is not to be silent
but to have voices competing
drowning each other out
so that we only hear the words
coming out of our own mouths
it means not to be cold
but to be scorched with the frustration
of being misunderstood
and pushed away
watching as our bridges burn
before they have ever even been built
it means not the darkness
but the light, blinding light
of the stage we stand
where we must deliver our lines
and play our parts eternally
never to remove our masks
it means not to be broken
but not being able to break
even when we want to
always on the verge of crying
we let our eyes swell but never flow
pretending everything's fine
and as i look from eye to eye
i know that i am lonely but not alone
in this cageless prison
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 8:42 AM UTC
I want you to come back,
Miss me like I miss you,
I wish everything falls in place,
Like it was earlier,
Those memories we've had,
Are the best ever,
I keep thinking about,
The days we were together,
All the gifts you gave me,
The cute letters you wrote,
I want you by my side,
I miss the times we spent,
The long phone calls,
Exchanging cute smiles,
I want you to hold my hand,
Kiss my forehead,
And tell me you'll be there,
Forever and Always,
But I just keep hoping,
Even though I know,
We're never getting back.
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 11:45 AM UTC
I just feel so alone,
and it's not that I need someone,
well, it is
but not someone certain,
just someone who will,
give me that love,
I crave,
Anyone.
But I haven't been loved,
for a very long time,
and I realize that I now,
I have shut everybody out,
until there was nobody left,
to love me,
I know now, that I am a human.
that I, too, need a lovers touch,
and kind words,
that I am no different,
that I crave affection.
I don't like being human,
I don't like destroying myself,
I don't know why.
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 11:32 AM UTC
Life is loosely based on losing sight of the silver lining on the cloud,
On trying to hold on to that one distant memory that is slowly slipping away.
It’s based on the challenges that come, and finding their solutions.
Also, it’s based on the days when inspiration is lost, or when you get that one special feeling and try not to lose your hold of it. Eventually, you hope not to be grasping at thin air.
When you find yourself doing this, the thrill you've felt steadily seeps out like a drenched sponge being pressed until dry.
Life is a flower on a continuous cycle: sprouting, growing, blooming, withering, and soundlessly letting go of existence and time on earth, eventually giving way to whatever one believes comes next.
Furthermore, life is loosely based on its connection to death.
l.j.
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 11:20 AM UTC
Are my words not sweet, and
my sentiments not worthy?
Is my smile too dull, or
my thoughts too many?
Is my hair too knotted, or
my eyes too vacant?
Is my smile too worn, or
my heart too withered?
Are my lips too thin, or
my affection too languish?
Is my mind too troubled, or
my personality too difficult?
Am I not lovely enough?
– billiondays
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 11:14 AM UTC
When I think about you, my mind travels to March.
The time when we met under the great marble arch.
I was in college and you were on tour,
As I saw your face, you held an allure.
I remember you smiling and saying hello.
I had nothing to do, and nowhere to go.
We went out for lunch and we watched a movie.
You invited me to go with you shipping at sea.
At the time, it seemed great; living, boating under the sun.
Spur of the moment and amazingly fun.
I jumped at the idea, naught holding me back.
But nothing prepared me for when I heard that hull crack.
We’d been sailing for ages, I was used to this life.
No terror, no worries, no hunger, no strife.
No fear in my mind, only love on the great sea.
When the ship fell apart, I thought I could not breathe.
I heard all the screams, but it seemed too surreal.
I came to my senses and my mind began to reel.
Water washed over me, I clung at driftwood.
I struggled for air as hard as I could.
When I finally surfaced, my heart skipped a beat.
I saw you away from me, maximum thirty feet.
I paddled so madly; I paddled for love.
My heart sank like our ship when you sank from above.
I was going quite crazy; I was hurt, I was damaged.
As the helicopter came, I felt trapped– unable to manage.
My true love was gone; there was no going back.
That nightmare, that sound of that sturdy hull, “CRACK!!”
It is all I am left with. I have nothing more.
My dear, how I miss you. It is you I adore.
I will always love you, as promised in March.
That day I fell in love under the great marble arch.
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 11:17 PM UTC
The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon the cloudy seas
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor
And the highwayman came riding,
Riding, riding,
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.
He'd a French cocked hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin;
They fitted with never a wrinkle; his boots were up to the thigh!
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark innyard,
And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred;
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize tonight,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
Yet if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by the moonlight,
Watch for me by the moonlight,
I'll come to thee by the moonlight, though hell should bar the way.
He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand
But she loosened her hair i' the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(Oh, sweet black waves in the moonlight!)
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.
He did not come at the dawning; he did not come at noon,
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon,
When the road was a gypsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor,
A red-coat troop came marching,
Marching, marching
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.
They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed;
Two of them knelt at the casement, with muskets at their side!
There was death at every window
And hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see, through the casement,
The road that he would ride.
They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest;
They had bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"now keep good watch!" And they kissed her.
She heard the dead man say
"Look for me by the moonlight
Watch for me by the moonlight
I'll come to thee by the moonlight, though hell should bar the way!"
She twisted her hands behind her, but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness and the hours crawled by like years!
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it!
The trigger at least was hers!
Tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs were ringing clear
Tlot-tlot, in the distance! Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding,
Riding, riding!
The red-coats looked to their priming!
She stood up straight and still!
Tlot in the frosty silence! Tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment! She drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
Her musket shattered the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him with her death.
He turned; he spurred to the west; he did not know she stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it; his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.
Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were the spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat,
When they shot him down on the highway,
Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.
Still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon, tossed upon the cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding,
Riding, riding,
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 11:02 PM UTC
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee
Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee,
where the cotton blooms and blows
Why he left his home in the South to roam
'round the Pole, God only knows.
He was always cold but the land of gold
seemed to hold him like a spell;
Though he'd often say in his homely way
that he'd sooner live in Hell.
On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way
over the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold! through the parka's fold
it stabbed like a driven nail.
If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze
till sometimes we couldn't see,
It wasn't much fun, but the only one
to whimper was Sam McGee.
And that very night, as we lay packed tight
in our robes beneath the snow,
And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erhead
were dancing heel and toe,
He turned to me, and "Cap", says he,
"I'll cash in this trip, I guess;
And if I do, I'm asking that you
won't refuse my last request."
Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no;
then he says with a sort of moan,
"It's the cursed cold, and it's got right hold
till I'm chilled clean through to the bone
Yet 'taint being dead-it's my awful dread
of the icy grave that pains;
So I want you to swear that, foul or fair,
you'll cremate my last remains.
A pal's last need is a thing to heed,
so I swore I would not fail;
And we started on at the streak of dawn
but God! he looked ghastly pale.
He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day
of his home in Tennessee;
And before nightfall a corpse was all
that was left of Sam McGee.
There wasn't a breath in that land of death,
and I hurried, horror-driven
With a corpse half hid that I couldn't get rid,
because of a promise given;
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say.
"You may tax your brawn and brains,
But you promised true, and it's up to you
to cremate these last remains".
Now a promise made is a debt unpaid,
and the trail has its own stern code,
In the days to come, though my lips were dumb
in my heart how I cursed that load!
In the long, long night, by the lone firelight,
while the huskies, round in a ring,
Howled out their woes to the homeless snows--
Oh God, how I loathed the thing!
And every day that quiet clay
seemed to heavy and heavier grow;
And on I went, though the dogs were spent
and the grub was getting low.
The trail was bad, and I felt half mad,
but I swore I would not give in;
And I'd often sing to the hateful thing,
and it hearkened with a grin.
Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge,
and a derelict there lay;
It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice
it was called the Alice May,
And I looked at it, and I thought a bit,
and I looked at my frozen chum;
Then "Here", said I, with a sudden cry, "is my
cre-ma-tor-eum"!
Some planks I tore from the cabin floor
and I lit the boiler fire;
Some coal I found that was lying around,
and I heaped the fuel higher;
The flames just soared, and the furnace roared
such a blaze you seldom see,
And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal,
and I stuffed in Sam McGee.
Then I made a hike, for I didn't like
to hear him sizzle so;
And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled,
and the wind began to blow,
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled
down my cheeks, and I don't know why;
And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak
went streaking down the sky.
I do not know how long in the snow
I wrestled with grisly fear;
But the stars came out and they danced about
ere again I ventured near;
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said,
"I'll just take a peep inside.
I guess he's cooked, and it's time I looked".
Then the door I opened wide.
And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm,
in the heart of the furnace roar;
And he wore a smile you could see a mile,
and he said, "Please close that door.
It's fine in here, but I greatly fear
you'll let in the cold and storm--
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee,
it's the first time I've been warm".
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 11:02 PM UTC
I was looking for my Prince Charming;
Believing that he would be there.
Searching for wonderful Charming, to love me and always to care.
I was looking for my beloved Prince Charming, "He's out there!" I would insist.
Then I sat; and I thought; and I realized:
Prince Charmings don't really exist.
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 11:01 PM UTC