Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Jun 2015
NV
this is not a poem
          
          

                       *just a mere


image
consisting of

                                         straight lines
and curves
 Jun 2015
NV
within a prison-like classroom.
i learnt the writer used
"i "
to express his or her's feeling of unimportance.


i promise you.
i've been texting my i's in lowercase letters ever since.
 Jun 2015
NV
THE EXCUSE USED WAS THAT I HAD
WRITER'S BLOCK.

UNTIL I STARTED BEING HONEST
WITH MYSELF,

AND ADMITTED I WAS TERRIFIED
OF CREATING SOMETHING THAT
PEOPLE WOULDN'T LIKE.

I WAS TERRIFIED OF NOT BEING ENOUGH,

EVEN FOR MYSELF.
 Jun 2015
NV
why, what's wrong?*

sometimes everything, sometimes nothing, sometimes i don't even know.  

depression shows up uninvited and makes a home in my chest.
 Jun 2015
NV
SWEETHEART,

FOR SOME,
LOVE IS THE CURE.

AND

FOR SOME,
LOVE IS THE DISEASE.
 Jun 2015
Ray
It fills me up with fury
A cold and silent rage
That spills out only from my eyes
And now onto this page

The anger is not because of her
Nor is it because of you
It's simply because you have a past
That makes the hate seep through

I should look at the present
And the future we have ahead
Forget the ghosts we both have
Dwell on us instead
 Jun 2015
witchy woman
honey suckle, babies breath
rosy buds of lifes breast
the sky is blind
the sea is deaf
together, they are
at their best.

evergreens, palm trees
they all look
the same to me
through wind they speak
and sap they bleed
always in beautiful simplicity.

as children get older,
teenagers- they grow colder
she needs a man
at night to hold her
keep her warm

and he, though strong
is weakened from
the long endless nights
where everything broke,
shattered, disintegrated
gone

he needs her gentle touch
to tickle his skin,
fill all the holes
gaping within

just as the sea and sky
and trees laughing in the wind
he needs her
and she needs him.
We all need something
 Jun 2015
Miranda Renea
It's when the sun shines
Through the trees and
Everything seems as if;
We dread death as if;
Where the light does
Touch is magick, but
We must never forget
The spaces in between
Are forever the reason
We have even seen.
 Jun 2015
Sabbathius
There he falls to his knees
Stung by a thousand bees
Close to his dying wife
Slowly draining of life

“No! This cannot take place!
Right here in my embrace,
My beloved soon dead!
Oh Lord, take me instead!”

“Cease all the liquid flow
And shine thy holy glow
Gently upon her spirit
She’s almost at her limit!”

From out of smoke and fire
Appears a spectre liar
To bring a twisted deal
That only blood may seal

“But what explains thy presence!?
To carry out her sentence!?
Wert thou sent by my lord!?
I’ll strike thee with my sword!”

His blade is raised but stilled
The eyelids as if peeled
Limbs paralyzed in terror
‘Twas that an awful error!?

‘Tis the odd spectre’s hold
On his form now so cold
Approaching the young girl
His words, start to unfurl:

“Of her I shall take care
If only wouldst thou dare
To grant to my possesion
Assets, for my collection”

“For riddles I care not!
Of those I’ve heard a lot!
What could someone like thee
Do now, to set her free!?”

Raising arms high above
It starts to cure his love
Making it seem so true
But stopping half-way through

“Thou art a seraph, right?
Please, bless her with thy light!
Please, what desirest thee?
Take anything from me!”

“To make her again whole
Requires thy own soul
It will suffice to mend
The wounds of a dear friend”

“Well, If it must be so
As I won’t let her go
My essence may fill hers
Seems like that she concurs”

Their fate was swiftly sealed
Turns out she was not healed
Both meant for hell’s inclusion
‘Twas all just an illusion


*The Promise Of Hell by João Massada is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
That was surely my longest write until today, and one I'm very proud of, still can't believe I wrote it xD
 Jun 2015
Ignatius Hosiana
Their voices echo along the threads of time
I read their works on tattered pages
They say their words did but rhyme
Their's were for inspiration,not wages
They told stories like real witnesses
Of agonizing times and sicknesses
The soldiers of their sweet narrations
They say rode on horses of generations
Triumphant over the trend, glorious
Shooting arrows past lineages,like warriors
They fought against pride and Prejudice
Across boundaries, winged like Pegasus
They flew to bring merit of words and lines
And stood the test of time like wild pines  
They used sharp words instead of swords
Only received rejection ,sometimes nods
Walked long distances,endured perspiration
Sleepless ,so to cultivate some inspiration
They were young but with mature souls
Their relentless effort vividly like Moles
Burrowed through even hardened hearts
And with needles of kindness stitched cuts
Finely weaved justice on paper like Mats
And spread it for the world,across all parts
When speech was hated and persecuted
They stood strong and instead recruited
The course of changes threatened to slay
Erosion corroded letters worse than clay
Their beautiful hearts where kindness lay
Were battered and butchered causing hope to decay
A season came when all was but a lost cause
And were tales of how once upon a time it was
Yet again like a phoenix someday they rose
From the ashes of history, how? Nobody knows
They were stronger and mightier than mortals
And travelled through un fathomed portals
They built a very powerful mental kingdom
Above the prestigious tower of wisdom
Where they reigned like the fires on doom at Mordor
Freed so many prisoners of their situations
Across the entire universe and her nations
Gave them keys so they unlock more doors
Stanzas crawled like maggots across all avenues
With mixed feelings the world received the news
Though were skewed to embracing the return
Because for once they saw a flame of peace burn
Their tears were wiped by every piece they read
Poets let them realize war wasn't only in their head
Reason flowed like waters in fountains and streams
Readers believed once again in their dreams
And like poetry and poets they didn't sit back and cry
Every poem they read,sad or not told them to get up and try
And when they finally got victory over their inner strife
Not even once did they forget poems changed their life
Don't know why I wrote this one, just bumped in my head
 Jun 2015
Mohd Arshad
Poet
Is
A
Sculptor
Of
Words!
Notes (optional)
Next page