From far deep between
She soaks the world around her
With waves of sweet fire

two pearls
agreed to keep apart
to glow in silence
outgrow the smart

two pearls
she and I
miles away
I can feel her heart sigh

two pearls
swim in my eyes
dance in the air of love
I will make you a golden kite

two pearls
will you be mine?
I will let you shine
for you I would break my spine

I long for love
without heartache.
To be free from pain,
loss,
failure,
and sadness.
In a world shrouded in darkness,
I long for the light.

I
d
r
  o
   p
    p
     e
      d
       m
         y
          w
            o
             r
             d
              s

               pick them up
Can you                       for me?

Rearrange t-h-e-m
in
a
w a y
I meant to s p e a k?
Because I                  k n o w   you
and you                    k n o w   me.
We would n e v e r use
stale, weak words
to hurt each other.

No, we would(n't.)

We met
in half remembered dream.
With clouds beneath our feet,
and stars in an amethyst sky,
yet you were the realest thing.

And I wonder
if dreams could come true,
and if it was an old memory,
perhaps from another lifetime.

But until then
it's what you'll remain to me,
a wonderful mystery.

twenty dollars is not worth a life.

Snowy skin,
Crimson cheeks,
Raven hair,
Head full of despair.

Soft flesh,
Cold body,
Scarlet eyes,
Like sunset skies.

With her alluring mind,
she eats men alive.
With her deadly seduction,
she embraces her destruction.

The Oldest Lie

The oldest lie we tell our children is that we are all equal.
We pretend. We lie. We digress from the truth to shield them from all evils.
But the truth is we dream of such a world where race, creed and colour do not define us.

We protect them from the facts of life and speak of the past, forgetting the present.
We praise MLK, Malcolm and Mandela as civil right heroes,
neglecting the bitter truth that they took the first steps on our long walk to freedom.

Enough is enough. Our children deserve better.
They need to know our struggle.
Only then can we dream of better things.

Life With No Meaning

after all was said and done
and the sun goes down with all the fun
the past with all it pleasures
is gone with all its hidden treasures

all the things i adore
is gone forevermore
all the worldly stuff
how much will be enough?

taker took all they wanted
fakers took all they demanded
leaving a trail of corruption
and innocent live with destruction

with no feeling of despare
even in death, they would not care
with there untruthful and deceiving lips
the things of no value, they worships

like maggots on a corps
carry on like lords
they too will feel the soil
along with al their toil


winston

a girl
her eyes red and crusted
white

a boy
missing an eye now- the blood so dark it's
black

and why do they go for the eyes.

as if blindness will make us compliant

no-
it helps us to see.

I stopped writing

For awhile.

Because I found that when I write
It’s so real.
It’s like hearing back my own words from the lips of someone wiser

Not from a broken child,
But from a bitter miser.

I am justice
Blind to colour
Blind to race
Blind to tribe
I play it right

Before me;
All men are equal
Before me;
Might is not right
Right is right

Before you act; think
Before you talk, filter
If you do the crime
Trust me, you'll do the time
For my gavel will I bang

Tell a blue bird she is beautiful,
she will say,
I know.

Sometimes I wonder
if noise had a colour
then what shade
would silence be

while we
let the sun kiss our skin
we watched the sky
through the leaves
and talked
about the weight of the world
which is laying on the shoulders
of our generation

It's time for a name
Not to be just another 'name'

To anyone who lost a life
You didn't die in vain

Colour doesn't matter
Inside we're all the same

It's time to stop the suffering
It's time to stop the pain

Sometimes all one needs is someone to ask
not 'How's it going?'
but 'Is everything alright?'
with the yearn for an honest answer.

~ S.G

Break my bones;
cut my throat.
Pull me open,
learn the ropes.

Breath me in;
taste the fear.
Shank my skin;
stand and cheer.

Kick my head;
let me bleed.
Unbolt my veins;
enjoy the read.

Gouge my eyes;
punch my face.
Wrap me up
in your embrace.

your name is
forbidden in
my mouth
or in my heart
because when
i think about
you;

i'll cry a little more,
hurt a little stronger
love a little softer
because you no longer
make me feel sober

i'm drunk on the
memory of you

For almost 2 days, now, I have been wondering what has been going on.

I can't upvote and comment on poems, and most poems that I see posted have no view counts.

By now one would have hoped that the fallen would gotten back on their feet.

I just wish there was a voice out there, somewhere, instead of speculating.

Logan Robertson

6/02/20

I’d rather you touch me with your deep conversations,
Be stimulated by your personality,
Open up to you spiritually,
Receive your intellect,
Blow your mind,
Taste every word that leaves your lips,
Gently undress your thoughts or better yet, strip away your walls,
Make love to your inner conscious,
How’s that for excitement?

I have kissed boys

Girls

People in between

But lately I have been kissing bottles

Their lips are colder than yours

But slowly I have realized that the pounding headache when I wake is less hurtful than the shattering in my chest

Yet as these toxins rush through my veins

I can't help but miss the tracing of your fingers along my skin

Miss the numbness of the world when you lie with me

But when I wake I remember that a headache is treated with an aspirin

While heartache

Well if you have a cure for Heartache let me know

In the early morning
in the late brisk day
under asterisk stars

and the substance of may
we gather together
for neighborly hope

in spite of things
lost and forgone
not one but three in

solemn persistance
for the birds can
hear our minds rhetoric

I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)

Love from the back row
No standing room only
No heatsweatbodiesclose
but the slow unfurling
of one to another

I used to have interaction on here but for the past 6 months my account has had zero.
No one is seeing my writing. Please help

And over time,
My pen stopped bleeding
But my heart didn't

sometimes you're meant to meet them and not to be, maybe because you don't know what you want and you deserve better, yet the hole dug in there would never be filled by someone else

intending a sip
but end up taking a dip

when unrestrained the urge
one is bound to submerge

a desire untamed
none to be blamed

restraining self is the best way
otherwise be ready to pay....

he said he couldn’t breathe,
so they took his last breath

like water
I poured myself into her until she was overflowing at the brim

like reinforced steel
I bridged my heart to hers and welded myself to her soul

like the sun
I filled myself with light to cover her darkness

like a blanket
I shielded her from the harsh world underneath the covers

like magnets
I orbited her aura until we inevitably collided

like a seed
I felt myself growing up from her

Then, like an idiot
I could tell she felt nothing.

If you could read my mind,
You’d see a thousand papers
Filled with broken poetries
And deadbeat proses
Full of woeful verses
With mournful pieces
Of unfinished stories
That are yet to be written
And failed to be spoken;
If you could read my mind,
You’d hear horrible screams
And earsplitting weeps
From shattered dreams,
Kept in a nasty notepad,
Scribbled on a bed
Of bloodstained words,
Ringing in my head.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see the shadows
That lurk within me;
You’d hear the bellows,
Screeching the words
“I’m tired,”
“I’m a failure,”
“I’m stupid –”
I know it sounds stupid,
It’s pathetically foolish
And seems too *******.
If you could read my mind,
You’d feel the tears
I had ever failed to cry;
You’d see the people
That make the weak weaker;
You’d see the monsters
That consume my head;
You’d hear the hollers
That failed to be freed;
You’d see the heart
That still bleeds and bleeds.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see the face
I’ve failed to show back then,
The face I’ve faked back then.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see a character
I had ever failed to become
If you could read my mind,
You’d be able to read
A book you never wished
To touch and read,
But sometimes I still wish
Someone could read my mind.

I just want it to end.

The hopelessness, the fear,
the constant critic in my head:
I've lived with them all for too long.

All I've ever known is this war, this endless battle.
There's nothing wrong with wanting it to end.
To wish that it didn't is cruel.

But why can't the best solution be the simplest?
Why do I have to keep fighting?

At times it's deafening,
and I'm so exhausted.

Why can't I just lay down in no man's land
and let this battle fall silent around me?

Why can't that be the end?

Because... I'll never know what's possible.