Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
epictails Jul 2015
Write me a love song
I can't write one for me

Write me a love song
The first lines start
with a he

Write me a love song
It ends but
with no more we
keep me keep me from being disillussioned
Oh my god this *****. My muse is taking a vacation ahead of me. We'll I'll let her. Nobody wants to get stuck with an unstable mess anyway
epictails Jul 2015
You don't chase love
in the place
where you lost it
broken hearts everywhere
  Jul 2015 epictails
A Watoot
There will come a point in your life
When you will realize that:

The thing that you fought for,
The thing that you held so close for years and years,
The one thing that had kept you alive and breathing,
The only thing that had you sane,
The only  reason you thought you had that made you exist

Can be taken away from you by choice or by fate
In a blink of an eye

Without any warning of any kind
Without a second chance

To make you realize that you are human.

*You are human and you are loved.
Value yourself more than anyone else.
epictails Jul 2015
Two-faced.
The emptiness pockets up my chest
Like a night thief
I've grown accustomed but weary
Candor-laced, the confidante
As time flapped its wings
I shrank in prison
The little wardens beside me
Kept me back with whispers
To the cell that has been
Licked clean with blood and tears
I am afraid of something
I cannot even name
Sleeping like doom in a crib of calm
I am afraid of two faces
Taking turns on the stage
Of my reeling
I am afraid.
epictails Jul 2015
I'm chasing the divine moon
In its most full state
There in the eagle's claw
Rests my house of cards
The gods hear me but do they listen?
Either I rain my blood on this war for Ares
Or Gaia opens to receive me

I might fall to a ravine
Broken bones and dead encounters comfort me
I might devour the dark pill
That intercepts my self-proclaimed hero

But I long to talk to her
To my muse who strives on the sharpest points
Like the bone that hangs in Cerberus' neck
She must want to bury me in her
Or take hold of my soul
Bless it to the god and her lady
Who dwell near the enchanted river

In this odyssey with nothing on the other end, perhaps
I'd find her whispering me to take the oars
Move along
For as my Tritogeneia
She'll give way to my long awaited Ithaca
Where I'll hold the pen
As she weaves the stories
Above the mortals
Above the gods
Hidden and alive
Since time immemorial
Greek mythology crack. The Odyssey and Iliad are my favorites for a reason.
epictails Jul 2015
I'll fly out from this rollercoaster
Filled with disgust, with dizziness
The operator stands aghast
Amidst the turning machine
Above his heels,
Within his well-fed hands

It spins and turns
Like Big Brother's voice
On a broken loop
Creaking engine recalls
A sordid, mechanical taste
In the mouths of the trapped

They think it's so wondrous
To be on top of a flightless
Soar to the heavens
To see those ant-like buildings
Like a grain of dust in their hands

But they have paid the price
The people of the carnival only feeds them dreams
While they snicker inside the tents
Fairy godmothers on their breaks

Clouds darken beneath us
Rumbling, rumbling, roar the
Blue-violet crack in the sky goes
As we rode along to the earth's tremble

The view matches not what they promised
But everyone must go on till the ride stops
I sniffed the steps of rain in a small stairway to my senses
I knew right then that ride wasn't what we all thought
epictails Jul 2015
Gold pennies in designer wallets
Shopping lists in silver buckets
Running the thirst out like water
from dainty pockets
All in the name of ***** rackets

A trend show on the outside
A hollowness on the inside
Heaps of hard price tags aside
You are bought but unsatisfied

Glitter screens the cloudy eyes
Of those who are in the grave of earthly lies
Vanity consumed until the heart dries
In a mansion of hedonism,
existence nullifies

A jacket made of money would still leave you cold
In your last breath, just how many things can you hold?
You're the perfect fit of a capitalistic mold
And your will has long been sold
This is for some of my schoolmates who can only live like materialists. When you talk to them they are like empty heads who can think of nothing but what clothes to buy next what gadgets to entertain them next. I feel like their lives are floating on what the world feeds them and I find that extremely annoying and sad.

On another note, I am glad to be writing again and not just confessional poetry. Social commentaries are very hard to write but I think I can do them better now. I always force myself to write more of them because I have some strong opinions myself but no one wants to listen. At the very least, writing could provide a listening ear.
Next page