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Chase Parrish Mar 2019
Is poetry a way to cope with pain?
My chest throbs dully in low agony.
You see, heartache is a physical thing.
It hurts as if it's any wound to me.
I'm not afraid to state my malady,
Depression is what resides in my brain.

And it's the way it manifests, I hate
In doubting in myself, and what I'm worth
In old memories, losses, things of weight
Frustrations pop and boil as on a hearth
Sometimes I wish for return to the earth,
But I've been down that road, in bitter pace.

       I write, not for the pain, which wont relieve.
       However, when it's shared, it will indeed.
Ok I have something... different to share
The Unnamed Sonnet form is a form I created out of love for the rhyme-scheme of the Italian Sonnet, and for Shakespeare's use of the volta when used in the last couplet. I feel like it's a good deviation from the traditional kinds of sonnets because it fills a needed role. In the Unnamed Sonnet form you have the ability to talk about one idea, in two different ways, and then tie them together at the volta, which because of this will usually end up at the couplet. It is harder to do this in a Shakespearean Sonnet due the theme being carried by three quatrains. Similarly in the Italian Sonnet, the Octave usually controls the theme, then the sestet draws to the conclusion. I feel like two sestets followed by a couplet is a strong way to convey one point in two ways. Or to convey two points, separately, while still drawing a strong conclusion. I will eventually get around to naming it, the name is tied into the first one of it's kind, of which I had to strip it's name.
Would love this critiqued
Chase Parrish Mar 2019
Onward we trudge to Miserthorpe.
On blood soaked dreams to lend support.
Knock-kneed, railing, gasping for breath
We march through the marsh toward our death,
But death will not out soul's escort.

The hordes of the undying court
Will shortly rend our lives cut short.
There is no hope; never the less...
Onward we trudge

Oh, if the past I could abort
I would have strived to build rapport
With that young lass from Watercrest.
My dreams of glory reassessed.
Yet time moves on without distort.
Onward we trudge
This is going to be a part of a collection of poems I call The ****** Journal.
You see my friends and I play a lot of D&D, and we ran a campaign in my friends world where there's this area called the deadlands, and I wanted to tell the story of an unnamed solder having to fight against the evil there. Feel free to drop a critique, as I haven't done too much poetry where I am not the speaker. So this will be kindof new to me.
Chase Parrish Mar 2019
I remember how the sky cried
The mournful day my Nene died.
It sobbed and grieved; thought not prolonged.
Soon sunlight, through the darkness, dawned
As thought the tears had simply dried.

At once I wondered, scornfully, "Why?"
How dare you cease your crying, Sky!
How simply could the world go on?
Then I remembered...

My struggle, isn't her's. It's mine.
I hurt because I'm left behind.
For she, you see, has moved along
A better place she's set-upon.
Therefore, with mourning cast aside,
I'll remember.
A couple of days ago my grandmother on my dad's side passed away, and I wanted to write a poem about it.
Chase Parrish Mar 2019
Tell me why I can't sleep.
I'm staring at my phone,
Draped in darkness, all alone.
Solemn, silent, joy agone;
Sorely sick of feeling nothing.

I can't muster any old ambition.
Time winds down but won't abscission.
Slowly it keeps moving, and yet I'm sitting still.

The happiest I've ever been... about three years ago.
It's cathartic don't you know?
Just to sit back and remember.

Is free verse even poetry?
It's purely unperpetuated,
Obnoxious, and inebriated
Slowly slurring slurries of distinguished eloquence and grace
With no outstanding reason, rhyme, or measure of it's pace.
It's disgusting, and undignified;
An element of haste.

Or am I just upset with all my words that hit the page?
My emotions, things of rage... or longing
My mind feels like a cage.
Oh I just hate feeling this way
And yet I do.

Oh take me back in time
To a world where she was mine
When all my poems weren't so...
Depressing.
This was a poem I wrote a while ago. I hope you like it. I just shaped it up and edited it a bit so I could submit it to a poetry discord i'm a member of. If you have discord and want to check out the server here's a link.
https://discord.gg/HmgMbq7
Chase Parrish Mar 2019
Click-clack clatter claws at the doormat.
Right where our ramada had roofed a small rat.
"What was that?", asked the rat.
Which in fact, twas our cat.
Nearing fast to the rat
Who has asked, "What was that?"
Twas a blur, and a crash,
Then the black flash did slash,
But fell flat.
This was in response to a prompt in a poetry discord i'm in.
'Write a poem that focuses on the sound of the "a" in "hat".'

If you want to check out the discord here's a link!
https://discord.gg/6eSdZjV
Chase Parrish Mar 2019
Have you ever loved, just like me; and lost?
It's been a lifetime since. I shouldn't care.
And yet, bereft of life, in horror's snared,
My heart aches all the same. Could I accost
My heart I would say, "Say, what will it cost?"
"Exhaust this pain! Run out you your despair!"
"I'm tortured in this flame, and quite aware..."
"Like Hell, do you go on, and turn and toss..."

Perhaps that's morbid, terse, or just perverse,
But **** this fool heart for all of this pain.
Sometimes I think it might end with a hearse.
Instead I write poems, till morning, amain.
Lest slip my grip, and lose all that I'm worth.
I hope my dreams bring me no coup de main.
Honestly... I've tried many times to quantify this into a poem, and I still don't think I've done it here. My earlier poem "******* a Poet" was a decent start. This feels kind of forced, but It's 6 am, and I've been up all night... and I wanted to try. Have a nice day to anyone reading this.
Chase Parrish Mar 2019
The clock strikes four and thirty.
My conscious mind is burning.
Startled by some spectral blow it suffered while it slept.

I frightened in it's ending...
The start was all just fine.
It had a couple friends of mine, I'd lost along the line.

It only left me lonely..
I miss the long lost friends of mine
So tell me as the clock strikes four...
Did a nightmare I awake to?
And then my feelings waxed sore?
Or into only? As it left me... wanting; Nothing more.
It's kind-of rough, but of such a fleeting memory as a dream... I suppose it's kind-of fitting.
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