We’ll light the wedding candle
Each year upon this night.
Remembering why as years speed by
We first stood to make this light.

Not for a love that’s ever true
Or a smile that ever cheers.
Not for the sick or crummy days
Or to share and conquer fears.

It’s for the days we forget to love
and when aggravations start to weigh.
It’s for the times we’ve both screwed up
But have chosen to love again a new way.

The candle will burn and the wax melt.
Someday, the wick will sputter and gutter out.
But it’s just a reminder and can be replaced
As long as we remember what it’s all about.

It seems I'm writing more often for events or gifts than anything else lately. I wrote this to go with a wedding gift for a friend. She seemed alright with it so I'm calling it okay, for now.

There Was An Old Farmer called Zelalem
Whose dream was to visit Jerusalem
for which he tilled crop and prayed for rain
to mint some buck albeit in vain
That relentless Old Farmer called Zelalem

BrayanSaladAF
BrayanSaladAF
Dec 30, 2016

(Before you continue reading I ask that you read all of it and thats all I ask; proceed€;)



Feeling dizzie is what I hate the most,
knowing I have nothing to say;
Nothing better to say but I love you juliet
And knowing all I have to say is pointless to all life,
Intoxicated underwater;
Almost there where the stilled pond shows no more trace of me,
Am drowning in my tears also downing  shots at a time with a side of poison, call it siping light and a cherry on top;
How you used to be the jewel sparkling the pathway of my dark ways....
Ran into bigger doors;
Dodging stiff jabs also caught swinging back.
Keeping one eye open while the other caught by a strike and bruised swollen shut...
Doesn't matter how many times a fighter has fallen all that should matter is how many times he picked himself back up solely dedicated to be the last man standing at the end of it.
l1lB

(*Before you continue reading I ask that you read **all of it** and thats all I ask*)
Ignatius Hosiana
Ignatius Hosiana
Dec 24, 2016

yes, I've seen heavy blankets of clouds cast above
thick clouds of despair, thicker than I deserve
Yes, I've been through such perilous storms
handed roses with less petals than thorns
Yes, I've walked journeys that never end
written a million letters and never send
yes, I've sunk in abysmal doldrums before
been through shit more impure than iron ore
but I never let that past be my definition
I let go of the anchors and put up the sail
a happy future as my motivation and destination
and no matter how many times I'll fail
I'll never stop trying to get there...
storms come, storms go

Breeze-Mist
Breeze-Mist
Dec 16, 2016

Say what you want, but
I will not be dissuaded
Even if you are

s
s
Dec 10, 2016

I grew up doing ballet. I was one of the thinnest, most flexible, and dedicated ones at my dance studio. I got solo’s, and usually pretty main parts in the shows. I wore a flat tutu for most parts.
Fast forward, I graduated high school and received a dance/academic scholarship to a university.
Let’s just say that I gained the freshman 15, more like 25 actually. I hated myself. Absolutely hated everything about myself. It spiraled into a dark depression, I had been depressed before..but not like this. I couldn’t get out of it.
The summer before sophomore year (this year) I decided that I didn’t give a shit. I gained more weight and hated myself more. I ended up attempting suicide stuck in the hospital for a week.
Three weeks after I was released from the hospital I came back to the university.
I am on the dance company, fat as ever. Dance is what keeps me going most days.
Today I had to watch two girls on my company, who weren’t formally trained in ballet, get to try on their tutu’s for the show.
I wasn’t picked for the part, because I am too heavy to partner with.
I almost started to cry.
Because that could be me wearing that tutu if I got my fat ass in shape and lost some weight.
So I am losing weight for ballet.
Maybe it’s not healthy, maybe it is stupid. But I will become a better version of myself no matter what it takes.
Just you wait and see.

Not really a poem, more of a vent. Keep scrolling, haha this is just for myself.
Matt Hews
Matt Hews
Nov 27, 2016

The destructive hail
Destroys the defenseless flowers
Yet,
They will grow again.

never give in

Human,
lost,
amidst
endless strife,
without,
and within,
mind
turbulent,
confused,
despairing..

Yet, there is still
light;
there is still
peace-
there is still
God.
I will not despair.
I will love,
I will laugh,
I will cry,
I will sorrow,
on; for I
will not
forego
the sweet, pure
joy of
life,
not without
a fight.

I will live,
and I will
be happy;
I will not
despair.
I promise...
I promise
you.
I will not
despair.

For there is
joy, and peace,
and love,
in life; and
there is eternity,
which is
everything,
embodiment
of all good,
all joy, all
love, all
innocence,
and purity,
within this
life, as well
as the next.
All I must do,
is find it.

A piece of striving, of self-determination, of comfort...forgive my wording..I do not think this is a work in which to edit. Thank you, for listening, those who may. I love you, all of you, as I strive to love the world, in all its glory, and sadness. Thank you, once again.
DEW
DEW
Nov 18, 2016

Golden coin gleaming in hand.
All his hopes took refuge in that vestige of conjured worth.
The man with no name would buy his name this day...

The empire's burgeoning halls pressed in around him as he strode.
They would devour him in this moment if they had not done so already.
Yet, why the empire? There are more docile things to tame.
Everything is the same for the man with no name.

"People would apologize for stepping on me, but they knew not what to call me, so they went somnolently on their way."
I try to imagine these are the things he'd say,
instead these are the words of those I know,
those that I can hear, see, smell, touch... taste.
The man with no name's words are a waste.
He leaves no footprints wherever he may go.

The steps to the Hand of the Empire are steep.
Some will climb it, some will weep.
Yet, the man with no name will not turn back this day;
he takes a moment to fill and a moment to pray.

His memories are so vibrant, so full of clarity,
like crystals in the light, banishing insanity;
his tales will evoke the highest majesty,
entrance the gluttonous, deprave with vanity,
they'll bite the snake and poison its legacy,
they'll quietly rake the fields of the mind,
yet each soul is weary, cold and blind,
when he is gone, they pay no mind.

His steps are strong, hard, fast
throughout the night, will he last?
This is no simple, boring task,
the steps to the Hand do more than ask.
They take from you and more than due,
they make you fight,
they run through you.
When the night is cold and breezy,
you'll find the steps are dark and creepy...

Of course, the man with no name bears on.
What has he to fear, you can't hunt what you don't want,
for the hunt is a thrill, and trash is pleasureless.
The steps are perilous,
they hunger for blood,
his steps are thunderous,
nailing thud after thud.

Dawn peeks over the distant horizon,
and what a sight to see: the man is still rising.
In tandem the sky and he play their parts,
so does the Empire, putting bodies in carts,
for the night brings the dead, so many have tried,
to climb up the steps and in doing so, died.

The man with no name treads a feat all his own,
but see? A trembling hand. The ache of bone.
For the man with no name is tiring, tiring,
even in the face of his glory aspiring.

He would tend to the sick and defend the weak,
danger and challenge and evil he'd seek,
to vanquish the rotten
and save the damsel,
but he's always forgotten,
that he couldn't handle.

So this lead him to this fateful day,
to this fateful place.

Just look at the sweat cascading his face.
Look at his knees, how they groan and slow pace,
his legs seem to jostle and wobble out of place.
Where is his strong stride? It almost seems funny.
Many would do this sort of thing for money.
Yet, he does this for his own pride,
and that grim determination, from his face,
seems to slide.

He collapses and the jut of a step knocks his face,
for the steps are at his throat,
trying to crush his ebbing life.

I've known better men
to have fared far worse,
but this man looks on his life,
not as gift,
as curse.

Who is more deserving?
More than he?
Cowards! Be gone!
Pretenders, flee!

What's this?
He props himself up with ease,
the fire in his eyes would startle a lion.
The steps tremble with fury,
they quiver with disgust,
they lust for his end,
he must die, he must!

"No."
He speaks!
"Not today."
The gall!
Don't tempt these steps,
the Empire's nigh trekable wall!
"What I want more than anything,
is to be myself,
whoever I am,
so let me pass, you glorified shelf!"

How strange it would be, to be there that day,
for the steps let him pass, without delay.

He stood in the face of the Hand of the Empire.
Glistening in his palm, the token to buy his face:
his full life's earnings, polished, just in case.

He sighed, "All I've ever wanted is to be respected."
At the cusp of his one goal, the man defected.

One day, he told me this tale.
This he said, into my conscience: burned.
"If you fight death for a name,
you'll lose all you've earned."

It's a rare thing these days for me to feel puckered out after writing a poem, but this one had me panting... metaphorically... maybe a "little" bit literally, LOL.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this!
Let me know if/how much, you liked it :)

DEW
Joshua Hobbs
Joshua Hobbs
Nov 16, 2016

In the midst of my daily struggles
I often times wonder-
what would change?
If things had turned out differently.

I think to myself what life could be-
If I were rich,
If perhaps I were a bit smarter,
Maybe even if I were beautiful.

What if I had never been made to cry
or made to feel worthless,
or if I was given that "Adonis" body.

Perhaps... Life would of been-"better."
But, I would unknowingly-
live in a life of Hell...

Because if things were different,
I would of never met you.
Our paths would of never crossed,
my dear friend.

So, when I wake up, I thank God.
I thank him for all the tears,
for all the times I questioned life,
for every single word that brought me to my knees.

For it made it possible to see you,
to see that shining smile and know,
that I had something worth the fight.

We aren't perfect, children of Sin.
But in life, we can find little things-
things that keep us going
keep us getting out of bed-
facing the world with a smile.

I can't promise you that I'll make all your dreams come true.
But, my dear friend, I can promise you that I will love you, even if you can't love yourself.

Life has been good to me, she is the proof.
 
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