Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Emma Brown Nov 2012
Are you afraid of the dark?
Do you stray from the night?
Are you safe in the glow of a candle’s light?

And do you hold a friend’s hand,
When you pass through the eve,
While imagining evils youth often perceive?

It’s a little bit funny,
And a little bit sad,
But the darkness, you see, really isn’t that bad,

It’s misunderstood,
Hated and feared,
Distrusted and dreaded since the monsters appeared,

They may own it now,
But they didn’t before,
The day was once host to the evils of lore,

But we still fear the things,
That we don’t see or know,
And in the cover of daytime, the evils don’t show,

So we fear the things,
That go bump in the dark,
But the daytime, you see, is no walk in the park,

Those monsters exist,
All around you, I fear,
And because you can’t see them doesn’t mean they aren’t here,

They walk all around you,
In a humanlike guise,
And possess the trusted, the loved and the wise,

Monsters walk in the daylight,
They’re all over the place,
Behind the eyes of a stranger or a familiar face,

But when the sun goes down,
Their masks pull away,
And the monsters emerge from the humans of day,

So you see, night is scary,
But the light is a curse,
So I ask you, please answer:

*Which one is worse?
Debra A Baugh Feb 2013
in state of REM a succubus looks
upon me as if, I'm tainted; the
intensity of his stare mars my
soul.

besmirching...

every thought of self-elucidation
and I cringe under his watchful
eye; raking my skin with daggerlike
curiousity, sniffing, while I crumble
in openmouth terror.

he descends upon me swiftly; eyes
darting from head to toe piercing me,
into a trance I fall, as if, Dracula has
entered upon spread wings

transforming...

to full humanlike form and stained
teeth sink deep in vein *******
life's blood like a cool soda pop
fizzling with every sip.

savoring...

its pungency in dark delight,
smelling me like I'm a blood
tinged rose.

dripping...

and I awaken upon soaking wet
sheets in trepidities blood
curdling screams.
another dark poem contest regarding nightmares
I've always found your epic tales of great essence and good taste
Surely, you can disregard my prayers,
and have no one question my faith
While your Prophets ascend and descend
Like waiters serving humanity its placebo dose of salvation

Water into wine, moon splitting into two,
cheap magic tricks inside
Nothing is revealed as deep rooted anxieties remain
I've always found your humanlike contradictions ever so humbling
But why must I pray five times a day,
shake my head against some wall
Or have your son die for my sins?
Mere motions by hearts with pseudo devotion

Insomnia has a name, too
Little truths reflected at the bottom of teacups
Gathered in caffeine particles
Stroked by last night
Glimpse of glistening white teeth
Particular to those who drink coffee with a straw!

My God, Allah, Jehovah, (or in any other order)
You, witnessing my struggle
Caffeinated and rushed
As I slump to slumber
Face brushing the cushions
My prayers are lacking, I complain

O father, I can't go on, no longer!
Spare me the afterlife tragedies
And your abusive anger
For insomnia has a name
An eternal sleep, tales of woes
A distress call inviting you, my unwanted anxiety
paige v Jun 2016
my brain is a broken record
of memories i'd like to forget
my mechanic heart that has lost all ability to feel,
now only focuses on beating.
i've become a machine
living in routine
just to keep myself alive;
i'm simply a pulse and brainwaves with emotions to the side,
a cluttered and broken device
with an almost robotic lack of enthusiasm to keep me under control;
constant regulation
to make sure i stay numb,
to hide from the overwhelming pressure to deal with
my inferior humanlike
thoughts;
pull the plug
Some Person Nov 2014
"
People are more likely to believe in the supernatural—God, angels, or miracles—when they feel lonely than when they don't, according to new research out of the University of Chicago. The team of researchers also found that people alleviate loneliness by anthropomorphizing —turning objects into people that can keep them company. "When people lack a sense of connection with other people, they are more likely to see their pets, gadgets, or gods as humanlike," says Nicholas Epley, an assistant professor of behavioral science at the University of Chicago’s Graduate School of Business and one of the study's authors.
"

So where is this made
up object known
as God when I'm
more lonely than
I've ever
been in
my life?

When the
Most enjoyment
I can
Get out of life is
By
Cutting up my
Non-poetic
Lines of
iN
The most annOYing
Wa
Y
Possibl
E,
U
Kno
W
I'
M
Pretty
****
Quote lifted from http://scienceandreligiontoday.blogspot.com/2008/01/loneliness-is-next-to-godliness.html?m=1
rom Aug 2017
My back on the ground, I wonder if they are jealous of us
With our limbs, we can move around
With statures fated into static, they can only watch

To stand still and tall – to exhale the air we breathe;
Helpless when cut down,
Screams silent when we take their homes, when we trample their kind –
Are they jealous of us,
that we can speak and walk and protect our own?

Yet is there really something to be jealous of
When voices are used to injure –
to implant thoughts in minds that can spur deadly actions;
When the ability to protect is used only for our own skin –
to turn a blind eye to things that don't affect us directly (and seek comfort in its blissful ignorance);
When havoc is wreaked with every step we take – and be so unaware of it?

Have we gone tired of killing those who are sessile – of those who don't fight back that we have turned to each other?
Are we living in a world where those who aren't human are more humanlike?
Is this what humanity is all reduced to now – so preoccupied with trying to **** one another that we fail to notice the larger picture –
that we don't have to **** him, her, or them,
because when we cut them down all those years ago,
we have already killed ourselves?

In the background, they are silent but laughing. Fools, they think as we swing our swords around like toothpicks — oblivious to the groans the ground is letting.

I think so too.
Original draft written last May 27, 2017
SabreLi Nov 2019
She found him in a dumpster
While searching for precious stones
She thought him just a youngster
‘Til she saw his missing bones

She realised at once
That he had been discarded
Abandoned by the ones
He’d fearlessly guarded

For he was a robot, a humanlike android
Commonplace in the future earth
Considered disposable, of feelings devoid
Due to his artificial birth

She took him in and cared for him
They built a life together
She replaced his missing limbs
And swore to leave him never

He no longer had a master
No orders to obey
She taught him love and laughter
The real human way

Over time he slowly learned to trust again
His faith was restored, his heart healed
And though it didn’t beat like normal men
He felt a love so deep it would not yield

And til her dying day he stayed
Forever with his saviour
A lifetime of love and friendship repaid
Memories he’d forever savour

The chance that she had given
Long ago in their past
Broke his algorithm
And set him free at last

He began to walk the earthly lands
Displaying humanity
For he is the last who understands
How good humans could be
Anton Angelino Jan 2022
7 colors ricochet off of me like a windshield
I'm opaque but I embody them all.
I have dreams
colorful dreams that seem too good to be true
but life without dreaming is not worth living for.
And of course, I have you, my love
You, who I return home for and who I think of when I'm away, cause thinking of anything other than true love is not worth thinking of.

And alas - there's the outside world
that stretches out from behind our dome we thrive under
Our home.
To sound more dramatic - our only home.

You see, you can't build a dominant civilization like Babylon on quicksand - the heavier your bricks are, the faster they'll sink in there.
What the world is lacking right now is a magical touch of a rainbow's end.
And as long as you let the chromatic river run majestically through your barren land
vibrant events are certain to happen - it makes absolute sense.

7 colors make my soul

Red like lipstick
like the sky is over lively beaches on balmy summer evenings where locals gather to watch the sunset.
Red like strawberries on gingham blankets.
And I cherish moments like these
nothing I have to do. Nowhere I have to be now.
No. Just the red sky to photograph and to post to Instagram.

Orange like caramel
like that one latte I used to buy on my way back from work.
It reminded me of someone I thought I loved.
And when I tasted it with delight I thought that was what your kiss must have tasted like
Sweet and expensive.
Turned out I was looking for love in the wrong coffee cups.
I watched skies roll forth and clouds hold hands
I've always been the sweet type
I found the correct cup
in the end.

Yellow like dandelions in spring, when me and my baby first met.
As a child I enjoyed blowing them, making my very own tiny blizzard of seeds on light wind.
And I miss my early days when all I had to do was run around and play and say good morning to neighbors in my beloved apartment complex.
Argue with friends over Halloween candy and video games or which type of prank phone call should we do next.
The world we knew was beautiful - but it was oblivion.
And a little oblivion never hurt no one.
To this day, just like yellow flowers I come to life in spring.

Green like nature
symbolizing the undying goodness in me.
As a Sagittarius - I possess a soft heart offering room for souls seeking solace in cold streets.
It's just written in my nature.
And your nature is something that you can't reshape.
I look for a place where all my traits are nothing like madness
nothing out of this world - nothing not humanlike.
I deserve love - like everyone else on Earth.
And freedom with equality - that's why I keep supporting BLM and LGBT - because my nature sprouts vivid and green and after all I believe in the goodness within a person.

Blue like the Pacific
like cloudless skies stained with chemtrails
Blue like the Baltic Sea humming the same old soothing melody as I arrive on the pier
I come here for no reason - I do it for free.
I don't imagine a life without traveling to the sea and then making my way down the wooden steps leading to the beach and feeling the grains of sand under my feet.
There's things in life that mean so much but cost nothing.

Indigo like evenings in fall
the mythical dream realm which I dive entirely into, hoping for a better tomorrow.
Indigo like the charming mist surrounding me in my decisive hour and leading me on to the right path.
You see, life is actually beyond the abstract grasp of horoscopes and the real magic occurs when you forge who you are in a made-up universe under homemade stars.
And when you remember that nothing happens for a reason.

Violet like amethyst
must be one of the most beautiful crystals to exist.
I collect gems and stones and other fascinating things that I stumbled upon over the years.
I collect memories and turn them into something sweet in case they're bitter
I feel like to be happy is to sweeten what lacks sweet.
Find not just postcards but people, not bystanders but lovers
Make a legacy that you should be proud to show the world.
And to bring what you loved most to eternity.

7 colors make me who I am

And who I am is a hellbent dreamer looking for wonderland, with my mind made up and convictions written with my fingers on moist sand,
that will shortly be erased by the waves
rolling back and forth.
But I still hold them tightly in my mind - and compared to the unfair nature of life and cruelty of individuals, mind is a powerful force.

That's the story
nothing to cross out or add.
7 colors make me
and I couldn't be more proud.
Poem #2 off “Rainbow Arches Supporting The Wonderland”, the title poem and the third promotional poem off the collection.
Gypsy Dec 2020
God made the Machine

His illusion

Bombarded with pseudo-realities
Manufactured by the media
By governments
Big corporations
By religious groups
Political groups
Sophisticated electronic mechanisms
Universes of the mind

I have a malformed public-duty gland
I must have a Guardian Idiot

On the surface
I was calm
In secret
I was waiting for something
His return
That measures the passage of time
This age-old faith of lovers and poets

A drunkard
Relives ancient torments
Feeds coins into the jukebox
He breathed
Hoped for nothing, yet, lived in expectation
The time of cruel miracles was not past
The dark blue outline of the crescent moon
Branded me with a mark of wildness
As if I belonged to ancient times

For a moment — an instant
I forgot about the horror of not belonging
While deep inside of me
The matrix, unfolded across that colorless void

In this age of rust
Reality, shaped by the forces that destroy it
Walked in dark places no others will enter
There - Souls
That never got weaned from the universe
Became an extension of it...
We are the same people our ancestors were
Lumbering across this landscape scooping up and eating everything in sight
Here on the edge of forever
Truth is a matter of the imagination
Wallpaper to our children
We -
Like
Gods who echo how mortals behave
Gods, a perfection to be emulated
Yet we share their flaws and foibles
We are humanlike
We are divine
Slowly fading in the narrow zone between fire and ice
With all our tenderness of heart
Lying naked in the palms of love.

Gypsy

— The End —