Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 Sep 2017
Rebel Heart
Sometimes,
There's more said
In the
silence
Than in
These broken
*words
I say too much in the silence
Because no matter how hard I try there never will be enough words in the world to describe anything...
 Sep 2017
Rebel Heart
She stitches on
Her collection of plastic smiles
To contrast her sad old soul

For her beauty radiates
Youth and love
While her eyes betray
The demons put on hold

She wears the world's sorrows
As a dazzling gown
With her own monsters
Clasping her feet

Reminding her of the
Skeletons she carries
With every step to the beat

Her eyes swim with horrors
Of the nagging ghosts of the past
But tonight she dances gracefully
Across the floor of glass

And she'll save some words of conversation
For every suitor coming her way

Though all the while she's planning out
How to spill her own red
On her own wonderful gown of grey
To mark Rebel Heart's 100th official poem in this amazing poetry community here's something special: An excerpt of the poetry collection by RH called "The Mysterious Gown of Grey"... it tells a beautifully captivating tale I can't help but imagine being set during the Victorian era in London. This excerpt was part of the first poem of the collection titled 'The First Masked Ball" and follows the story of Victoria, my favorite 'character' in the whole collection...I hope she plans to publish the full poem in the future for it'd be a shame to keep the wonderful words and epic story locked in a word document forever. Until then happy writing ~BM
 Sep 2017
Ian Lewis Copestick
Cheap cans of beer and crap T.V.
Seem to stretch in front of me
My wife's been gone for just six days
With her mother on holiday
I'm already flagging under the pressure
Sinking down into depression
Having nobody to look after
Is making me sink that much faster
Having no money isn't helping me
Beans on toast every night for tea
But it's having no one to talk to
That is really tightening the screws
The shop does 4 cans of beer for two pounds
And I keep on going down
Yes, cheap cans of beer and crap T.V.
Is all that is in front of me
 Aug 2017
Bob B
A heat wave has hit.
While some people are boasting
About their cool air,
In our house we're roasting.

Fans help a little.
But frankly I have found
That all they tend to do
Is blow hot air around.

People say, "Be cool!
No reason to fret."
Easy for them to say.
I hate to sweat!

I have to tell myself
If I'm crabby and terse,
That I should feel lucky.
Things could be much worse.

A wise man once said,
"Here's some food for thought:
When it's cold, be cold;
When it's hot, be hot."

Wise words, I thought.
I'll apply them now,
As I downed my water
And wiped the sweat from my brow.

Still, when winter comes,
I know my thoughts will teeter,
And you'll be sure to find me
Shivering by the heater.

-by Bob B (8-31-17)
 Aug 2017
Rebel Heart
I'm choking
Drowning
Sinking in my own tears
That sting and fall
Down my face...
You may act like a stranger
Or worse, a friend
But my heart still remembers
All the love
All the pain

Your scent still lingers on me
Your touch a phantom on my skin
But my body stays stuck
Frozen in time
As I sense you near me once more

I thought I'd seen you for the last time
So I locked the bittersweet memories
Into a chest and buried it
Into the folds of time...
But one sight of you
And it all crashed open
You destroyed me before
But seeing you again
Shattered me.
The hardest thing is seeing someone you never wanted to see again and pretending it's all okay while breaking apart inside out
 Aug 2017
Book Thief
When was the last time
I felt a raving hunger for life?
When had I but an eternity in moments,
on the edge of something vastly different?

How was it me and not you
who staked her soul high
on rolling hills of green,
took long draughts to savour, to condense
the weight of the world into one precious drink,

cup the shortest days in her palm and release them,
for her thoughts to balloon into the wild?

The delectable now
ripe as berries for plucking in winter,
and all things, like music
must peter
into silence.

So I suppose my question to you
is not concerned with
the stack of newly-minted green in your pocket,
nor the fleet of shiny cars, but
your pure self, simply being.
It’s prodding the heart,
a tiny critter fluttering with wings, wondering:

when will you ever get a second chance at this
all this storm
and inexplicable happiness—

or will you
go hunting for things,
whirling at mere traces
of power in your name—

or will you turn around
only to find a life
or a lie,
staring back wide-eyed
in endless shame?

© BT
Thank you for having patience dear friends! This piece came painfully slowly and I'm not 100% happy with it..but I hope you enjoy! - BT x
Next page