Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Clueless Mar 2019
Society is formed by people,
Life is created by men,
Our whole world molded like clay.

Everthing in life is artificial,
Man made.
Including all the problems in life.
All my physical needs are met, but I cannot live a perfect life.
For the synthetic issues prevent an ideal life.

Rules, economics, employers, teachers, politicians are the sculptors.
And everyone else is stuck in their clay prison.
It is soft at first,  
But soon begin to harden.
Trapping all who are inside
Allowing the artists to inflict their will.

I only wish to break out of this clay prison
With its red walls,
Stale air,
And twisted guards.
I wish to be free from these adobe restraints.

I would like a world where I am my own clay sculptor,
So I can create my own life and be free from all my unnatural problems.
Most issues are created by men,
Not nature.
Just some late night, sleepless thoughts
Clueless Mar 2019
It starts with a seed of an idea.

The vine begins to grow from nothing,
Just like the thought in my mind coming from nowhere.

The seed of an idea sprouts,
It grows,
Thoughts make their way onto my paper.

Words are now developing,
The vines grow longer,
The idea becomes stronger,
The stanzas get longer.

The vines are now growing exponentially,
It seems to never stop,
It seems to come from no where,
Thoughts are the fuel,
And inspiration drives the growth.

Leaves sprout from the trunk,
They begin to cover everthing,
My vines of words begin to cover the page,
It grows and grows,
Enveloping everthing,
Until it reaches its longest length.

The vines are now stop growing,
It starts to retreat now,
The leaves turn brown,
Then fall.

The trunk is getting weaker,
As my mind begins to stall,
My thoughts cannot keep pace,
Everything winds down.

The trunk thins,
The vine recedes,
My thought decays.

Soon the trunk dies too,
There is nothing left.

My vines are gone along with my mind.
Just a way to describe all my poem writing processes. Whenever I write the words I use seem to sprout from nothing and rise to great lengths and than fall until my mind is blank.
I wrote this starting with 1 line in the first stanza then 2 in the next increasing up to 6 lines. After that, the stanzas retreat back down to 1 line. This is to show the rise and fall of my "vines." Hope you enjoy, any constructive criticism is always welcomed.
Clueless Mar 2019
Death is nothing at all. 
It does not count. 
It is just a doorway from one room to another,
Merely just a slip to the next room.

Everything is the same from as it was,
The next room is no different from the last.
Relationships will always last through death,
For nothing can prevent love.

Call him by his old familiar name,
Speak about him in the easy way you used to do.
Put no difference into your tone,
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.

Life means all that it ever meant. 
It is the same as it ever was. 
There is absolute and unbroken continuity. 
What is this death but a negligible accident?

So, never keep him out of mind or of sight.
All is well. 
Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost. 
One brief moment and all will be as it was before. 
He'll be waiting in the other room for you.
Clueless Feb 2019
My thoughts are a wildfire,
My mind the forest,
And sleep the water.

But there is no source of water in sight.
Clueless Feb 2019
It has been awhile since I've felt your icy grip.
It clenches and swirls
Twisting in my chest
Until theres nothing left.

He rots and corrodes
My mind.
Poisons my happiness and steals my joy.
He is a friend I am to familiar with
And wish he would leave.

But he is a part of me I can never truly get rid of,
For he always lingers
In the back of my head.
Ready to show himself again.

His name is loneliness
And he never leaves me alone.
Clueless Jan 2019
I reach out for her
But I can not feel her touch
For she is not here
Next page