Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
I am haunted:
Not by poltergeist,
but by my unlived lives.
Parallel universes
won't ever speak,
they took an oath
to keep from me.
I have words and voices
humming in my head
that will never be met
outside of my bed.
I have to accept
I cannot have it all,
I have to accept
knowing nothing at all.
sit here

eating this bag of
sour brain

the sycamore tree
i never got high
that way,
that way

sir Jesus never had me over
for dinner

with people passing by,
some laugh
some cry

some shake their heads and sigh

some look toward their husbands,
never look me in the eye
Gill S
Meet me in the middle of a blank page in our book. Meet me where our story is not yet written.
The previous pages are already colored by permanent pigment and etched in stone. They are not erasable. You cannot burn them or rid yourself of them without destroying me. They are forever imprinted in my memory. All we can do is remember and forgive the mistakes we have made.
So, please, meet me in the middle of this blank page where the words are not yet written, and we can write our own story's course.
Emma Grace Coomes
I finally moved on from the past.
I finally moved on with my Ex.
I finally moved on with the regrets.
I finally moved on with my Grudges.
I finally moved on with my demons inside me.
I finally moved on to a new boyfriend.
I finally moved on happily.
I did it with the help of my friends God and my family.
..the kandi bracelets
the scrunchies of colors yellow white and blue.. newly missing the one with roses.. but its okay because its with you..
yellow is supposed to be happy.. but it hurts too much to be..
but the blue.. its so soft that it reminds me of you in the best way.. even tho you were a yellow sorta girl..
the white is just empty..making me feel less everyday..
please don’t hate me..
i miss you
All the sudden
The earth was warm
And it hit me
What scared me the most
Was laying alone
And realizing I never rally wanted to die
my hair is turning blue
shades of light gray

sweet november
are you close

I keep staring
hoping someone catches my eye

if you ever need a friend
don't come running

I'm in another world
lost in a memory

my past
and future are merging

into one
I can't find myself

I know I'm fading
waiting for all the leaves to fall
so I can pick them up
so I can crush them all

if I'm a color
I'm a sick blue
I hope I do not fade away
like the stars at dawn.
A footprint
left on the desert sand;
a dream that is lost to memory.
Carolyn Diana
I heard the sky falling

It fell to the ground
drenched in pain

An eerie frame
gone in the black

Eyes glistening
under the baggage of dark lit
heavy clouds

Like an orphan
with no arms outstretched

Streams of silence sobs flow
drowned in loneliness

till the break of dawn

night rains
are the adult version of
letting go
Mary Frances
I look at myself everyday
in the mirror and then realize
I've been given the most beautiful gift
I could ever ask for - my existence;
my chance of life;
my chance of love.
Lawrence Hall
Lawrence Hall

                                    I­ndochine - An Anniversary of Sorts

On the 26th of October 1970 I returned from 18th months in Viet-Nam and a brief side-trip into Cambodia. I was literally just a boy off the farm when I went, and was still quite young when I wrote the following artless lines, with their conventional allusions, forced rhymes, and usage errors, on the 2nd, 3rd, and 4th anniversaries. Perhaps there is one from the 1st anniversary, but I can’t find it. Well, we are all are looking for something most days: a poem, truth, meaning, or some other trifle.

…the war – the frights…the smell of h.e., the horribly smashed men still moving like half-crushed beetles, the…corpses…all this shows rarely and faintly in memory…and often seems to have happened to someone else.

        -C. S. Lewis, “Guns and Good Company,” Surprised by Joy

                                        26 October 1972

The pecans are falling now
Onto the court-house lawn
Geese fly overhead, southbound
Misty dusk and chilly dawn

Two year from Viet-Nam
Two eternities from the Vam Co Tay
Elections now, and speeches
And I guess I’ll have my say

But the finality briefly denied me
Found many another man
And they’re not here for elections
And Autumn on the land

                                            26 October 1973

I sit and smoke my pipe and think
Of things that I have seen
Easter seals and steering wheels
And jungle hot and green

I sit and smoke my pipe and ponder
The imponderable of God and man
The evening star over a flare-lit war
And souls as grains of sand

I sit and smoke my pipe and mourn
For the murdered

Many miles, and three years today
From the muddy, ****** waters
Of the Vam Co Tay

                                         26 October 1974

Many miles
And four years today
From the muddy, ****** waters
Of the Vam Co Tay

All the death-hurt eases
And dreams are quieter now
But the hurting never ceases
And I can’t see when it will, or how

Four Octobers
Four Autumns today
From rain drizzling on the slimy banks
Of the Van Co Tay

“Go and make the world safe for democracy –
Like we did in 1917,” my aged ancestor said
Dear old man, he never lived to know
That sort of thing is dead

Grim memories
Of flare-lit nights and steaming days
Of men dying screaming
On the Vam Co Tay

The finality briefly denied me
Found many another man
And they’re not seeing the wild geese flying
Or Autumn on the land

Many miles
And four years today
From the muddy, ****** waters
Of the Vam Co Tay
A poem is itself; memories are doubtful.
Sasha Paulona
I'm here to learn from you. To see the world I can never see
Worry! put the blame
not on my head but on
your selfishness, you
never said to my ear
something happiness
like a brightfull memories
of celebration will be on
your way soon
A righteous man was condemned to die
For admitting he was the Son of God
He was nailed to a cross
While the crowd stood by
They laughed with approving applaud
He only did good and hurt no one
The leaders jealousies knew no bound
But the fact remained he is still the Son
He freely let his blood drip to the ground
God the Father turned away his face
He could not look upon the world's sin
From that act mankind received grace
His kingdom was now open to men
To have God's forgiveness we must accept Jesus
He died for our sins alone
He makes us complete, our missing pieces
And makes us much stronger than stone
Our faith in him is more precious than gold
It binds more dense than steel
By his blood we live our lives bold
To accomplish our Father' will
God's will is that all be saved
That we repent of our evil ways
When you do, in his blood you'll be bathed
And know real love the rest of your days
Your days will never end my friend
We will live for eternity somewhere
Jesus is trustworthy, in him depend
Do you really want to go.....down there?
I put this on here again. This is the best poem I have ever written.
Do you remember me?
I was the boy sitting at the back in history
When I tried to talk to you, I would stutter
Because you always made my heart flutter

You were the most popular girl in class
I was ordinary and our styles would clash
You always ignored me as if I wasn't there
It hurt me, knowing you didn't really care

That was so many years ago, now here you are
I'm so sorry to see you've fallen so far
Begging on the street, with nothing in your eyes
Your looks are gone, no one hears your cries

Do you remember me?
I was the boy sitting in the back of history
I'm trying to help you, but I can only stutter
Handing you some money, watching it flutter

Copyright © Chris Smith #darkpoetsoul 2020
I never truly believed in you
Maybe i did once
But now i know you
As the thing people hold on to
When there's nothing left

So here I am
With nothing left
This is written as my sister is in a coma
Whether a comma, or colon:
Punctuation slows my rolling
I need no period. When I end
no Capitalization when I begin
Rulelessly I flow my art
  Not a single!
Exclamation mark
Are you not the one
Who'll know?
Where a question mark
No longer goes

Warp the structure
Bend the lines
Put in repeat
Let emotion unwind
Make yourself
Your poetry's the best
Be your own ruler
Pass your own test

Take your own road
Where ever it leads
Lover or hater
It's all poetry!
Traveler Tim
No matter who you are
You have my deepest respect!
Bek Blanchard
Now there were two of them
Separated between thousands
of read texts and timely
chats touched by sound
but not skin  
Awake in the others sleeping
Sleeping in the others awake  
Restless as they wait
Restless as they wait
Deadwood Jawn

H́ͨ̆ͪ̉­̴̛̫̥̳̪̘̫͙̟ͪ̈̓ͨ͟ͅE̶̊͒̔̀͛̌͡͏̛͉̦͚͚͔͝ ̵͑̔͗ͥ̉̐͋̈ͥ͒͑̋ͨ̍͂̚͏͕̼̲̫̥̫̮̙͖̤̮͖͓̲͍͍̀̕W̢̹͕̫͇̙̞͇̪̌̋̆̔̃͛͛ͩ͐̊̃ͨ̅ͮ̍͊̈́́̚­͉͕͍̞̱̠ͅͅA̛͆̋ͩ̓͋̓҉̶͙̣̹̥̩̘̪S̡̃ͤ͗̒̐̊͛̍̕͞͏̰͍͖̥̦͎̻̱̪̪̙̭̫͔͚̘̣͉ͅ ̵̉̈́̌̾̿ͪͤ̃̈́͏̡̗̪̦̹̪̟̞̪̗͇̯ͅN̸̢̨̺̱͉͙̝̖̣̻̺̳͔̮̱̜̪͚̠̤̜ͬͮ͐ͤ̋ͪͩ̇̂̀͊̉̏ͦ̏̌ͧ̑­O̵̡̹͓̣͙̘͈̩̳̫̼̖͙͌̂̃̚͘͠Ṭ̢͓̭̦̣̗̩̭̪͉͓ͤͬ̋̎̓̾̔͛͛̔͂̾ͬ̄͊ͦͥ̅͡ ̧ͩͤ̑̿̿̇̚͘͏̢̛̯̬͍̹̳̘͇̥̩̣̩̟̤̺͉A̶̴̬̗͍̥̞̞̩̝̩̣̰̳ͯ̎ͥ̏̃ͮͤ̆̋̏͜͜Lͨ̀̄̏̓̉̋͆̋̇­̸̧͔̼̰̪̱͕̞̺̬̼̘̟̭ͥ͐͒̅͗͠͝͠W̧̖͙̞̪͙͙ͮ̑ͥ͆͛̌̽ͭ͐̌ͩͦ̓́̚̚͘ͅA̰̺̝͙͖̻̹̘̣͌ͨ̾̓͢͜­̬̣̺Y̢͎̹̩̺̦̬͚͉̲͎͓͉̅̄̽̅̎̏̎̌͂̃ͫͭ͞͞S̴̵̨̠̞̖̠̳̖͇̓̇ͧͮͥ͗͑̅̃̾͗͂ͨ͊́̆ͨ͢͢ ͦ͌̌̃̋̒̽͜͏̴̧̪̯̻͙͇̙͈͉̠̠͇̜͈͇͍̣͕̞͢L̵ͪ̊̏̃ͭ̒͊҉҉̞̰̣̥̺͙̣̥̳̠̹̭̘̜̜̙Iͨ̂ͬ̑̿͋͐­̲̗̹͓̠̜͕̞̞̻͙̞͚̼̫̲̞̣̟̃͑̓̃̂͊͛̅̓ͥ̕͜K̅͊ͤ̃̊͂ͮ͊͒̒̎̿҉́͡҉͏̖̯̜̜͔̪̖̟̙̞̺͎̦̖̠E­̶̶̵̪̱̺͍̫͎̣̾̽̂̾̒ͣ̀ͬ̏̐̿ͭ̿͟͡ ̸̧̡̞̠̻̟́̅ͮ̋̕͢T̡̢̼͕̝̠̼̩̜̜͓̠̱̘̜̲̦́͆ͩͨ̈͊ͮ̆̈͑͐̚͜͢͝ͅH̡ͫͧ͛̐ͦ̋ͣ̔̓̾͆͐ͥͯ̚͢­͕͉̤̫̹̟͇̭́I̷̧̨̒ͬ̇ͬ̾̆ͬ̂̌͌͏͍͍͔̖̮̪̖͓̰͎̪Ş̴̰̭̜͓͚̖̯̦͇͓̞̹̼̺͖̐ͪ̐̅͒̚̕͘

He wasn't. Thanks for understanding, Lydia.. Lydia is angry.. Someone's hurt him..
This is Lydia speaking.
When I was a child,
I was taught poetry wasn't mild,
It was deep as the sea,
And it seemed truly unachievable for me.
I was taught poetry had to rhyme,
Every single line, every single time.
So poetry seemed out of my reach,
Like chasing a seagull down a beach,
Jumping ever so slightly away,
Or soaring into the sunny day.

So I never thrived for what I thought would,
No, Could
Never be.

I guess now I'm fixing the mistakes of past me.
Jim Musics
The cusp of Spring/Summer is when I already think Autumnal thoughts. Even before a not-green stray Sassafras mitten or two falls, the Black gum lets go a few red-orange leaves.  I see them on the back path. They silently shout to me, “Here come the Fall!”. I'm saddened. It's not just because I used to lament having to go back to school in September, It's more than that. It's only just yet Summer. I didn't finish. 'Didn't go back the live the life that I could have had if I hadn't made those foolish moves. 'Didn't make most of those smart ones. 'Hadn't wasted all that money on beer. I sort of tried to do it right when I got a little older. 'Did some good, coulda done more though. 'Expected my good work to be more rewarded. I didn't, “sell out”, or climb up some ladder stepping on backs. I never gave up, but I just didn't do enough. 'Didn't make them listen. 'Afraid to speak up. That's what this is; the confession of a 70 year old. I'm not unburdened. I don't need forgiveness.
Not a poem. Just some old guy whining about his privilege.
John Prophet
Distant shimmer.
Dark shimmering
Distant dark
fog slowly
Slowly enlarging.
Slow darkening.
Ever present.
More visible.
Always more
dark veil.
Slowly envelopes
Slowly absorbs.
Moving through,
past fades.
Fades to
to black.
no more.
Moving through
Dark veil.
What was
no more.
What’s new
when you sleep it's like you never cried,

breathing soft and steady, wet cheeks dried.

when you sleep it's like you never lost,

boundaries weren't broken and lines weren't crossed.

when you sleep it's like you're still there,

and you still smile and you still care.

when you sleep you look young as I,

no crease in your brow and no old worn sigh.

and so if sleep is death just being shy,

is it still so wrong,

to wish

to die?
This was made by yamiyurei
Deb Jones
“I love you” She says.
It’s important to say.
It’s important to hear
The face in the mirror
the look in the eye's
that reflection ain't me it's just a disguise
the fading of hair
the wrinkles that bend
it's just a life story that's told on my skin
this man in the mirror he ain't really me
their's a child inside that want's to be free
that woman of mine you could say she's the same
sometimes in the covers we laugh and play games
but as I get old and my life bears thin
I think of the fun
and think of the friends
so you could say i'm kind of bold
it's just a part of getting old
A poem my dad wrote on his 45th birthday
we all thought it was funny but truth is
I think it was the greatest one he ever wrote
She was stuck
in endless cycles
it seemed to her
more harm than good
to be a girl
in this world
Melisa Çıngı
I can't sleep
Hope you can't too
There is that feeling keeps me awake
Which you know too
A dream is all I ask
Dream that includes you
I couldn't understand
What did you do
To make me beg for
One dream about you
tainted black
closed her
eyes and took
a very deep breath,
crossed her fingers then
w  h     i     s    p   e    r     e   d,
"I long to see the   o n l  y
man who made me
shine in his
your name is
forbidden in
my mouth
or in my heart
because when
i think about

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
if only i could chase you with pizza but shots don't work like that
Nat Lipstadt
<for my friends>

you may
wright me as needed,
you may
write me as oft as you desire,
we may
right each other
as often as
often needs definition

and I measure and define


in milliseconds!

p.s. ink and paper surrender to time, fire and water

these tiny bytes will likely live forever often somewhere.
Leo Janowick
My mind feeds the Pen words
as quickly as the paper can swallow;
Feasting on emotions and notions
hand-fed from my heart

Now and again my mind overindulges
on expressions and craves a pause;
Knowing any respite is short-lived,
the pen stays ever on the ready.

Fully aware that the writing never ends.
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 like *******.
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.
We were laying in bed
and I was drowning in your gaze.
You wrapped your arms around
me and slowly whispered in my ear
that I was a national treasure to you.
You told me my essence,
my power, and my presence
overwhelmed you and that
I was your Niagara Falls.
JL Smith
It's been said,
If you love something
Let it go

So you did
And I'm free,

But I'll return

You love me

© JL Smith
A raft to drift upon
When the world is thunders and storm.
The first rays of sunshine
After a hard winter of the soul.
The power to go on
When the heart is full of bruises.
The warmth of a fire
When reality is freezing cold.
The reason to exist
When nothing makes sense.

This is the definition of Love.
Rupert Pip
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.
Get to know me like I do you; inside and out.
Ariana Bagley
I love him
I tell myself
I know that
We will be together forever
I don’t believe that
We could be separated
My thoughts tell me that
He’s the love of my life
Sometimes my heart lies and says
I could live an eternity
Without him
Like my friends say
“We’re perfect for each other”
And you can’t tell me
He’s not the one.

Now read from bottom to top.
Is it the words whispered
in secret corridors
i love you

are they proclaimed boldly
from roof tops

Or maybe love
sounds like laughter
giggles shared only between two

what if love has no noise
its beauty is similar to a sunset
seen and felt
but never heard
He’s rubbed off on you
brought your rage to the surface
Which is fine
I think
But you can’t be this angry
when you’re drinking with me

Blood will cut the sweetness
of wine on your lips
some                   I
     say                     call
           it's                   It        
                poetry.          oxygen.

I write, therefore I am.
Next page