beck - Hello Poetry

under a table,  behind the door  where nothing is cleaned  not even the floor.  there, lies a body,  collected with dust  piled under splinters, cobwebs, and rust.  its breathing, though ceased,  by a soul, never noticed  the family moves on  never wishing to know it.  roaches and rats snigger with glee,  as the body decays,  first a hand, then a knee.  but, a moment's not passed,  when a slam of the door  finds that He has returned,  to take one thing more.  He looks and he scowls,  finding, perhaps, one thing of use...  a leg of the thing  he once had abused,  "Good for a table,  this leg might be!  but its so sickly, and thin,  what use is it to me?"  he examined the leg,  for a minute or less  and finally said,  with no shortage of breath  "what good were you girl? you did nothing for me.  not this house, not this wallet...  not this family!  for you sat and you sulked,  and you fell on the floor,  and it was quite hard to hide  that you looked such a sore.  and you'd cry and you moan,  until finally you stopped,  but even then, you'd not budge  for a sponge or a mop!  what good were you,  to exist in this way?  where you slept in a bed,  for which, i had to pay?  if you left us much sooner,  before we could see  your bruised little leg and dis-located knee,  we might have not stopped you  from growing so vast,  if you had been good,  if you had worked fast!  But, if you had died,  and we knew then  what we do now,  we could have left you  much sooner, you cow!  but since you've survived,  and we've taken your all,  We must do it ourselves,  and bury you whole."  and the girl, as she slumped  on those wooden floorboards,  did not kick or punch,  or demand her own words,  for she knew how He felt,  when he saw such a sight,  her skin and her bones, were,  Oh!  quite a fright...  but she did decide  that she'd mention one thought,  for it left and gone  without once being taught.  And this was who she was  cracks, bones, and skin,  with wishes and hopes,  in loss or win.  for the love of all  she, weekly, would pray,  that she might be able  to love one, someday.  she looked up once more,  to the hand holding her knee,  and she spoke such a truth,  which made her instantly free:  "you knew me not here,  nor when i was born,  and certainly not now,  though, my legs, you have torn.  Look at this body,  my blue skin and bones,  and KNOW there's one thing  you never have known!  that this sunken-in skull,  which longed for a dream,  within it, still lives  some incredible things!  Though leaving this world,  though no good for you,  though, you threw me your scraps,  if you threw just a few,  I'll fly and I'll live  past all of your years,  you have not a soul,  you shed not a tear!  O, timeless I'll be,  despite lack of drink  but look at you, sir,  your head does not think!  Yes!  Look at me now,  while withered  I may be,  and know this you bore,  you never knew me!"

0

May 14, 2019

May 14, 2019 at 2:22 PM UTC

leftovers

under a table,  behind the door  where nothing is cleaned  not even the floor.  there, lies a body,  collected with dust  piled under splinters, cobwebs, and rust.  its breathing, though ceased,  by a soul, never noticed  the family moves on  never wishing to know it.  roaches and rats snigger with glee,  as the body decays,  first a hand, then a knee.  but, a moment's not passed,  when a slam of the door  finds that He has returned,  to take one thing more.  He looks and he scowls,  finding, perhaps, one thing of use...  a leg of the thing  he once had abused,  "Good for a table,  this leg might be!  but its so sickly, and thin,  what use is it to me?"  he examined the leg,  for a minute or less  and finally said,  with no shortage of breath  "what good were you girl? you did nothing for me.  not this house, not this wallet...  not this family!  for you sat and you sulked,  and you fell on the floor,  and it was quite hard to hide  that you looked such a sore.  and you'd cry and you moan,  until finally you stopped,  but even then, you'd not budge  for a sponge or a mop!  what good were you,  to exist in this way?  where you slept in a bed,  for which, i had to pay?  if you left us much sooner,  before we could see  your bruised little leg and dis-located knee,  we might have not stopped you  from growing so vast,  if you had been good,  if you had worked fast!  But, if you had died,  and we knew then  what we do now,  we could have left you  much sooner, you cow!  but since you've survived,  and we've taken your all,  We must do it ourselves,  and bury you whole."  and the girl, as she slumped  on those wooden floorboards,  did not kick or punch,  or demand her own words,  for she knew how He felt,  when he saw such a sight,  her skin and her bones, were,  Oh!  quite a fright...  but she did decide  that she'd mention one thought,  for it left and gone  without once being taught.  And this was who she was  cracks, bones, and skin,  with wishes and hopes,  in loss or win.  for the love of all  she, weekly, would pray,  that she might be able  to love one, someday.  she looked up once more,  to the hand holding her knee,  and she spoke such a truth,  which made her instantly free:  "you knew me not here,  nor when i was born,  and certainly not now,  though, my legs, you have torn.  Look at this body,  my blue skin and bones,  and KNOW there's one thing  you never have known!  that this sunken-in skull,  which longed for a dream,  within it, still lives  some incredible things!  Though leaving this world,  though no good for you,  though, you threw me your scraps,  if you threw just a few,  I'll fly and I'll live  past all of your years,  you have not a soul,  you shed not a tear!  O, timeless I'll be,  despite lack of drink  but look at you, sir,  your head does not think!  Yes!  Look at me now,  while withered  I may be,  and know this you bore,  you never knew me!"

116

A new life lives beyond the wall not a drop of sun flows by a new movement which some people call a newfound way to die if i shared with you a secret which will leave your eyes in tears would you pick for me a flower with its petals shaped like spears? And when I call upon your name, if the sunny sky won't shine will you let me live beneath the soil before you ever question why? And, when we both grow weary, and, when we both grow small life has a funny way of showing just how easily we fall. While I may die and you may lie beneath the weeds we sow, can we ever really wonder why those flowers still won't grow? For, bearing soil and simple minds, have easily no doubts about the love they hold for one and about the things one shouts. I wish I could forget it all my past, which haunts me so but in my doubt and in my fall, my weeds continue to grow.

0

Nov 22, 2016

Nov 22, 2016 at 11:13 AM UTC

New Life

A new life lives beyond the wall not a drop of sun flows by a new movement which some people call a newfound way to die if i shared with you a secret which will leave your eyes in tears would you pick for me a flower with its petals shaped like spears? And when I call upon your name, if the sunny sky won't shine will you let me live beneath the soil before you ever question why? And, when we both grow weary, and, when we both grow small life has a funny way of showing just how easily we fall. While I may die and you may lie beneath the weeds we sow, can we ever really wonder why those flowers still won't grow? For, bearing soil and simple minds, have easily no doubts about the love they hold for one and about the things one shouts. I wish I could forget it all my past, which haunts me so but in my doubt and in my fall, my weeds continue to grow.

28

They say you are most creative when you are heartbroken distraught naïve people live content lives however, boring nonetheless i just want to cuddle up next to you in your bed or mine hell, id sleep outside if you wanted i saw you talking to her, you saw that i noticed you took the opportunity and ran-- straight for the bank of my soul emptied the account... is it payback for my actions? i said i was over it and you i was not i am not and now we go back to being strangers yet i can't seem to accept it someone please help me--no i am not desperate, i will live on happy....

0

Feb 1, 2015

Feb 1, 2015 at 11:49 PM UTC

you

They say you are most creative when you are heartbroken distraught naïve people live content lives however, boring nonetheless i just want to cuddle up next to you in your bed or mine hell, id sleep outside if you wanted i saw you talking to her, you saw that i noticed you took the opportunity and ran-- straight for the bank of my soul emptied the account... is it payback for my actions? i said i was over it and you i was not i am not and now we go back to being strangers yet i can't seem to accept it someone please help me--no i am not desperate, i will live on happy....

27

why did you come here? for the joy of poetry or to wallow in self pity do you write with a passion for life or a desire to finally pick up that knife stop crying i know its hard but for once, tell your demons no no. today you will take a walk outside for the first time, you will keep your head up no. tell your demons goodbye. and your angels, hello.

0

Dec 22, 2014

Dec 22, 2014 at 2:42 PM UTC

hello

why did you come here? for the joy of poetry or to wallow in self pity do you write with a passion for life or a desire to finally pick up that knife stop crying i know its hard but for once, tell your demons no no. today you will take a walk outside for the first time, you will keep your head up no. tell your demons goodbye. and your angels, hello.

17

sometimes i begin to write nothing in mind i confuse myself yet am shocked by what i produce even the creator teaches himself in his own insights interpret yourself openly, freely be c o u r a g e o u s

0

Dec 21, 2014

Dec 21, 2014 at 8:59 PM UTC

i

sometimes i begin to write nothing in mind i confuse myself yet am shocked by what i produce even the creator teaches himself in his own insights interpret yourself openly, freely be c o u r a g e o u s

7

you deserve better than what you've been accepting. than all that you have chased. than every.single.tear that has fallen out of place when you realize that every lie, was never worth your time you can sell your watches you have too many, anyways one day, you will look into the sky it won't be dark, you will walk outside the light you see-- will not be from the moon, the shadows that surround you-- will not be those of demons pulling you to down to Hades: your blanket will not be misery but you won't simply wake up, alleviated by fate you will have to fight wars against yourself-- the worst kind imaginable you are up against the odds of giants not even a troll-- would attempt to cross the bridges that you must build but you can do it you must learn to live with a shield in your hand and a bow on your back and eventually one day, you will look into the sky it will be white and pure you will walk outside the light you see-- will be that of the sun's glow the shadows of the tress will dance in your presence persuading you to climb their swaying branches lifting you towards the high heavens flowers will float into your hair yet slowly someone will approach carrying a diamond-laced, gold ring, inside a crafted, red-silk box in awe, you will notice his glowing amber eyes then his face you will see, is painted with delicate metallics alluring metallics but you won't be swayed, for there is fire in his eyes slowly you will reach towards the box you've spotted the disguise with the shield you have gathered; bow is in hand untamed-- you are savage unfazed by the lures of man ferocious-- savage he is not what you desire, rather lust but you will walk across the bridge you've built-- based upon trust away you will go, from all that harms as you come to see the light not a soul will tempt you away for you are savage

0

Dec 21, 2014

Dec 21, 2014 at 8:49 PM UTC

savage

you deserve better than what you've been accepting. than all that you have chased. than every.single.tear that has fallen out of place when you realize that every lie, was never worth your time you can sell your watches you have too many, anyways one day, you will look into the sky it won't be dark, you will walk outside the light you see-- will not be from the moon, the shadows that surround you-- will not be those of demons pulling you to down to Hades: your blanket will not be misery but you won't simply wake up, alleviated by fate you will have to fight wars against yourself-- the worst kind imaginable you are up against the odds of giants not even a troll-- would attempt to cross the bridges that you must build but you can do it you must learn to live with a shield in your hand and a bow on your back and eventually one day, you will look into the sky it will be white and pure you will walk outside the light you see-- will be that of the sun's glow the shadows of the tress will dance in your presence persuading you to climb their swaying branches lifting you towards the high heavens flowers will float into your hair yet slowly someone will approach carrying a diamond-laced, gold ring, inside a crafted, red-silk box in awe, you will notice his glowing amber eyes then his face you will see, is painted with delicate metallics alluring metallics but you won't be swayed, for there is fire in his eyes slowly you will reach towards the box you've spotted the disguise with the shield you have gathered; bow is in hand untamed-- you are savage unfazed by the lures of man ferocious-- savage he is not what you desire, rather lust but you will walk across the bridge you've built-- based upon trust away you will go, from all that harms as you come to see the light not a soul will tempt you away for you are savage

61

this world is fast yet forever love is strong but complex poetry should be short-- we don't have an eternity to read your thoughts keep it simple, just simple

0

Dec 20, 2014

Dec 20, 2014 at 12:02 AM UTC

simple, just simple

this world is fast yet forever love is strong but complex poetry should be short-- we don't have an eternity to read your thoughts keep it simple, just simple

8

it was so sweet of you to show up at my door flowers in your hand heart open, like a sore did it take you a long while to write me that song to paint me a picture with sweet, unspoken words to admit that you were wrong do you expect me fake a smile and listen to your lies while your words twist red like sin intruding the pure, white sky i'd lie, too, and say its fine that i really don't care.. but i can't do that you ******* fool you hurt me all too much i refuse to be your night time secret i will not be your crutch I'm moving on and on you know, i hope you cry tonight and when you call me on the phone i'll laugh right in your ear you ******* fool don't you see? I'm about to disappear...

0

Dec 19, 2014

Dec 19, 2014 at 11:55 PM UTC

sweet lies

it was so sweet of you to show up at my door flowers in your hand heart open, like a sore did it take you a long while to write me that song to paint me a picture with sweet, unspoken words to admit that you were wrong do you expect me fake a smile and listen to your lies while your words twist red like sin intruding the pure, white sky i'd lie, too, and say its fine that i really don't care.. but i can't do that you ******* fool you hurt me all too much i refuse to be your night time secret i will not be your crutch I'm moving on and on you know, i hope you cry tonight and when you call me on the phone i'll laugh right in your ear you ******* fool don't you see? I'm about to disappear...

26

Can I ask you a question? one of life, or maybe living? one that no one has answered that is unforgiving-- why is poetry so ugly? and deep? and complex? Why can't it be simple? and happy? about wildflowers and running through them? and stroking the mane of horses who smile and dance? when a pretty girl appears with tulip scented perfume? and a boy who's madly in love with her green eyes can he pick her up by her waist and hold her close? and whisper serendipity under her twisted brown locks into her small, un-pierced ears? no. he can't just be happy. he can't. why? because humans are a deep, suffering race we are complex no day can simply just be "good" we won't allow it rather, we want to hear about the pain of others death-sufffering-sorrow-sin-sex that is want we want to hear and by doing so we create a life of our own suffering death sorrow sin *** don't ask why we suffer we want it and we want others to, as well but in our destruction we find comfort and manage to live another day anew, fresh with hope for what is to come we still manage to believe that the darkness of the moon will not consume the sun's bright eyes

0

Dec 16, 2014

Dec 16, 2014 at 3:28 PM UTC

Consume

Can I ask you a question? one of life, or maybe living? one that no one has answered that is unforgiving-- why is poetry so ugly? and deep? and complex? Why can't it be simple? and happy? about wildflowers and running through them? and stroking the mane of horses who smile and dance? when a pretty girl appears with tulip scented perfume? and a boy who's madly in love with her green eyes can he pick her up by her waist and hold her close? and whisper serendipity under her twisted brown locks into her small, un-pierced ears? no. he can't just be happy. he can't. why? because humans are a deep, suffering race we are complex no day can simply just be "good" we won't allow it rather, we want to hear about the pain of others death-sufffering-sorrow-sin-sex that is want we want to hear and by doing so we create a life of our own suffering death sorrow sin *** don't ask why we suffer we want it and we want others to, as well but in our destruction we find comfort and manage to live another day anew, fresh with hope for what is to come we still manage to believe that the darkness of the moon will not consume the sun's bright eyes

46

I don’t need to start from the beginning, just where i am at currently the feelings of undesired draw my attention the lack of attention catalyzes my cravings for love, and joy for happiness, simplicity why are people afraid of the cold when i warm myself every day and every night all my life i have been my own blanket i hate the feeling of being less than what happens to the equation that is always less than? i bet negative infinity has a ****** life, maybe we are the same, though. Who is the greatest less than in this universe? What i want is not what wants me, in fact, who, or what, even wants me enough to get me? none. no one. not a single soul has requested my company. I hate it. I'm done with it. My computer erased all of my poetry, and yet i still write it. I still continue to write. a teacher once told me that poetry with darkness was ugly. ugly and undesired. She said that she could be dark all on her own yet i still have yet to see someone who shares my darkness. I am alone, on my own I am my own blanket in the dark.

0

Dec 16, 2014

Dec 16, 2014 at 3:11 PM UTC

Covered

I don’t need to start from the beginning, just where i am at currently the feelings of undesired draw my attention the lack of attention catalyzes my cravings for love, and joy for happiness, simplicity why are people afraid of the cold when i warm myself every day and every night all my life i have been my own blanket i hate the feeling of being less than what happens to the equation that is always less than? i bet negative infinity has a ****** life, maybe we are the same, though. Who is the greatest less than in this universe? What i want is not what wants me, in fact, who, or what, even wants me enough to get me? none. no one. not a single soul has requested my company. I hate it. I'm done with it. My computer erased all of my poetry, and yet i still write it. I still continue to write. a teacher once told me that poetry with darkness was ugly. ugly and undesired. She said that she could be dark all on her own yet i still have yet to see someone who shares my darkness. I am alone, on my own I am my own blanket in the dark.

28