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 Mar 2015
Sally A Bayan
I
felt
maybe
I had lost
you, the very
same  time  your
messages vanished.
T'was like an O M E N,
that very same time...you
d i s a p p e a r e d,  without
a word. .........How do i tell you,
better i lost you, now...f o r e v e r 
how do i tell you...............never come
back to me----now, later, just stay away 
FOREVER.......Stop these  sLOw   moving 
moments.........I don't need more tormenting 
thoughts................no more strain, no more pain 
for my bleeding....broken heart..........pinned down
lower, by your COLD SILENCE, and INDIFFERENCE.
How do I tell you...............................I'll be fine without you?

Sally

Copyright  2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
 Mar 2015
Willow-Anne
When fighting with depression
One waits for their mental shift
The magical moment when it is over
And their mood begins to lift

Sometimes along recovery road
You find a mental shift that's fake
It doesn't last for very long though
Sadness sneaks back in just like a snake.

I do not suffer from depression
But I do have my own traumas
I want to stay in bed forever
And never change out of the pajamas

I fight to put them behind me
In whatever way I can
Sometimes I think that I've moved on
But find I'm right back where I began

It's like wandering through a forest
But in the middle of the night
With a map I cannot read
And a tiny broken light

I know there is a way out
But I just can't seem to find it
And sometimes I think I see a light
But then fall into a tar pit

After years in the dark forest
After trudging through so much tar
I thought that I was finally free
And could follow the light of a star

That star was my false shift
For I am still fighting like hell to cope
I am still wandering in a never-ending forest
But I might have a tiny glimmer of hope
The writer's block is strong with this one.
I've been really in the mood to write lately...but haven't really had much time or inspiration.
Anyways, I guess this goes to show you can't force poetry......the result is a bunch of REALLY WEIRD metaphors....Like...honestly..I don't know where my mind is right now. I am so sorry. But oh well...I tried, and I wrote, and I feel better :P And that is the best I can do/ask for right now. <3
Just a little side note though, I am working on a new (pretty dang long) piece though that I'm hoping to share with y'all soon :)
 Mar 2015
The Masked Sleepyz
His keyboard destroyed the sidewalk,
Left ideological lines of chalk,
Deciding to discover the one true song,
That makes every soul smile,
He travels from east to west,
Talking with the worst,
And the best,
Doing ******* with drummers,
That are due on stage,
Asking them what song is a miracle?
Then writing them on beer stained pages,
The sumo while singing did that,
He bought the beer,
And they only talked in song,
(they didn't know what they had said till the morning)
He searched through the gutters,
And every disco he was there,
Asking freaks and cutters,
Never finding the one song,
It's been a while since he was home,
How long?
The haze of yesterday's drugs and memories that don't belong to him,
But the search continues,
He ends up learning it all, folk, techno, and blues,
It was in Reno when he said the wrong words,
And a man shot him,
Just to watch him die,
He got to see,
That his dream will never be,
It's not exactly the end,
As time began to bend,
A door that opens to,
Millions of record players,
In layers,
by the billions,
A familiar tune begins to play,
The best song.
I'm thinking aboot tweaking the ending, what do you think dear reader?
 Mar 2015
Poetic T
Wisdom Is that which
Is only learnt from ones
Mistakes.

For we must always
Learn to adapt to that
Which was wrong, and
Make it right.

If we repeat what was
Mirrored from past errors,
Then no wisdom is gained
Only foolishness repeated
Over and over again.
Could this inspire a poem from yourself the reader? if so write and I shall read.
 Mar 2015
Poetic T
Let those that shoot for fun be
The hunted, let us shoot them not
A death shot, that would be a hunt
Over to soon where is the fun.
  
It will do as they bleed to death, not
Knowing why, or by who, but the last
Breath is of blood and regret this is
Not fun.  

Let those that hunt in the name of
fun, let us get are arrows our rifles,
Teeth or guns.

Watch them run, through the woods
As they know now what they did to
those defenceless ones, now coming
Full circle Watch,
"BANG"
Missed, plenty of ammo left, its just
The start of this fun.

The trail we take, we find are prey
scope to the eye,
"BANG"
Grazed is this hunter become the hunted
O'well they,ll bleed out a little easier
To hunt my prey.
  
Blood drops easy to follow to find
Where you have gone, injured you
Are slower no where to run.

Easy when they can not run, I find
You slumped next to a tree,
Screaming,
Pleading,
Shouting
Out profanities, why me what have I done,
I smile this is an easy ****, as the lion roars
Rips out your throat the deed is done.

The hunt over I did make it quick you
Died in minutes, now feel the pain of
Those you used to hunt to die alone,
To choke on your own blood
Nothing did the animals do,
They did nothing wrong
Just on the wrong side of an idiots
Power trip with a loaded gun.
 Mar 2015
Poetic T
And all lips were sewn
So that the word was
Never spoken, not uttered
Under darkened breath.
Whispers were its key
And that lock was now shut.

For with out word what can
Spread it lies upon the listening
World, all was silent, mumbling
Echoes of a now restrained voice.

Evil is one word, its is four letters
Two Syllable that can spread, but
Now it is unspeaking, rejoice knowing  
That words are sealed. Kept from
The ears of those susceptible
To the whispers of corruption.
Of moments clouded, but a single
Now forever sewn closed *words.
 Mar 2015
Marian
There once was a beautiful girl
Who had a habit of looking straight ahead
Whenever she was out on a walk
And she'd happen to miss whatever
Was at her feet
And there was also another girl
Who was considered ugly and plump
Who always looked down at her feet
Whenever she was walking
Due to depression
One day she saw something
At her feet that lifted her spirits:
A one million dollar bill
And so she went home happy

*~Marian~
We can all learn something from this!!! ;) ~~~~~<3
This was inspired by a conversation with my dad...
He told me that my great-grandfather used to say:
"Don't always look straight ahead
Coz you might miss something at your feet"!!!
Just thought I needed to share this with y'all!!! :) ~~~~<3
Have a nice day, each of you who read this!!! ~~~~~<3
 Mar 2015
Tryst
Hair nets and hand-me-downs,
Striped garb with strings
Wise men in scrubbing gowns,
Angels with wings

Pin ****** and pressure cuff,
Disarming chat
Face mask and gassy stuff,
Drugs by the vat

Dull aches like bicycles
Peddling up lanes,
Cold streaks like icicles
Rush through the veins,

Laid back and lazily
Watching the dance,
Head floating hazily
Into a trance

Woozily waking up,
Wobbly and drunk
Water to sip and sup,
Memories sunk

Balance returning when
Loved ones are phoned,
Recovery over, then
Time to go home
A big thanks to staff at the Hobart Day Surgery for making the experience of my first general anaesthetic as comfortable as possible.

First published 12th March 2015, 05:50 AEST.
 Mar 2015
RW Dennen
People of peace walk gently
People of strength never to be stilled
Abundance awaits you with courage

RW Dennen-

Came the Black voting rights march into Selma, Sunday
1965...

And being gathered in prayer before crossing, you soon felt smashing upon your body as blood seeped down your face
on a Sunday and the initial retreat too too much to remember:
About dogs and billy clubs; about fire hoses ready and that very bridge, later will carry hearts of conscience all in the great name
of the American ballot box

Today, I say hail for the slain and hurt of the historical past; I say hail to both black and white
brothers and sisters once endowed with bravery embued with inalienable rights

Hang strong my true people of the bridge
Hang strong for that greater bridge that bridges into dignity of today
Hang strong and hold dear to your hearts "The Sunday Selma legacy"
and  "The spirit of the Edmund Pettus Bridge"
In 1965 on a Sunday these brave souls of different religions and races
marched for black equal voting rights only to be met with bone crushing resistance.
Today these rights must be restored for a more perfect union
 Mar 2015
daniela
if i stopped eating
people would compliment me
on how thin i am
and when they saw the bruises
they pressed their mouths
shut tight
and just joked about
how clumsy i could be
with their easily uneasy smiles.
i don’t know if they
just didn’t see
or if they just weren’t
looking.
introducing him
to my friends was like
living in a ****** part of town,
having someone over
and hearing the racket of gunfire
outside of your window
and then having them say to you,
“oh, listen,
you can hear the fireworks
from here!”
and being too embarrassed
to correct them.
so maybe i’m not sure
if i believe in fireworks;
bombs are too often
mistaken for them.
but i can distinguish the difference
now, i can, and i will not
teach my daughters that when
he pushes you down in the dirt
and pulls on your pigtails
it’s because he likes you.
because when i covered up
those bruises on my body
in too-light concealer
like i’d never learned how to cover up
love-bites and tired eyes,
there was a voice in the back of
my mind that was telling me
that he only pushed me
down because he loved me.
i do not want a voice
inside my daughter’s heads
that sounds like me,
telling them that they deserve
their split lips.
i will tell my daughters to wear
boxing gloves over their manicures,
i will tell my daughters that
“love” is not an excuse,
i will tell my daughters that no one
is allowed to give you
a black eye and expect you
not to punch back harder,
i will tell my daughters
that you are not weak for getting hurt
because the weak ones
are those who let their anger
and insecurities
manifest themselves
in fists and words.
i will tell my daughters
the difference between bombs and fireworks,
i will tell them that they may sound
the same sometimes,
but fireworks don't ****
innocence.
 Mar 2015
Joseph Schneider
The day a man quits
on his path to the top

Is the day he dies.

-Joseph B Schneider
© Joseph B Schneider. All rights reserved
"The top" can mean many things. Remember "The two most important days in your life are the day you are born and the day you find out why." The man dies when he loses his "why" factor.
 Mar 2015
Hi It's Haliyah
Fog
Fog does not crawl
Like people do
He doesn't beg on hand and knee

Fog does not conceal
What is looming there
He just let's it disappear

Fog does not revive
The demons and the dead
He just pulls them from your head
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