Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
I'd like to take this moment
While I'm here to thank the world
The opportunity it's afforded me
In the breaking of life's mold
From the youngest age of tenderness
To the aching bones of old no less
From everything that I have seen
I'd like to thank the world

~

If it's even listening
I'd like to thank the world
From past and present history
With the lies that have been told
To what stands out in front of me
What little is left that I can see
From the way it bites to the way I bleed
I'd like to thank the world

~

For continually knocking me off at the knees
I'd like to thank the world
For keeping me up with the latest disease
I'd like to thank the world
As I take this time to toss in my lot
With all my have's and my have not's
For everything I haven't got
I'd like to thank the world

~

For every promise that's been lost
I'd like to thank the world
For daily punches in the gut
And the pain that that's unfurled
From the beginning to the end
The way it drives me round the bend
With the sorrow that it gives
I'd like to thank the world
Thanks a lot...
I live my life so as to escape it
Her hair was in a braid,
Her heart was at war
Just as sullen as things were before

-cj
sleep rushes by in a way that
resembles a high-balling freight train

everything is comparably just as lost
as the nothing that has been gleaned,
the surroundings pressing into unseen eyes
are murals painted from intricate dreams

the ember-cherries sputter and flit
while smoldering into skin without pain
The First-Born Blues
Sara L Russell 22nd August 2014 20:59 revised 27th Aug 2014, 13:58

So I bite down on bitter words
and I eat my humble pie
for those who will not understand me
Until the day I die.
self-pity's for the birds,
where the golden egos fly;
if you will not understand me
should I bother to ask why?

So you know I'm always me
and I never will be her
and you know she's gone forever
things can't be the way they were
I survived, unworthily
though you think I should concur
that death struck out unfairly
- should have taken me, not her.

So I wear my comfort cross
and I carry my cross of woe -
each a spiritual placebo
from the God I used to know;
and an eerie sense of loss
follows everywhere I go
for this poor downtrodden ego
that you always overthrow.
He sees the world in colours
His father sees in black and white
In shades of grey, they get along
He doesn't have the heart to fight

His paintings hang on white walls
His father never did understand.
The world he sees in a canvas
Does not fit his father’s plan

He walks around his perfect house
With all the money and an empty soul
His office chair waits for the morning
His paintings make him whole

He mixes his sorrows with his colours
He paints his desolation
His brush traces the distance between
Where he is and his elation

He pours himself into his art
His every stroke precise and smooth
He transcends this world of pain and sorrow
Into his painting he does elude

He leaves his woes and frustrations
His heart races with delight
He sees his colours come to life
As he paints into the night

Tomorrow he’ll wear his fancy suit
Tomorrow he’ll follow his father’s plan
Tonight he holds his freedom tight
Tonight his is his own man.
Next page