george-maris - Hello Poetry

The disease is spreading No one will be immune The bacterial strain No cure Relationships are infected people are sharing the virus In their beds In their homes In the streets It's communicable The dyeing are unaware The infection Technology grows you can't bury the dead The graveyards are full The disease spreads one to another Society needs no cure unlike the diseases before Death is not painful However,slow.

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Jun 12, 2019

Jun 12, 2019 at 12:33 PM UTC

george-maris

Technology

The disease is spreading No one will be immune The bacterial strain No cure Relationships are infected people are sharing the virus In their beds In their homes In the streets It's communicable The dyeing are unaware The infection Technology grows you can't bury the dead The graveyards are full The disease spreads one to another Society needs no cure unlike the diseases before Death is not painful However,slow.

21

Goblins, gremlins ghosts and more Tricksters and treaters candy allure Parties, parades, dances galore Masks, costumes, gowns to adore. Whatever you do, don't open the door. Happy Halloween

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Oct 31, 2018

Oct 31, 2018 at 2:34 PM UTC

george-maris

Halloween

Goblins, gremlins ghosts and more Tricksters and treaters candy allure Parties, parades, dances galore Masks, costumes, gowns to adore. Whatever you do, don't open the door. Happy Halloween

8

I'm lost in the heap of the unfound. Tossed away, as an old garment. Within me, there's an untold story. While I lived and listened to you Never surrendering my own misfortunes. Castaway in some box, or clutter. Never being told. My silence grows. In time, I will not be remembered. Just an old story. Another tale. Once vibrant and compassionate. Heart strong and mighty. Now frail to another. Just another lost manuscript never to be read. Thrown away. A journal of a lifetime. George Maris

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Aug 22, 2018

Aug 22, 2018 at 8:55 AM UTC

george-maris

Lost Manuscript

I'm lost in the heap of the unfound. Tossed away, as an old garment. Within me, there's an untold story. While I lived and listened to you Never surrendering my own misfortunes. Castaway in some box, or clutter. Never being told. My silence grows. In time, I will not be remembered. Just an old story. Another tale. Once vibrant and compassionate. Heart strong and mighty. Now frail to another. Just another lost manuscript never to be read. Thrown away. A journal of a lifetime. George Maris

18

“The fault lies within ourselves” The tearing down of a person A breaking of the Spirit The ruining of self Infliction by other person’s words Growing up among the abandoned buildings Once thriving with production They became empty The soul seen through broken windows Cold and damp Waiting to be torn down Stripped of its resources for pennies. Until there’s nothing left An empty shell Set it a blaze Until it’s nothing but ash. Then cry over the empty space Remember it when it was a productive enterprise Forgetting about the time it was empty,

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Jun 28, 2018

Jun 28, 2018 at 11:55 AM UTC

george-maris

Rubble and Decay

“The fault lies within ourselves” The tearing down of a person A breaking of the Spirit The ruining of self Infliction by other person’s words Growing up among the abandoned buildings Once thriving with production They became empty The soul seen through broken windows Cold and damp Waiting to be torn down Stripped of its resources for pennies. Until there’s nothing left An empty shell Set it a blaze Until it’s nothing but ash. Then cry over the empty space Remember it when it was a productive enterprise Forgetting about the time it was empty,

19

Chained to these walls I can see only the shadows The fire gives light to these dark silhouettes I call them by their names Puppets, people, or books. They're my company and must be real. I perceive only what I see. Silhouettes and shadows that are real to me. I force myself to turn My shackles are tight I embrace the company of my companions Puppets, people, and books. I know them by no other names. Inspired by The Allegory of The Cave

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Mar 28, 2017

Mar 28, 2017 at 11:49 AM UTC

george-maris

Poem Imprisoned by Reflection

Chained to these walls I can see only the shadows The fire gives light to these dark silhouettes I call them by their names Puppets, people, or books. They're my company and must be real. I perceive only what I see. Silhouettes and shadows that are real to me. I force myself to turn My shackles are tight I embrace the company of my companions Puppets, people, and books. I know them by no other names. Inspired by The Allegory of The Cave

14

I can't see in this smoke filled room Only shadows Lifeless forms, standing like wallflowers It's quite I stare and they stare back I'm in a portrait painted in smoke and dust. Surrounded by lifeless people It's in my head. Formed by my imagination I sit and wait Until the smoke clears The dust is gone

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Feb 14, 2016

Feb 14, 2016 at 4:14 PM UTC

george-maris

Smoke Filled Room

I can't see in this smoke filled room Only shadows Lifeless forms, standing like wallflowers It's quite I stare and they stare back I'm in a portrait painted in smoke and dust. Surrounded by lifeless people It's in my head. Formed by my imagination I sit and wait Until the smoke clears The dust is gone

12

I've waited for the knock on the door. I could hear the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. I'm awakened in the night by the sound of screams They're coming from the next room. Hollering my name. I feel its presence getting closer. My cries cannot be heard over its sound. It's ruthless in pursuing me. Like an officer pursuing a criminal. My determination weakens. I give in to its capture. embracing eternity. Forever singing, fearing no more.

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Aug 11, 2015

Aug 11, 2015 at 9:12 PM UTC

george-maris

Death

I've waited for the knock on the door. I could hear the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. I'm awakened in the night by the sound of screams They're coming from the next room. Hollering my name. I feel its presence getting closer. My cries cannot be heard over its sound. It's ruthless in pursuing me. Like an officer pursuing a criminal. My determination weakens. I give in to its capture. embracing eternity. Forever singing, fearing no more.

13

My window is open and all I can hear are those birds. Chirping, chirping away. It never stops. I find myself mimicking their sounds. Like a broken record, stuck in my head. I turn the window fan on to drown out their noise. I still hear them, chirping. They are stuck in my head. I close the window of my smoke filled room. Puffing another cigarette in quite. Until I open the window again, I can't get them out of my head. So, I smoke and the fan drowns out their noise. My room is clear of smoke, but filled with birds.

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Jun 12, 2015

Jun 12, 2015 at 7:24 PM UTC

george-maris

Open Window

My window is open and all I can hear are those birds. Chirping, chirping away. It never stops. I find myself mimicking their sounds. Like a broken record, stuck in my head. I turn the window fan on to drown out their noise. I still hear them, chirping. They are stuck in my head. I close the window of my smoke filled room. Puffing another cigarette in quite. Until I open the window again, I can't get them out of my head. So, I smoke and the fan drowns out their noise. My room is clear of smoke, but filled with birds.

14

Yesterday passed. We can't take it back. Should it be questioned what favor was gained or lost. It's in some dark corner of the room hiding. in its arms are the things we did. Mothering it. keeping it safe from those who want it back. It's safety is among the crowded space of other days. The day's that were lost. Behind, clothed in shrouds, It only wants to be left alone. Free from being jailed. It shivers in fear from escaping the hangman. The subpoena for testimony. Being called as a witness. Yesterday has become a fugitive on the run.

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Jun 11, 2015

Jun 11, 2015 at 2:24 PM UTC

george-maris

Yesterday

Yesterday passed. We can't take it back. Should it be questioned what favor was gained or lost. It's in some dark corner of the room hiding. in its arms are the things we did. Mothering it. keeping it safe from those who want it back. It's safety is among the crowded space of other days. The day's that were lost. Behind, clothed in shrouds, It only wants to be left alone. Free from being jailed. It shivers in fear from escaping the hangman. The subpoena for testimony. Being called as a witness. Yesterday has become a fugitive on the run.

17

I am bound by every bone. By blood. Captured in my mind, is your beauty. You are loved more than love itself. More than life. The peace I feel when I'm with you suffocates all my fears. No one can replace your touch. Your smile, You I love. I've watched you for a lifetime. I've felt your pain and suffering. I've shared in your laughter. I watched when you mourned. laugh with me. Cry with me, Bring me to my knees. I beg you. I love you. If only I loved you as I love you now. For you are me. Self love.

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Jun 11, 2014

Jun 11, 2014 at 10:36 AM UTC

george-maris

True Love

I am bound by every bone. By blood. Captured in my mind, is your beauty. You are loved more than love itself. More than life. The peace I feel when I'm with you suffocates all my fears. No one can replace your touch. Your smile, You I love. I've watched you for a lifetime. I've felt your pain and suffering. I've shared in your laughter. I watched when you mourned. laugh with me. Cry with me, Bring me to my knees. I beg you. I love you. If only I loved you as I love you now. For you are me. Self love.

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