Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
The most perfect
eyes are those
of the mind.
We all pray,somehow,someway..
And being prey,we have no option but to pray,somehow,someway,someday.
How sadly the bird
In  his cage
Watches the butterflies
 Dec 2016 Hoping2bhelpfull
Xyns
You thought it would be innocent
Always thought I was heaven-sent
A demon, from Hell I made my ascent
so many ways we play the game
we go astray then we lay the blame
it's our way to weigh the shame
we say we'll change then stay the same

we should hate the game we play
knowing it's just the same we stay
it's our way to feign the way
looking for the place for blame to lay
I tried to use a lot of the same words in each stanza, but switched them around. I might try to use only the same words in each stanza
 Dec 2016 Hoping2bhelpfull
Sam
you can write poetry without being a poet
I feel Bukowski sometimes wrote without knowing how
or why
just because he was Poetry
like how Gogh painted for love
or for his next meal
not for me
not for we
like how an athlete runs for running
and a singer sings for singing
and a sinner sins for sinning
maybe you can't become a poet
it must be in you from the beginning
i'm a disaster you see*,
i am never complete
i sing sad songs on
happy evenings
i write long notes
on busy mornings.

- dysfunctional
Next page