Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 Nov 2014 Raj Arumugam
Artaxerxes
Odd
I was tap dancing on stilettos in the snow when                                                             ­                                                            I  began to notice the crimson markings on my world
And I thought  it odd                                                              ­                         That something as beautiful as a dance ..
Would cause one
To bleed
one down..a million to go
 Nov 2014 Raj Arumugam
Artaxerxes
If only I were great, what tales I would spin
If only I could reach that space from within
The point from which great writers do extricate
those rivers of poetic beauty they create
the ones people seem to get lost inside of
the ones that seem magically to descend from above
A piece that would quench the most hard to please thirst
and it's ten millionth reading would entertain as it's first
If only my writing were "all the rage"
to see it in print, with my name on the page
A dream so illusive, so far yet so near
A reality so clouded, so distorted yet clear
Great paintings are seen and great poems are heard
Great painters use paint, great writers use words
It all sounds so simple and yet it's so hard
like trying to pull an ace out of fifty-two cards
I would write for you all, lines that others would imitate
I would write for you all ...

If only I were great
written   2 a.m.
 Nov 2014 Raj Arumugam
Artaxerxes
Antiquated illusionist, frail as he may be, weaves spells, creates enigmas
for the populace to see
In his own little world of nihilism only he exist
The solo axiom, in a sea of drowning fish
Paroxysm comes in intervals, sometimes four, five times a day
not pain, not rage, nor convulsion but laughter leads the way
Excuse me my good man he shouts, would you care to drink with me?
And I wouldn't call that strange at all, if he weren't talking to a tree
you too my friends you'll come along for the party, he loudly said
The little dogs just gave a bark, and cocked their puzzled heads
He marched into the bar as if he were leading a parade
the look in his eyes screamed all the while..
this man's in need of shade
But what a time they had that day, they drank till there was no more
Till the little dogs and he alike lay passed out on the floor
Then a tap on the shoulder, an "excuse me sir,"                                       and a "call for you line three"
Sitting up in his chair he thought to himself "what a crazy dream"
While on the phone he glanced around and something caught his eye
When he realized what it was he saw, he thought he'd surely die
Two small dogs lie in the corner, beneath a small, green tree
And with a straining glance he noticed
An empty shot glass beside all three ;-)
You must forgive my writing, as you can see even the slightest attempts at punctuation give me trouble, I  only hope that you enjoy the concept of the poem and ..overlook my grammatical shortcomings
Beauty comes from inside
It's a truly tragic thing
that some people
feel the need
to have their
skin cut by the
surgeon to release it.
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!­!!



Minimalist
Soul Survivor
(C) 2014
The battle raged on inside my head
My heart was wounded and it bled

Tempestuous tides of full moon rise
Brings down all love's demise

To handle diamonded and golden dreams
I was hell bent to rip apart it's seams

I will away all love to yesterday
And kiss the past's hollow lips that stay

And what never was , will be no more
And what never was , will be no more
I feel dried up.
As if the summer sun
Absorbed all my creativity.

And it's only now exposed
In the pale fall moonlight.
Next page