess a love for him that is adored.
My loyalty and devotion,
Is given without thought.
And My Father and I...
Tackle those obstacles,
He assists me to abort.
It is true.
I confess.
I have been spoiled.
And My Father,
The Almighty...
Knows this confession best.
And nothing do I have do I take for granted.
I know from 'WHOM' my gifts have come.
I know from 'WHOM' has 'allowed' this to be done!
It is true.
I confess.
I have been spoiled.
And My Father,
The Almighty...
Knows this confession best.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Confession of errors is like a broom which sweeps away the dirt and leaves the surface brighter and clearer. I feel stronger for confession.
quote by Mohandas Gandhi
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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True confessions
In my youth I was often told
That confession is good,
good for the soul.
In a darkened wooden booth
I was expected to tell the truth.
First a good act of contrition,
Confession and then absolution
Penance would be meted out
Thus expiation came about.
Nowadays that’s thought
Old fashioned.
My local barkeep
hears my confession.
Of course he grants no absolution,
He pours Absinthe
and shows compassion.
And I may or may not
Tell the truth
While contemplating
The Absolute.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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myth and abuse...by Talile Ali
we all are human
what is the use
all are victims
of myth and abuse
humans like to mess around
we don't think we're sluts
only when it's women,
then we soil all they touch
add to that the reality of
old men with young girls together
we accept it like that as lust and love
older women and young boys together
we see as cougars out slumming with thugs
myth and abuse
myth and abuse
so much insanity
based on lies and misuse
myth and abuse
myth and abuse
the bible or the Koran
to abuse our needs, such a ruse
so if you feel you
have a right to mess around and feed
cause your better half is dead
or even worse won't address your needs
no matter what the gender
be you male or female
you got to be yourself
and know you got to get nailed
we need to put an end
to all of this senseless abuse
we can shut down this game
and help each other to see the truth
we find love where it is
and thats just a fact
so long as they are adults
and mature, not just an act
end the myth and abuse
by being thoughtful and secure
and not deceiving each other
just to manipulate and procure
it ain't that kind of thing
we all like good lovin
it just needs to be said
to the other, not druggin
keep tryin every day
keep tryin every way
the thing that will help you the most
is being honest, today.
OK?
poem by Talile Ali
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Confession??? -Yun Dong-Ju
파란 녹이 낀 구리 거울 속에
내 얼굴이 남아 있는 것은
어느 왕조(王朝) 의 유물(遺物) 이기에
이다지도 욕될까.
O what shame it is
to see my face still intact
in this rusted-green bronze mirror
What dynasty's heritage this is,
I wonder!
나는 나의 참회(懺悔) 의 글을 한 줄에 줄이자.
― 만 이십 사년(滿 二十 四年일 개월(一個月) 을
무슨 기쁨을 바라 살아 왔던가.
Let me sum up this record of my confession
-24 years and one month of my life
for what joy have I lived?
내일이나 모레나 그 어느 즐거운 날에
나는 또 한 줄의 참회록(懺悔錄) 을 써야 한다.
― 그때 그 젊은 나이에
왜 그런 부끄런 고백을 했던가.
Tomorrow or the day after one of these days
I might have to write another line of confession...
Why did I have to write such a shameful confession
at that young age?
밤이면 밤마다 나의 거울을
손바닥으로 발바닥으로 닦아 보자.
Let me wipe the mirror night after night
with my palm and sole.
그러면 어느 운석(隕石) 밑으로 홀로 걸어가는
슬픈 사람의 뒷모양이
거울 속에 나타나온다.
Then I see a lone sad figure
walking alone under a meteorite
in this mirror
< 시집, ‘하늘과 바람과 별과 시' (1948) >
poem by Sangnam Nam
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A writer is in the end not his books, but his myth. And that myth is in the keeping of others.
quote by V.S. Naipaul
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Their Own Myth
They swagger through the wastelands
of their own myth
believing the fantasy
they have built around themselves
of how great they are.
The shallow walls they built around themselves
with one stone could crumble away.
You see them in their peacock glory
prancing around everywhere.
Their heads stretched above the clouds
believing their own myth.
Their feet of clay can only erode
in the full flush of tidal waters.
Their peacock strut will become a limp
when their myth is broken
and things begin to challenge them.
For once, the tidal gate
is breached by leading questions
the clay feet and peacock strut
will be washed away,
and a new myth will absorb,
of bowing head and desperate look in eyes,
as their shallow walls crumble under tidal waters
and their own myth of self-greatness
loses momentum to sustain.
poem by David Harris
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Point of View
Disappearance may be seen as blacked
inflexion of the light, as true reflection
at once restores to insight all that's lacked,
nor contradictions shows. On introspection
enlightenment returns, is stored in...tact...
10 November 1992
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Without doubt the greatest injury was done by basing morals on myth, for sooner or later myth is recognized for what it is, and disappears. Then morality loses the foundation on which it has been built.
quote by Herbert Samuel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Without a doubt the greatest injury of all was done by basing morals on myth. For, sooner or later, myth is recognized for what it is, and disappears. Then morality loses the foundation on which it has been built.
quote by Lord Samuel (1947)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If you're going to be a myth or want to be a myth, you'd better die young.
quote by Alma Guillermoprieto
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There is no refuge from confession but suicide; and suicide is confession.
quote by Daniel Webster
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Abrasive Waves (Revised)
Belligerent discourse, each statement
aggressively confronts, an aggravated
inflexion rasps pugnaciously, grating
voice deepens ostentatiously for each
pretentious word at end-of-phrase
Drawn out vowels – discordant notes
create nerve-quaking noise, grows
exasperation in already aching ears,
words exploding in my mind until I’m
speechless with dismay
Only physical separation can dissipate
this callous cacophony, prevent it from
breaking in abrasive waves…
[ORIGINAL]
Belligerent talking, every statement
an aggressive challenge, an irritated
inflexion becoming a rasping sound,
lowering this grating voice for each
significant word at the end of a phrase
Drawn out vowels in discordant notes
become a nerve-wrecking noise, creating
a feeling of such exasperation my ears
start to hurt, exploding in my mind
until I am speechless with dismay
Only physical distance can shut out this
callous cacophony breaking in
abrasive waves…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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