Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
  Oct 22 Ben Jr
Cassia
I can't decide if missing you
Is more painful because
I expect you to be here
Or because I know you won’t be
Du du du...
  Oct 22 Ben Jr
Blckstr
If you could read my mind,
You’d see a thousand papers
Filled with broken poetries
And deadbeat proses
Full of woeful verses
With mournful pieces
Of unfinished stories
That are yet to be written
And failed to be spoken;
If you could read my mind,
You’d hear horrible screams
And earsplitting weeps
From shattered dreams,
Kept in a nasty notepad,
Scribbled on a bed
Of bloodstained words,
Ringing in my head.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see the shadows
That lurk within me;
You’d hear the bellows,
Screeching the words
“I’m tired,”
“I’m a failure,”
“I’m stupid –”
I know it sounds stupid,
It’s pathetically foolish
And seems too *******.
If you could read my mind,
You’d feel the tears
I had ever failed to cry;
You’d see the people
That make the weak weaker;
You’d see the monsters
That consume my head;
You’d hear the hollers
That failed to be freed;
You’d see the heart
That still bleeds and bleeds.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see the face
I’ve failed to show back then,
The face I’ve faked back then.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see a character
I had ever failed to become
If you could read my mind,
You’d be able to read
A book you never wished
To touch and read,
But sometimes I still wish
Someone could read my mind.
  Oct 19 Ben Jr
Midnight Rain
i saw the way
her pupils dilated
when she saw him
again.
like the world
within her eyes obliterated
without even losing
so much as an eyelash.
-M.R.
  Oct 17 Ben Jr
Elle Richard
love is not made of giving and taking in equal parts
it is not a favor for a favor
i owe you nothing

love is not a compromise reached after long deliberation
it is not hurting on Monday
and healing on Tuesday

love is not touching because you will leave if i do not
it is not feigning naivety
when you see me cry

love is not the untimely squandering of innocence
it is not the suffocating grip of guilt
it is not your unwelcome touch

love is not
  Oct 15 Ben Jr
Midnight Rain
years from now,
when the
moon has grown
old.
and your hair
is speckled white
from all the stars that
fell from the night,
i hope you remember me.

a girl, dancing
in a red dress.
kissing the raindrops
as they fell.
and when the night
was halved she'd
write every drop in your
name.

years from now,
when the sun has reached
a little closer,
and you feel its
light throbbing against
your skin,
i hope you remember me.

the way i
stayed up till
4 a.m. counting
the millions and billions
of universes that flickered
awake in your eyes.
and when i tried to reach for them,
i singed a piece of myself.

& how from a distance
i sketched out
the lines of your hand
into mine.

years from now,
when your children ask
you of what love is,
i hope you remember me.

and only me.
The perfumed scent of lilacs,
spills across the room;
Dew-drop eyes flutter slightly,
with an air of confidence.
A lace-edged handkerchief falls softly,
beside her wicker chair.
She moves like a ballerina,
in midst of a graceful dance.

I've seen her in the garden,
while the sun is burning bright;
I've seen her in the moonlight,
kissing lovers a fond goodnight.
She radiates a special warmth,
which flows with easy charm;
And tenderly she crosses the floor,
to grasp her partner's arm.

So rare we see such loveliness,
that speaks to all around;
And when she's finally whisked away,
one dares not utter a sound.
For this fine and delicate lady,
is a vision and delight;
Like embers from the fireplace,
that sparkle through the night.

As if in a dream she signifies,
the ideals of true romance;
The way we'd want ourselves to be,
if we only had the chance !
For Leslie Gayle, RIP !
  Oct 10 Ben Jr
Terry Jordan
The first thinkers were poets
Naming Mother Earth
Beginning symbolic thinking
Of nature, death and birth

Though themes are often repeated
Love, Beauty and God
Poetry in the guise of Religion
A prophet or a fraud

The poet resurrects the Primitive
Through allegory and similes
Disarming the unknown like explorers
Sublime Prophets and Visionaries

They must lay bare those treasured images
That must be expressed
Unraveling and revealing the sounds
At each soul’s behest

Encompassing the entire Cosmos
So lyrical the beat
The poet’s excitement flows outward
Laid at the Reader’s feet

So original, individual
She won’t examine or explain
Letting go the festering feelings
Disturbances in her brain

He exposes his dark, wounded psyche
Just to release and express
Such capacity to see and compare
Hyperbole at its best

I love, I hate, I suffer
A special dance in rhythm and rhyme
The poet as a buffer
Lessening the pain and sting of time

Laden with symbol and feelings
She gives you sweet relief
From something urgent, revealing
Confusion to belief

Through a cinematic kind of seeing
The poet purges to transform
By leaping through Alice’s looking glass
She never was one to conform

Quite intolerant of convention
Just like The Mad Hatter
His passions immune to all logic
In syncopated patter

Jamming up the poet’s mind
Struggling for expression
Seeking order out of chaos
An infantile regression

Cleaving to his imaginary world
The poet breaks out into words
Creating sound paintings to be unfurled
So his own agony is blurred

She succumbs to storms of passion
With instinctive techniques
Rhymes and rhythm still in fashion
Out of hand flows mystique

The poet mines from his unconscious
The Reader is not blind
For every single line and symbol
Means something to the mind

Causing an inner liberation
Enlightenment or flight
It is a matter of life and death
When darkness turns to light.
Been working on this piece for a while; my thoughts on the inner mind of poets.
Next page