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I miss
I miss the nights when things were different
I miss the nights when I asked what pokémon you caught
not what STD you got
I miss the fridays when we asked what you were doing
not, who you were *******
The nights when it was about us
and not them
the nights when we smiled
not cried
Why is it
why is it we want to grow up
instead of living
because before we know it
there wont be any time left to live
and we’ll be wishing to have it back
missing the nights when things we different
the nights when I didn’t have to worry about
losing you
the nights when you remember
what happened
the nights when
you didn’t have to ask others
what happened
when will it end
the nights when
you don’t come home
you don’t call for a ride
and you don’t come back.
because one day
people will be saying
boy I knew her when
when things were different
the nights when partying
meant cake and weird hats
not drugs and bad tat’s
all I’m trying to say is not
how to live your life
but to live your life
people say you only live once
thats true
but
you only die once
don’t make that once
because you were young
and stupid
remember
remember the days when
you could walk yourself to the car
the nights when drinking
meant juice
and higher
meant on a swing
and the only thing getting baked
were cookies.
Now
the twisted meanings
are your life
were your life
when the nights
were different.
 Nov 2012 Peyton Smith
Àŧùl
As I Wrote My First Examination's Answers,
My Hands Shook From The Sudden Drop In Temperature.
I Wondered Wearing Daredevil Half Sleeves,
My Stunts Took Too Much From My Performance.

As I Wrote My Answers To All The Questions,
My Mind Was Then Persuaded Away From The Cold.
I Wondered Whether It Was Some Other Deeds,
My Brain Had Been Fooled By Exam Conscience.

As I Wrote The Second-Last Of My Answers,
It Was Time-Over For The Exam & All Others Started Filing Out.
I Wondered Gazing Down At My Wrist Watch's Hands,
Whether They Would Give Me Some Extra Time By Medical Case.

As I Looked Up And Sought Few Extra Minutes,
The Kind Invigilator - My H.O.D. Said It Was Fine & Agreed.
Then She Told Me To Follow Her A Few Rooms,
Into The Dimmer Exam Control Room I Followed Her All The Way.

I Was Immediately Asked By The H.O.D. to take any seat,
I Looked Around To Notice A Chair Less ***** & Decided To Be Seated.
Then I wrote and I Just Wrote Till My Answer Was Over.
And Ultimately Came Out Of The Mechanical Block Smiling Triumphantly.
This is the poem I wrote thinking about 'exams' as that day on the 26th of November I'm appearing two exams. Concepts of Bioinformatics exam was done well and similarly the Concepts of Biofuels & Bioenergy exam was done good too.

Not saying more, you should read the poem above itself than reading the explanation of what it is about.

My HP Poem #13
© Atul Kaushal
 Nov 2012 Peyton Smith
Tearani C
Not all can be lost in the midst of so much.
Not all can be lost in the thought of your touch,
And the sound of your sighs, the indescribable look
With brightening eyes and the patience it took.
Perhaps I have given you no more than you deserve,
And still what do I possess that was more than your words?
Hold me; hold me now like you did before,
Before the disillusionment before love swayed to war.
Call to me tell me my name, so I can answer
And you can know that I came. My love
I only want to feel safe with my heart in your hands.
I only want to be close enough to feel you from where I stand.
I remember candle light and sharing souls I remember long
Stairs into starlit eyes and bearing the scares we wore
Compared to recent wounds. Hush now it rains,
When your eyes mist over my old pains ache,
Like my wrist and my heart in my chest,
You are all of the things I've grown to like best.
So you lied and I feel you steeling my perception of us,
Slowly returning head down with my mad mangled trust.
As the ground shook I felt it all lost.
I know that’s not true, I know that I must
Know something of who you are,
You’re the same sweet handsome boy,
Who first made me see stars.
And a brand new mark among the scars on my heart.
Four white walls adorned with posters.
Jimi Hendrix, Pink Floyd and an odd cluster
of animals and dinosaurs.
and a strange man relaxing his pores.

I could learn something from this

The wall space around Van Gogh
is lined with empty cigarette boxes.
A constant reminder of life shortening though
they encircle the skull like rabid foxes.

I've lost count of how many I've smoked

The carpet is littered with stains.
A reminder of past strains.
Even industrial shampoo
will not fade the marks scarred into.

I've been here too long

The drawers are a symbol of a cluttered mind.
Nothing is organized. but anything is an easy find.
Random thoughts make the air stale.
Only freshened by the 3pm arrival.

Its just junk and coupons

Its difficult to balance all these things out
without a feminine touch to soothe.
A soft laughter to rile the doubts.
Another pair to line with my shoes.

*I'll be with you one day Caroline
Caroline, you like I, must have an equilibrium between your mind and the world.
© November 26th, 2012 by Timothy R Brown. All rights reserved.
 Nov 2012 Peyton Smith
Rainbow
I'm falling in love with a panther.
He caught my eye in the dark...
   or was he the dark?

Silky black powerful faraway huge
His shoulders rolled with a twist of his stride
Bringing him closer to electrify my side
   and give me a glimpse
   of his battle scars

Fingers of fur to tickle a laugh
Dark melancholy to beckon a past
I placed my hands on his whiskery face,
let them slide behind his agonized gates
Are those words that were spoke from me or him?

In his ambling walk lives a passionate heartbeat,
     in his hunted gaze the joyful sorrow of seeing and remaining unseen
     behind great sharp leaves and semi-permanent shadows

Warmblooded, crystal river, feeling panther
Not so unknown
Not so feared or shunned
What's this crimson breath in my throat?

To hear his cry a mile away
What is this wrenching, muddy pain in my soul, in my core,
      calling me like one I've known
      and yet never before?
Panther, please don't die

I turn just in time to see the darkness rolling over his tear-drenched side
Fall to my knees to catch his heavy head in my determined palms
      watch as his blood trickles from him to me,
      feel it absorb into the promise in my skin

When the soft pastel of day caresses his black silhouette,
      I place a wondering hand
      on his warm, lifting chest
Stroke my fingers along his chin to his ears
Peaceful shutters covering his eyes in temporary rest from The Chase,
      nothing to remind me of the danger
      but a flick of his sleeping paw

When I lay next to him with my back against his hard belly and my foot brushing back to still his,
       my heart finds its elusive case,
       my fingers his wiry, black fur
There is a panther heart in mine.

Muzzle near my neck and fire racing sanity
What is this love-shaped thing misting my mind?
Heavy, muscled body shifts and I brace myself for the end
Instead I find myself face to face with my other half

Gazing into a deep dark silky pool
        I can't explain
        can't seem to leave

Beautiful unexpected deep impassioned new
I think I've fallen in love
Eyes of my panther sad, understanding, wise, searching for something I don't have
I'd follow him into any jungle dark
       latte and chocolate
       coat and skin

Face to face yet with burning eyes straight ahead
I rest my hand on his thick dark neck as we walk side by side
My panther and me
Down a road neither can know, bound by something so sweetly unseen
Time Stands still
As do I
All the violence
And all the hate
Has stopped,
For now.
I look at each one of you
And realize
I hold the fault for everything
Every evil, and every sin.
I created chaos and misery.
I should have written it clearer...
I am a God,
The one you simply call God.
I am one of many,
And you have misinterpreted
My book,
My novel,
My fantasy.
 Nov 2012 Peyton Smith
Ugo
Naked pictures of God on my nightstand,
Dry bones of Moses painted on my button down shirt screaming,
“to be or not to be” is not an English word.
In the daze of the thoughts of Neurology, I saw a man kick a bucket full of Starbucks giftcards down the avenue street. He screamed in pain as he watched the bucket tumble and roll down the street, blessing every Bohemian with a slight cold.

Naked pictures of God on my nightstand,
I dreamt about a land before man where the Oxygen that sprang from the pores of flowers
sang a sweet death. Where dishwashers are saints, for afterall, man will not be if not for food.
Where books are written not to be read, but for the sake of Orange trees that will grow in the future.
I once wore a poker face to a funeral and laughed at the man in the casket because the souls he had underneath him were two left feet.

*We all once had naked pictures of God on our nightstands but lost it after Einstein  
Lost the fried chicken war of 1812 to Isaac Newton.
"Closer attention to the character of our age will, however,  reveal an astonishing contrast between contemporary forms of humanity and earlier ones..." --Friedrich von Schiller, "On the Aesthetic Education of Man"

"They asking how he disappear and reappear back on top
Saying Nas must have naked pictures of God or something"---Nas, "Loco-Motive"
 Nov 2012 Peyton Smith
Ugo
The unorthodox are the true prophets
for their ways are those of the future,
so in the now, most kings get their head cut off.

But as death is the greatest prophet,
for it never fails to come true,
their martyrdom proves their ways truer than the footsteps of their fathers,
so in the face of adversities;
never be afraid to be a lonely Jesus on the Cross.
“Most young kings get their head cut off”—Jean-Michel Basquiat
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