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30.7k · Jul 2014
Eyes (10W)
Steele Jul 2014
They                                                             ­                     They
   say  that  the  eyes                                  say  that  the  eyes
    are                the soul                         are                the soul
        windows to                                          windows to
I dunno if this qualifies, but I'll play along as best I can.
15.7k · Mar 2015
Smoke and Cyanide
Steele Mar 2015
Blades of smoke pass through my hair,
Cutting; oxidising; as the smoke is slowly rising
through the tower of my power as I vainly gasp for air.

Cyanide, it seems, can comfort me a while,
as I'm breathing; screaming and repeating
smoky words into the floor's mute bathroom tile.

But my power is all gone; all wrong.
Oxidise: Cyanide.
Once more into my lungs.
I've been quitting about a month now, and **** is it hard. It shouldn't still be this hard, right? Jesus.
13.3k · Jun 2015
00111010 00101001 00100000
Steele Jun 2015
There are 10 kinds of people in this world,
and binary accounts for them all.

They're happy and sad.
They're ones and zeros.
Villains and heroes.
Villains, yet not all bad.
Despite everything life decides to hurl;
Despite every brick ball of fear
Through the stained glass windows of their minds,
Through it all, they survive.
They're angry and glad.
They're happy and sad.

And in their duality, they're still smiling there
at your sharp hasty words
at your venomous hurt
that you wish so desperately they, too, shared.
Love thy enemy.

Special thanks to Kelley A Vinal for the binary inspiration. You can read her poetry here: http://hellopoetry.com/kelley-a-vinal/

It's pretty solid.

Edit: Holy Daily, Batman! Wow, I'm so honored. Glad you all like it so much! :D
Steele Sep 2014
Am I looking for love in Alderaan places?
Most of my SerenityXEnterprise ship jokes go over her head.
I feel like a John Cusack boombox blaring out nineties-age spaces.
Like a comedy no one's heard of, I'm Better Off Dead
without the love I'm not sure that I can find because then is it
really possible to find The One like Neo? (Haha. Get it?)
Like (p+l)(a+n)=pa+pn+la+ln, (Okay, Deep Breath) the universe is trying
so hard to foil my love PLAN. (That one was ******, but the best I can present)
I know you'll be saying "I told you so" when
I realize the narrow parameters of my search are a little naive,
but don't say I'm the Average because that's just Mean!
My love is like Ash Ketchum; I need it to be the very best.
My love is like Ariel; If I leave you I wanna know I'll be mist!
I just needed to pull a Sasha Grey and get it off (on) my chest,
I've already got my music, rhymes, and make-up. Give me the Kiss.
This basically captures my personality more than a Master-ball on a Mew.
(Okay. I'll stop.)
7.5k · Nov 2014
The Queen's Joust
Steele Nov 2014
She doesn't own a mirror.

Confirmation of her beauty comes from those around her at all times.
Fawning fools adore,
jealous sisters abhor,
but all notice the shine of her hair, the tilt of her lips.

She does not dance.

Her steps lead, and dancers follow with no reasons nor rhymes. They cry:
"Lead me not into temptation",
but in her ministrations,
they ache and beg for her glance, their hearts in her grips.

She does not care for suitors.

Her heart was long ago dulled by the fencing blades of admirers. And yet I
if honest, must admit
that it is a careless abandon, devoid of wit
that begs me join her jousters in mock combat for the privilege of her kiss.

What a porcelain fool, she, to inspire such a heartfelt, bloodtaxed roust.
What sorrier the fool, me, to join in such a sure dealt, unasked joust.
I find it funny (in my black humor) that so many chase one who only wishes to be left in peace, myself included. Beauty is often a curse.
6.8k · Apr 2015
Longing (Haiku)
Steele Apr 2015
Enshrouded in mist,
far flung shores requite nothing.
Lonely eyes watch hushed.
6.7k · Nov 2015
Fiddles and Violins
Steele Nov 2015
My caressing hands have stopped trying to tame the strings.
They move now more to harmony than to melodious things.
Brassy bands, drunk sailors and the sound of laughter.
The D string, the rough bar-stool clamp and clatter.
The sound of voices, raucous and hoarse with song.
The sound of voices, laughing as they all yell along.

It's a barstool anthem;
It's great and it's loud.
There're no classics here...
but Bach would be proud.
I've recently let go of my classical training (just a little bit) in favor of jigs.
Boston is a magical city, and it has pubs and sessions and fiddlers to rival any other city I know. Immensely enjoying my stay here, and immensely looking forward to the day I return. Tonight I raise a cold one to great performers, and an even better audience. So happy.
6.6k · Jan 2015
Notice Me
Steele Jan 2015
My friend Amelia (real name, of course, redacted)
is something of a pained Ophelia.
The play's the thing, the part brilliantly acted;
She stands alone by Hamlet's side,
She sighs and moans and pouts and pines,
and waits for him to be attracted.

But Hamlet I know; He's a friend of mine,
and for her heart, he doesn't pine. He's out to solve his father's ******;
Let him go, Ophelia. It's all right. He won't be dissuaded by your ardour;
your love won't keep him long distracted.

Senpai; My Liege; it all rings far more familiar than it aught.
"Notice me!"
"Notice me!"
or then again...
                           not.
6.3k · Dec 2014
First Dates
Steele Dec 2014
F**k butterflies, my stomach has birds in it.
My body's shaking, my heart is racing, my pulse is high.
You're gorgeous, and I woke up this morning with a zit.
How'd a girl like you settle for a "me" kind of guy?

I'm usually witty, but my words don't work well for this.
It's just that you're so pretty, you make my knees weak!
At the end of the date, my pulse hit five-fifty.
I realize it's lame that I asked for permission before we kissed...
I was just trying to take the time to aim for your lips.
See, the funny part is...

                                       I was afraid I might miss.
Butterflies in your stomach is a good thing, right?
6.2k · Dec 2014
Running in the Rain
Steele Dec 2014
For my morning run, it rains again.
I run into town every morning anyway.
Some day they'll be flooding, I think, when
the rain realizes it won't stop my foray.
Oddly, no one in this town would blame me then.
I think that's what keeps me on my merry way.

It's hard to step out of my sunny shell, and let the rain soak my hide.
Yet I'll keep smiling when it rains; that means once again I made it outside.
Introverts gonna introvert, yo. #dealwithit
5.6k · Feb 2015
Camp-fire Talks
Steele Feb 2015
And the fire burns cold."

"What?" He whispered, eyes wide.
"It's true," She whispered. She cried. She shivered.
"There's no warmth by the fire's side."

"I'm the fire." He murmurs.
"Yes." She replies.
5.2k · Feb 2015
A Valentines Poem
Steele Feb 2015
Violets are purple, and roses are red.
Because romance and the color blue are somehow different tonight.
On this one day of the year, the refractions of light
aren't bent to the left, romance just tends to mess with our heads.
So, what I'm saying is, this year let's just watch Netflix instead.
Because why be blue on Valentines day, amirite?
Someone asked me for a Valentines poem.
5.2k · Jan 2015
Cinderella
Steele Jan 2015
I was thirteen when I broke my wrist for the first time,
Miming Cinderella Man's fists as they jabbed faster than jets through the sky.
He was blue collar, blue jeans, blue bruises and blue eyes;
Waiting for his chance, and then taking it by the blind-side,
He taught me the meaning of a left hook to life and coming back from behind.
I was raised on Cinderella.

She was thirteen when daddy read her the tale that first time,
and she grew up wishing to be Cinderella, miming her words and her stride,
She wore blue dresses, smoked blue crystals, cried blue tears with blue eyes;
Waiting to be saved by a prince with blood bluer than money could buy,
Cinderella taught her to sit back and wait for her princely perfect guy,
She was raised on Cinderella.

We were raised on Cinderella,
We were twenty and change when we locked blue and green eyes,
Mine had darkened to green by that eye-locking time,
Life tends to darken things; It's just how it goes, and when mine
took that hue, things were no longer so blue.
Because even though we were both raised on Cinderella,
Princesses and Paupers don't find love; When they do it isn't "true"
Because no blue crystal smoked could cloak the pain and disguise;
No fairytale magic can hold back real tears from real eyes.
My Cinderella was a prize fighter;
Her Cinderella was the prize,
but the stories are different, and in the end, both are lies.
To this day, I remember your eyes, and the memory brings back only love and heartbreak. We weren't meant to be, and I stand by my words when we went our separate ways. Love isn't a fairy tale. I'm not prince charming, and your princess belongs in another castle. I hope you find him one day.
5.1k · Feb 2015
Online Dating
Steele Feb 2015
I feel bad for women who date online.
There are good men in this world, I swear.
Not every man who walks the earth wastes his breath and your time,
with cro-magnon scribbles from a mind so bare,
that it comes as a surprise they managed even to write one line,
much less something so cerebral as this:
                              "Yo, prety gurl. Liek yur pic,
                                I so >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
                               Wanna see mah ****?"

So deep, right? What Socratic genius might have penned such lines?
Surely not even Shakespeare or Keats could craft words so divine!
I am so sorry, women who date online.
Truly, I'm sorry, on behalf of mankind
5.1k · Jan 2015
The Superman Dillema
Steele Jan 2015
I failed to save another soul today.
On my high patrol, I heard their last gasps leave their lips,
and I let their salvation get away
slipping through my super-powered fingertips.

If I can write assurance to a thousand souls lost, humorous and witty
"If I muster all the words that I know," I thought, "Surely I can save this city."
But life can't be measured by honeyed words, and it's agony to see
the souls' salvations that I'm missing beneath my red-caped nobility.

Even if I flew higher still, with my cape waving proud and free,
no great power I could bring to bear could match my responsibility.
For every orphan girl I save, there's another not too far afield.
For every chain broken, for every freed slave, there are chains that will not yield.

I'd fly around the world and turn back time, but I know t'would be in vain.
What's a single Superman to do, when the whole world cries to be saved?
4.9k · Jan 2015
The Path
Steele Jan 2015
I took the path less travelled by,
and found to my chagrin
that the path I walked was paved in good intentions
and devoid of friend and kin.

Though in walking those trails, I only meant well,
The herd is the entity that most oft prevails;
The lion devours the lone gazelle,
who of the well worn path did not avail.
Pride precedes the fall.
4.9k · Feb 2015
Why I Am Who I Am
Steele Feb 2015
I started smoking because you said it made me look ****;
the grey smoke, you said, brought out the green in my eyes.
We took a fireball with whiskey and called it sane,
you kissed smoke into my mouth and addiction into my veins,
but at the end of the night...
that was okay.
Because smoking made me look ****, at least in your eyes;
Because I was drunk anyway, on your lips and your thighs.

I told you take a puff because I wanted our hearts to entwine;
Does that make me such a bad girl? Is it such a terrible crime
to want to make you addicted to something... anything of mine.
You smiled reason back into my life and purpose into my mind;
but at the end of the night...
it wasn't enough.

Because your smile was too sad,
and I needed you to share in my tongue tied joy.
Because your reason was too mad,
and I wanted so bad for my own that naive green eyed boy.


So, I started smoking and drinking for a girl. Is that so wrong?
*So, I stopped him looking and thinking. Took his heart for a twirl.

Is that so wrong?
4.8k · Jan 2015
Sweater Vest
Steele Jan 2015
He falls to despair.
In his mind, his foremost thought:
"Today... what to wear?"
First world problems are the best kind.
4.7k · Jan 2015
Forget
Steele Jan 2015
Muscles strain.
One breath, two reps.
Push through the pain.
One breath, two steps.

Tears catch; burn.
One breath, two wet lines.
Across my face, blink; return.
One breath, two reps. One breath, two reps.

Her face is on my mind;
One breath, pause.
                  Think about her; what you lost.
                        Break; shoulders shake,                 heave,                 gasp,
build back up; Breathe. Then again, strain. Forget the pain.

Don't think; Refrain.
One breath, no thought.
Don't think about the                pain.
One breath, no thought.
No thoughts, no pain.
One breath,
                too many thoughts,
                                          one breath,
                                                       but in vain...
                                          Muscles catch,
                            heart strains,
              breaks, the pain too much to sustain,
                             the pain of her face; encompassing my brain,

                                                         ­                Her face is on my mind again.
Rest in peace.
4.2k · Sep 2015
Rape Is Not A Talking Piece
Steele Sep 2015
Never been there.
Can't talk about it much.
I've seen shadows on the wall.
Crying faces in my dorm hall.
I've seen reflections of friends
in the communal toilet while they Puke-TSD.
Can't talk about it much.
It's not a subject I like to touch.
Never been there.
Never talking like I've seen it all.
They have. Ask them what it's like to fall
down and check your face for scrapes
and have other people put band-aids
on your ***. ("Oops, my mistake!")
Or better yet, don't.
Don't ask me.
Don't ask them.
They can talk.
I've never been.

If they ask, you can answer with the voice of a friend.
But don't ask. Don't reopen the PTSDen
of pain and the past. Just listen if they ask.
Have some ******* courtesy till then.
4.0k · Dec 2014
The Frantic Masquerade
Steele Dec 2014
There is a Frantic Masquerade, I've heard it said,
where masquers revel in moonlight in the dark city streets.
Their iron shoes burn a smouldering red
and compels them never end the song they sing with their feet.

There is a leather Curtain, made up of silence and shame.
They place upon each dancer's face as they waltz through the night.
They never share a longing gaze, never whisper a lover's name,
and as their souls lose their lustre, their iron shoes burn ever bright.

There is a lonely Ballroom of sad rain and cold concrete,
where masquers revel in terror at the symphony in their heads.
Their steps move ever faster, but their empty eyes never meet.
Hearts cold, they dance with hot feet, ere they're dead.

     There is a Frantic Masquerade, I've heard it said.
     Their icy hearts stave off passion's heat.
              They'll dance that way till the shoes burn through their head,
and only when the ice melts might their heart's dance be complete.
3.7k · Jul 2015
A Generation of Nostalgia
Steele Jul 2015
I was born with a baseball bat
in hand. I had walk-mans and dreams.
I had "Let's go to college"
I had "Shoot for the moon."
If I could travel back,
and tell that kid what to do.
I'd say
"You wouldn't believe
the revolution coming for you. "
"Run. Get away. You'll never be free."
"There's nowhere to hide from these blinking lights
and these screens."
"Cherish your days of Summer in the grass.
Cherish those boring Monopoly nights."
"Technology is everywhere
And the Kid's Aren't Alright."
3.5k · Mar 2015
The Boxer
Steele Mar 2015
The Boxer stands alone tonight.
There are no crowds to cheer him on.
There are no opportunities to pass him by.

The Boxer stands alone tonight.
His head is bowed, no longer strong.
His heart no longer knows what's right.

The Boxer stands alone tonight.
He can't remember for how long.
He can't remember what it felt like

to live
       carry on
                  to be strong
                                    to fight.

The Boxer stands alone tonight.
There is no one here to hear him cry,
alone in the ring, as baroque music flies
through the air; through his soul,
and at last lets him sleep.

There is not a soul left there that cares to cheer him on;
When he passes, there is no one left that deigns to weep.
When life gets tough, sometimes the tough get going only to subsequently break down like the flawed human beings they are.
Steele Dec 2015
I'm tired of deleting my sadness.

Beautiful prose is my pride, but pride can be broken
just like a heart weary with the world, and soft spoken
words can cut me like any other man. I bleed. I need
love and laughter and starlight and music in my life.
We all need poetry and dancing in the kitchen and flowers.
Yet... The power of my words isn't a sacrifice,
and this language is not an altar to your smile.

I haven't bared my soul in quite a while, and for you to tell me not to...
Bite me. **** your needs and *******.

I'm tired. I'm weary. My normal flights
of fancy and music and puns and laughter
are taking a reprieve. Skip over it if need be.
These words are mine to seek for shelter
and this page is mine on which to bleed.
Sometimes my playlist is full of spite
and tonight "Welcome to the Black Parade"
is really just what this recovering punk needs.

I recycled rhymes, penned cliches,
and god help me today I don't care.
Here's the exhibit. My wrists on a canvas.
Feel free to snicker.
Feel free to stare.
Kind of self explanatory, yeah?
2.8k · Apr 2015
Only Words
Steele Apr 2015
Love is not a symphony
to be played and danced along.
Not a musical soliloquy,
and not even, at times, a song.

My heart is not your violin,
to play whenever the mood is right.
There are no symphonies within me;
This silent soul's voice is stoppered tight.

Words are all I have to offer;
No songs beg release tonight.
I don't feel like playing tonight. Go away.
2.8k · Feb 2015
By Your Tombstone
Steele Feb 2015
I could sit beside your tombstone for hours,
and reminisce that you are with me there.
I'd fill my hands with purple flowers
and place them into your scarlet hair,
and you'd laugh like a thousand golden church bells
as we whisper promises without giving tomorrow care.

We could talk alone 'til midnight
about the things we were too afraid in life to say.
I could sit beside you bathed in silver starlight,
all the while dreading the yellow day,
when the white hot sun banishes the ghost of you
and takes our sweet whispered words away.

The wisps of smoke that were your form, my lasting heart's delight;
I'll bend the wind in my hands and pull them close, if it could make you stay...
But that's for another conversation,
another tombstone,
another day.
2.8k · Jan 2015
Recipe
Steele Jan 2015
Confession: I have no idea how this whole challenge thing got started.
Whoever it is, I hope you like my contribution.
For your reference, I'm made of different things than when I first arrived.
Back then I was broken hearted,
writing retribution.
But just when I think I'm getting ready to move into the next chapter of my life,
The man I was before comes in and the recipe is ruined.

Ingredient the first is of course the man I was before.
I'll admit, he wasn't all that bright, and a bit of a know it all and a bore.
but according to every guide who helped him open newer doors,
"He has so much potential!" So let potential simmer for about a minute before you add in Life. But be honest for a second. Life's a cold, disdainful *****.

Ingredient number two was life, but it's far too large and full of emotion,
so grab your knife and cut a smaller portion,
mince, and mix it with a few one night stands.
Sprinkle in some daddy issues.
Add a dollop of fairy dust, and prepare to bring the tissues.
Next comes epilepsy, pill bottles to your eyeballs,
death, and loss, and missing parietals,
cheating, beatings, midnight meetings
with guys who will sell you memory loss for a few hundred bucks.
Caution: This recipe calls for zero *****.
Add them in at the risk of ruining the mix.
Let it simmer and boil with rage,
and eventually your mixture will break it's cage;
He'll run away, start over fresh somewhere, and lie about his life to all who ask,
then slowly, he'll open up to strangers over the internet, and bask
in the complements his poetry gets him.
Then he'll get a job like a real person,
and his cold dead heart will begin to tick,
like clockwork, which he'll be obsessed with,
and he'll start clocking people for money instead of kicks,
and be paid for it.
and get laid for it.
(because come on, why else do people become athletes? To get ripped.)
His life will, briefly, be a fairy tale,
and he'll believe for a moment that his old life has called it quits.
This is a crucial moment, don't **** up the recipe like I did
Because then...
if his old life finds him.
his runaway streak is over.
See, if it doesn't cook all the way through, food poisoning is in order,
and he is poisoned once again but that cruel *****, Life,
and his life becomes again a game of "Pick-up-sticks"
as his old life comes crashing back, and then, stage left, ENTER *****!
She finds him.
and before you know it too much Life was added to the mix,
he says "**** it" once again,
opens up for just a moment more,
***** up his rhymes, and moves out of his apartment,
packs his bags, says his goodbyes, and pays his rent,
then leaves to close more potential doors, lost and disillusioned.
Too much life came back too soon, before he was ready to be served.
Too much life was added in, and while you totally can say h'orderves
without saying "*****", life's a *****, so you add too much more,
and the recipe is ruined.
My life on a page. Bye guys. Time for me to disappear again for a while, and move on. It's been fun.

Addendum: Nevermind. :)
2.7k · Mar 2015
Arctic Smoke
Steele Mar 2015
The red of cigarette ashes contrasts the white upon the snow.
The expanse is unbroken as his gaze wanders lonely plains.
He takes one puff; then another; then another one so
he can forget her face, and remember how it feels to live again.

His parka is unzipped as he breathes in air so cold,
and cigarette cherries reach his palm and burn away cold contemplations.
He smiles at the Arctic gods' cool ministrations; their fervent consolations
for the love he is smoking and forgetting in the snow.

He zips up his jacket, tosses ashes far below.
He turns away, his footsteps marking the white waste.
They are the only remnant of his remembering ablation,
and soon, they too, are absorbed by the plateau.
2.6k · Mar 2015
Work and Play (10w)
Steele Mar 2015
Getting laid off isn't nearly as fun as just laid.
So. Yeah. **** that.
2.6k · Apr 2015
Satan's Not a Mathematician
Steele Apr 2015
Satan plays the violin; the same shape and tone as mine.
The devil passes time in Hell by playing fiddle,
and if I had to guess; I think that's the reason why
he knows the answer to life's riddle,
because its trilling's the only feeling filling
enough to get away with that beautiful lie.
It drowns the screams of the ****** that died;
                                                                ­          and briefly
                                                         ­                     tells us we are still alive.
2.3k · Jan 2015
Lucifer In Love Pt. 1
Steele Jan 2015
On your pilgrimage to Earth, you learnt of cruelty and of man.
They ripped your wings from out your back, and left you in the dirt.
Now you try to dull the hurt, but jealous of beauty, they come again.
You try to sing but voices crack, in time with hearts that house their hurt.

On my pilgrimage from Hell, I learn of love and its mistakes.
I saw their abuse, and I attacked;
thought my rage could shield you from your pain.
and I learnt far more of pain coming back
than Hell could ever teach; I learnt of love in vain.

Though I meant to save you, I merely left you afraid
of the violence I used to deliver you from their wretched grasp.
I knew near at once the price I'd paid
when those blue eyes gave tears; when those red lips gasped
at the monster whose face by horns was framed.
I broke your heart when I broke their backs;
You heard only my roar when I whispered your name.

I longed to be the chorus in your Angelic song,
                                                    or even a single, lovely note.
Not this phantom dissonance in your sad refrain....
                                                    T­his lonely shadow in the smoke.
2.2k · Apr 2015
Practice
Steele Apr 2015
Do, re, tiring **me.
Fa, So, Latte sounds good.
A sale on tea?
Do ti la "So, how are your scales going?"
My teacher calls; he wants to know.

"FAr from REady." I admit.
I tried to practice steady,
but starbucks had a sale today, so I quit.

"You'll never make the grade like that;
Devote every hour" He says with a glower.
"Go practice your bow. Coffee can wait."
He's right of course, but I still take the bait.

How's a coffee-enthusiast like me
expected to practice enthusiastically?
What's a violinist without caffeine to keep his lights turned to "go"?
When Starbucks conspires to take all my hard earned DOugh?
The struggle, man.
2.2k · Sep 2015
Plagiarism
Steele Sep 2015
Sweet dagger, pierce that midnight beauty,
that walks like cloudless climes and starry skies.
Go now, men, and do your duty.
Steal the schemes of other rhymes.

I am the captain of my ship; I am the master of metre and time.
I've mastered the art of thieving wit.
I've stolen the fame of men long dead
and staked my claim to the fruits of their minds.
I can write words yet unsaid;
But I've not the mind;
I've not the inclination;
I've not the creativity
to write my own lines.

If this rings too close to home,
perhaps you ought to write your own.
More likely though,
you'll just steal mine.
Found one of my poems on another poetry web site today.
This is why sharing my poetry is hard. Some **** is just going to try to use it to get known. Joke's on you, random dude. With a word, I could make you famous.

You sure you want that?
2.0k · Jan 2015
Write About A Friend
Steele Jan 2015
I don't know what you think of the word "wicked";
but where I come from it's a funny thing. It doesn't mean evil or sad.
We say "That's wicked cool." It's meaning rings the same as, "That's the ticket!"
Wicked means more; and more hope can't be all that bad.

I guess what I'm saying is, you're "Wicked" nice.
Despite your talent, your wall is full of other people's "Hope".
Vanity is certainly not your choicest vice.
Empathy, perhaps, would better fit the scope.

Your story's still being written down; I'm not sure where that path will stray.
I don't know if it will end in fire or ice- or if either would suffice-
but were Robert Frost here, (and from my home town) he'd say
"I've heard the name. That chick's wicked dope."
Thanks for being Wicked Cool, Wicked Hope
I've been meaning to thank Wicked Hope for being such a caring and kind member of the community, particularly in regards to all the encouragement and empathy she's given me over the past week. Since the challenge is out, it might as well be a public thank you.

In the famous words of Ron Burgundy, "Stay Classy"
Cheers,

Steel
Steele Feb 2015
You and I,
We got high
together at the seven eleven at seventeen,
and listened to Fall Out Boy as he sang ironic one liners.
And we'd argue about what it would mean; too high to believe
the other was right, and then laughed at passing cars.

We stumbled to the graveyard and told ghost stories with wine,
and whiled away the hours dreaming of knights and dragons
in crystal towers far away across fable and time. I'd lift my proverbial flagon,
and you'd ****** it away, and whisper
"What am I
to you?" So sudden, and I was too high to answer it right at the time.
I stumbled. I mumbled. My words were all jumbled, and all that came out was:
"Thou art mine friend." Kind of lame, that word at the end. But I ended the sentence
With a laugh. I didn't know you were serious...
But...
I should have cut a word from the statement. Because if I was being serious too,
I'd have whispered back "Thou art mine."

In my mind, I relive the moment over again and again,
before you left and stumbled off into the dark,
I say "You are my princess, I'm your knight."
I say "When it's all ****** up, you make it all right."
I say all the right things and it culminates in a kiss by starlight,
but I mumbled,
words jumbled,
And you took the bottle of wine with you as you stumbled
alone into the dark till it took you away from my sight.

That night I sat alone and soliloquised what I didn't say right.
1.9k · May 2015
Metal Angels and Lost Souls
Steele May 2015
Grey is the color of my eyes.
They stare past meadows and glades,
probing the blues and reds of sunset skies
to find black stone, dead and alone
where this vibrant life, may atone
and die.

I tire of these sensational tales;
these tear jerking moments of love and loss.
There are no tears left to pour from this grail
of dead wood. There are no more coins to toss
into this well of souls; tired and alone;
dead and lost.

In that well;
In those eyes;
Grey reigns king over fickle trust.
In this naked temple, on knees so tired.
I pray for an end to love and lust.
In this heart of frozen steel and wire,
I beg you. Let me rust.
1.8k · Feb 2015
The Captain's Cabin
Steele Feb 2015
The Captain and I are shipmates tonight.
We ride out the storm together till morning light.
A glass full of his wisdom by my side in repose,
where his torrent of words will take me, who knows?
But a sentence reaches me by the bedside lamp's glow.
The truth of it kills
and I wish it unsaid.
"***," He whispers "won't fill
an empty bed,"
"Yes..." I sadly opine.
"But it dulls the pain...
fills my senses just fine."
The Captain nods, satisfied, and the ship rumbles
as it is tossed about by wind and rain.
He motions in the cabin boy, who tumbles
inside, and pours me another glass of pain.

Red like her lips.
Dark like her eyes.
Heady like her scent.
Fluid like her hips...
The Captain grabs my shoulder.
"Forget her." His eyes smoulder
louder than hers...

I reach for the wine.
1.8k · Jan 2015
Lucifer in Love pt. 2
Steele Jan 2015
She bared my heart, that I did not know I owned,
and led me to the light. To redemption? Back to Hell?
To some in between twilight...

He saved my life, but ****** my soul,
confusing me my way. To Love?! To Hate?!
To find a hole and hide away...


I scream her name...
But I am alone, and only unrepentant ghosts can hear.

He can never know...
That much- Thank God- I know that much is clear.


I cry, and Demons are not moved;
To them, seeing a man in pain- even their king- is a sight not so queer.

I cry, and Angels do not care;
The only waters shed in heaven are joyful, pious tears.


When I left, my soul came again unlatched;
and my heart closed, left again to cruelty's treason.

When I returned, my wings were intact;
but my heart burned for the reason.


Though you thought I hid
my face from shame;
All the rage and pain... for you? All I did,
I would do it all again.

When you left, to my shame,
my heart followed you to Hell.
Though you wear such rage and pain...
I confess you wear it well.


But he can never know my shame
But you do not care to hear my pain.
I realize it needs some heavy edits, but I'm shelving it for now in favour of just finishing the trio of poems. I'll get back to it. Haha.
1.8k · Mar 2015
The Violinist
Steele Mar 2015
Subtle melody, find solace

as fingers ride the wind like wings.
Side walk top hats are my wallet,
as heartache grips the listening crowd
and just like that, the wind too sings
along with my torn fingered strings,
that fly like heartache sung aloud,
and come alive like Spring.

My fingers know which notes to tear away.
The violin knows what wind it needs for tune.
I'll rest the base against my neck and play,
Street corners my rehearsal room,
in coldest winter or sunniest spring;
In frigid night, in scorching day,
I'll play. My blistered fingers know the way.

Seasons come and go astray.
Plucking fingers freeze and burn.
But everywhere by bow resolves to turn,
the wind follows, waiting for my word;
His cue to take the stage and sing
songs that come alive like Spring
and my smiling fingers know which string
will permit the wind be heard.
Poetry reaches the eyes, then the mind, then if you're lucky, the heart.
Music takes a short cut.
1.8k · Apr 2015
Lace
Steele Apr 2015
Lips of velvet pursed and mocking;
Eyes watching, flattered and bemused.
I've never felt so whole before,
just as I've never felt so wholly used.

Chocolate skin and silver lace,
Behind soft whispers, and pretty lies.
lines of worry mark her perfect face,
as she turns to face my knowing eyes.
                    I've never felt so whole before;
                    I wish I felt wholly more surprised
                        not by the fire in her stare;
                          by the red flowers in her hair;
                                but by the cologne scented letter
                                             on the floor with her sweater
                                                 she thinks I didn't see her hide...
1.7k · Feb 2015
When My Soul is Free
Steele Feb 2015
When my soul is free, set my body on a pyre alight,
free from mortality and from pain.
Send my form to join my soul in fire and flight,
and watch the blaze eat what's left away.

If tears fall as I hope they might,
down faces creased with love and age,
let them be freed as well, and blur their sight
with tears of acceptance; joyous and gay.
When my soul is free, let their souls be bright,
not tortured as I let them see me now.
Though my soul was broken through my life,
let my body burn bright; let the fire roar loud.

Let me turn my eyes skyward, head unbowed;
My form; My soul; My whole bathed in light,
not dark and cold as I feel it now.
Let the fire roar loud and banish night.

And when ashes fall from that heated height.
They will freeze the fingers that vainly grasp,
and my soul will glow in blue and white,
and whisper consolation to earthly Hells unasked,
and though cold like death and hot like pain,
though the pyre devours what yet remains,
let the fire burn fast and the night die low,
as my soul finds repose in a fire with ash like snow.
1.7k · May 2015
Sunset
Steele May 2015
Blossoms shine the same
pink as the horizon sheds.
Sunsets mark her eyes.

Sunlight dreads retreat
from black lungs that weep and bend.
Watching from the shade.
Steele Jan 2016
His teeth brush her skin and she flinches.
Breathy gasps on shifting eyes
Slide across the icy air, and inches
Of separation mark porcelain lies.

Porcelain teeth mark crimson brands
And whiter still the skin where wedding bands
Rested not long ago
Upon skin that recoils from his perfect hands.
And choices that only she can know.
Steele Nov 2015
I'll take a bitter kiss
if it heals the pain in my chest.
Bed-sheets stink of hate and unrest;
My nostrils fill with the smell of blood.
Hers. Mine. Ours. It smells like regret.
   But all is well;
It must be for the best.

Still I'll take a bitter kiss
over a night of hateful, fierce ***
  If it heals the pain in my chest,
  If it's what you think is best,
  If it calms this weary flood.
                                            These sheets stink of blood.
                                             Cut me until I cannot heal;
                                            Steal me until I cannot feel.
           Then I will rest, alone in a field
                                  of scarlet flowers
                              and azure starlight
                                     and no regrets.
Steele Feb 2017
It comes on
and he laughs and you laugh nervously along.
(This song saved your life.)
The radio blares the **** of the latest joke, but songs
aren't allowed to save lives any more so you keep quiet.
Music isn't a cure, and The Cure have been long out of style and
it happened
before anyone had ever heard of Twenty One Pilots anyway and
since long before Rose killed herself with a twenty pill crash diet.
it happened
but he laughs and you laugh nervously along.
Those chords saved your life
But "can you believe we
ever listened
to this song?"

The sunset looks beautiful with the windows rolled down
and you wonder how you ever survived this long, anyway.
1.5k · Apr 2015
Red Light
Steele Apr 2015
Ringed fingers run across sculpted chests,
and they don their red stained lipstick vests.
"Roxanne" plays in the background,
and it feels like raindrops falling down,
because my eyes are cold, and blue, and wet.

Misty eyes and tired smoke
breathe deep through aching, weary lungs.
We cry in alleyways and choke
on strange bedfellows with probing tongues.
My heart is filled with tear stained jokes.
My jeans are filled with crumbled ones.
1.5k · Dec 2015
December
Steele Dec 2015
I've given up writing December.
I swear I tried, but these lines
don't seem to care; The drugs never work.
The haze of blinking eyes and wasted time
feels like infinity. I want to misremember
those wide eyed faces and your smirk
when you said you were mine. (Words like knives.)
I knew it was fatal as soon as you whispered that lie.
I swear... I've given up this December.
My words can't dig up the dirt
to bury these Winter memories
and these lonely goodbyes...
December is done, and so am I.
1.5k · Mar 2015
Hold Me Close
Steele Mar 2015
Besame, quiereme, porque soy debil.                       For I am weak.
Abrazame fuerte por favor, porque soy cansado,    Tired.
Cantarme, en suave vibrato,
porque siento convertirse a parado.                         Still.

Y quedate conmigo...                                      Stay with me...
Hasta que muera con mi corazon fuera.        **Until I die with my heart outside.
This is my first attempt at a bilingual poem, and I'm sure I messed it up, so for all you fluent Spanish speakers out there, any edits would be appreciated.
1.5k · Jan 2015
Heaven's Heart
Steele Jan 2015
From sunlit towers pale sunflower petals fall.
    Heaven watches falling flowers, her blue eyes widen, her red lips part.
        In the gardens of men, a young man catches the falling showers,
              and with those petals in hand, captures her heart.

              Bare feet take halting steps, and frantic hands fail to halt her sure advance.
      What stopping power has God's legions in the face of such a thing?
             She takes a step from the safety of the clouds;
                 Heaven opens arms out wide, and closes tight her eyes and wings.

             Ashes rise up from behind as her wings burn away into the welcome dark.
Bodies tangle, intertwined, as the young man returns her stray, angelic heart.
1.5k · Mar 2015
Life In The Ring
Steele Mar 2015
I grew up moon shining past glowing street lights
and I was invited to an underground ring by a man called Life.
I met him in the ring in the middle of the night;
I threw down my gloves for ill advised street fights.
He threw down grimaces, and spit disguised as tears.
Blood rushed through ringing ears,
Blood rushed into my head, suddenly hazy with fear
and then, suddenly, blood rushed out of punctured sides.
High on adulation, I brought boxing gloves, respectful nods, handshakes, and cheers.
Life brought me low with sucker punches, broken laws, and sharp rusty knives.
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