Poems, poems, poems

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I sit alone in my room,
I close my eyes in contemplation,
Contemplation of my life,
My life is horrific, my life is depressing.

When I close my eyes,
I see a number of things,
All in the mouth of something dark,
A black skull with its mouth open,
Floating in a blacker black.

In the mouth I see a number of things,
I see pain, torture, suffering, destruction and death,
These things are separate,
Distinctive, individual, human.

When I see pain I see,
A red hot iron thrust though a childs heart,
When I see torture I see,
A man with braces made of spikes, hanging from gallows.

When I see suffering I see,
A woman with her child in her arms, that her husband murdered,
When I see destruction I see,
A young girl take a sledgehammer to his only home.

I only see one other thing, this one hurts me, it’s killing me,
When I see death I see,
I see a boy sitting in his room alone,
That boy is me.

[ September 30, 2002, 22:22: Message edited by: Taluntain ]

 

I lay crying,
Thinking,
On the cold floor;
Thinking.

I think of the mental pain,
Pain that eats my soul,
Filling my mind
With images whole.

I think of the problems,
Problems that don’t make sense,
Problems that feed off fear,
Problems that aren’t worth two cents.

Problems they are,
The physical pain,
Of things crashing and breaking.
The crash of two cars in a lane.

Problems they are,
The mental pain,
Of death and anguish,
The screaming drowned in rain.

Thinking of the pains,
I cry with tears that burn my skin.
Sobbing uncontrollably,
I cry with tears that burn within.

I block the problems,
Sealing my soul in me,
Turning a blind eye towards the pain,
But it claws every opening with glee.

So I could end the pains,
With a single strike,
With my knife,
Something I would like.

I can’t.
It won’t let me be.
So I will suffer.
For the sake of me.

 

The world could use some brighter, less melodramatic poems.

 

Can't. I'm depressed.

I cry the tears;
The tears of millions.
They show the fears,
Followed by so many jeers.

I hear the cries;
The cries of millions.
The screaming flies,
To deafen those sighs.

I feel the pains;
The pains of millions.
To the clinking of chains,
The touch of hurt left like stains.

I taste the bitterness;
The bitterness of millions.
The sour taste of the careless
Persons surrended to the goddess.

I smell of death;
The death of millions.
Coldness seeping in the breath,
As they lay wasted in forgotten myths.

There is no escape,
These feelings of millions.
They take on any shape,
These millions that lay under the waste.

 

An old spiral staircase,
Leading nowhere and in-between,
Holds the key to happiness,
And places rarely seen.

In darkness we blink,
Hiding from the blinding black,
Holding heavy the burden,
And never turning back.

The night holds you still,
In absence of your time,
A slick slope leads you high,
If you had the will to climb.

Tomorrow the sun will rise,
And forever will start again,
But today is just the same,
Same as it's ever been.

On the ground you are safe,
Though storms rage overhead,
But rise into the clouds,
And become one with dread.

Are you deaf to thunder?
So has it been man's fate-
Sunshine on your garden,
Brings shadows to your gate.

Be careful...
Love is not love without itself.

(I would also like to add I am happily involved, and this was written prior to said involvement)

Amon-Ra

 

we are good poets.we maybe depressed so we can't cheer the world up.you do it for us.s_goddess can i use your poems for school and say i wrote them?please

 

Why on earth would you want to use someone elses poems as your own? Poems are meant to be peoples own work and come from there own feelings and desires, not from a strangers. Even if you feel like you relate to what she says its still not your words and your feelings.

 

Drogo, I'd like to have credit for these poems. I'm sorry. But too many people cheat me these days...

 

Dreaming of freedom from a prison of home
Dreaming of finally being alone
Dreaming of someone who understands
Dreaming of understanding my friends

Dreaming of flying where nothing is heard
Dreaming of swimming and not feeling hurt
Dreaming of walking without falling over
Dreaming of thinking without taking cover

Dreaming of finding a father who thinks about us
Dreaming of a mother who is less suspicious
Dreaming of being true to myself
Dreaming of finally being got off the shelf

Dreaming of the beginning of me
Dreaming of the end of my slavery
Dreaming of stopping the pain all aroun
Dreaming of dreams that don't make a sound...

 

I lie on the grass,
Crying in bliss.
I touch the lips,
That a young man did kiss.

I face him,
Feeling so good.
My, if my world could always be like this,
Someone always being understood.

He kisses my eyes,
My nose,
And my sweet lips again.
I smile, he is so close.

I stand up,
And help him up as well,
Could it be true love,
Or am I fooled in this hell?

He strokes my hair,
As we walk together,
He hugs me,
I feel like a feather.

The next night,
He sleeps with a girl,
I should’ve known,
I feel like I’m going to hurl.

He’s slept with my friend,
He’s lied,
I should’ve killed him,
He should’ve died.

Yet, I love him still,
So I scream in anger,
He says he’s sorry,
I bet he isn’t, I wager.

One last time,
I look in his eyes,
Tears stain my face,
And I leave him with no goodbyes.

 

Names and faces

Names and faces passing by,
no lesson learned on this endless way.
And if you hear me i might be already dead again.
And if you hear me i might never existed.

When i first met eternity,
it made me ill, it made me terrified.
Being fed up with suffering
i need repose, void shall be my guide.

Room and wind they shelter me,
building up castles of syllables.
Psychotic eye guard another track when i'm landing.
And if you see me it's only a pale picture.

This is a song i wrote (strophe, refrain, strophe, refrain).
It's quite slow and 6/8 beat.
Well i'm not talking english at all, and most of my songs are german. And the german songs have no rhyme too.

[ October 02, 2002, 00:17: Message edited by: Oblate ]

 

Why Can’t You Love Me?

Days, weeks, and months have passed,
But here I’m still and all alone;
I couldn’t eat, and I couldn’t sleep,
To think of you is all I do.

Five days a week, I see you here,
From eight to five we’ve jointly worked;
We’ve worked so close and yet apart,
Why must this be, I asked, my dear?

I know you’re not the loveliest,
And I know you’re not wisest too;
But in your face a charm had shined,
And fell for you, my heart just did.

I looked at you and you looked at me,
Within my heart, the passion burns;
But in those lovely eyes that you beheld,
I see no flame, nor amber glowed.

So hard I’ve tried to show my care,
To let you know you are my world;
And win your heart and be your dear,
But all I’ve done have went for naught.

I’d searched for answers to this humble quest,
Of trying to find the reasons behind;
Why someone like me just can’t have you?
And, Why someone like you just couldn’t love me?

How could I hear with my ears so deaf?
How could I see with my eyes so blind?
How could I touch with my hand so stiff?
How could I love with my heart so numb?

How can I let you hear my songs?
How can I let you see my dreams?
How can I let you feel my cares?
How can I say “I love you.”?

Why can’t you hear the beat of my heart?
Why can’t you know the ‘me’ that you see?
Why can’t you feel the love that I felt?
Why are you warm... yet cold as ice?

You find me brilliant and yet so dumb,
You think I’m soft and yet so hard;
You said I’m fast and yet too slow,
You are confused… but that’s what I am.

And here you are in front of me,
Staring in me but not at me;
Touching me but felt no me,
And using me but don’t know me.

It is a pain for me to think,
About who you are and who I am;
You are a lady that I loved so much,
And me..., a computer, who’s lost in love.

- Nior (01/24/96)

 

lol
Nice end, but it's a bit too long. Anyone out there writing haikus?
My haikus are all german so i can only post this.

moon-calf

I was a moon-calf,
born far from home.
Better
to be alone.
I took his colours,
painting my world,
served my travelling soul.

Death is the end of dying,
no need to kill myself.
I had a good crying,
wait for his embrace.

I never was alone,
holding hands with ghosts,
digging in the past.

Moon is a symbol of death to me, a skull.
His colours are white, silver and a dark blue.
This was another song. All the little punk kids that loved me , used to love the refrain. Don't know why.

 

Colours

Colours glow,
In the dim sky,
As we see them flow,
We wander by-and-by.

Colours shine,
Through the coldness,
As we merrily dine,
Around the hearth’s warmness.

Colours bright,
Printed on the flowers,
As we dance a flight,
In the cheery showers.

Colours dance,
Across our drawings,
As we gaily prance,
In our kitten’s pawings.

Colours fade,
As the night creeps in,
The darkness surrounds the shade,
As we welcome our shadowy kin.

 

“The Wanderer”

I’m a wanderer, friend, and one from abroad
Who can tell a tight tale that cannot be a fraud
I’m an entertainer, a clown, an acrobat be
A man who broke loose long ago to be free

I’ve seen the whole world and every delight
The chaos and harmony, plaguing the night
I’m everyone who’s not, someone who could be
A sailor roaming the eternal, the endless, the sea

Life’s had its fill with my boundless mind
A pawn and a toy, the truth lies behind
I thought and discovered, making it true
I’m a wanderer, friend-- quite simply, I’m you.

 

at the dilapidating medicinebuilding

a crow's flying high
out of the elderbush
now i see the berries
coloured like thoughts
perfect and gleaming

A poem bad translated by myself.

 

ok s_goddess.i only wanted to use your poems because i'm running short of ideas and well, i need to write a total of 50 poems by easter and i've written 45 so far.its for my GCSE's.but don't worry i don't blame you for not letting me use your poems.i probably wouldn't let others use my poems.
talk to you in the friendly arm soon
Drogo

 

Well, here's a piece of my poetry.

Essence of Poetry #1
Poetry is an art
I’m not an artist
I am a poet

Reality
I look
out my window
I see:
Egg in a bird’s nest;
a young bird
making his first flight;
black cat;
dead bird.

Untitled
Everybody wants to be different
but those who are different
are too different

Untitled
With some people
it is hard to imagine
that from the millions of seeds
they were the fastest

People
People look,
without seeing.
People hear,
without listening.
People talk,
without saying.

Men of Stone
You stare at me,
I stare at you.
You sit there motionless,
I do too.
Stupid statue.

Untitled
“Are you going to hang yourself?”
“Not yet” answered the man,
while he tried to
take the knots out
of the rope.

Essence of Poetry #2
Poetry is not an art
It is some lines put together
by a madman

 

Epitaphs

Here lies a baker:
He fell in the oven
And failed to rise

Here lies a butcher:
It was with a carving knife
He eventually ended his life

Hmm... Other poems...

My Two True Loves

I looked at a face surrounded by colour
A clear voice
A big heart
Someone who made things for me
Entertained me when I was down
Listened when I could tell no-one else
Inspired me
For more than four years

But I found another

Smooth and charming
Attractive
and easy going
showed me my dreams
gave my life a new meaning
comforted when I was in need
came with me everywhere
For just over a year

Then the time came

They met
sparks flew
for only a few seconds
my first could communicate better than the other
my second was quicker yet still the same level
we all agreed to be friends
to continue as we were
My two computers

 

"Life's not worth living, and that's the truth,"
Carelessly caroled the golden youth.
In manhood still he maintained that view
And held it more strongly the older he grew.
When kicked by a jackass at eighty-three,
"Go fetch me a surgeon at once!" cried he.
Han Soper