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Dougie Simps Dec 2013
I'm a realist, mildly an idealist.
My ideas create a mindset that allows me to express feelings
But I built up a wall, high as a skyscraper..I stand, as a realist I know if I jump, I'm bound to meet my maker. I don't think idealist are weak.
I just think they escape the honesty they seek.
You don't walk a straight line in order for you to finally reach your peak.
Obstacles come and go, water is a need if you want to grow, you can't have a lightbulb without an idea and expect it to magically glow.
I know every action I do and especially when I am wrong but, I just won't rewrite all my wrongs, they inspire all of my greatest songs.

Optimistic that I'll make it, I just need more effort than 50 percent
because you get what you put in, as a realist I know if you put in half, half back is all you will ever get.
People remember your mistakes, the heroics they just simply forget.
I can't stand when people think it's okay to live a life without any regrets.

Sure things happen for a reason and karma "may" have your enemies morally bleeding, but your ideology sounds misguiding and thought process misleading. Karma is an excuse to allow a higher calling contribute to your spiteful abuse, you don't want the crime on your soul so you allow the angels to fatally shoot. It's fine, before we die, we all commit a crime.
Women ****, men steal, just being in love should require you to do time.


Born a realist sinner...far from an idealist winner
Success doesn't come over night
The sweet life doesn't come until after you've made your dinner..and cleaned the plate, but we're never satisfied...nah, we going to probably eat again late.
Work hard for the dream, don't just rely on faith.
A realist knows she may not show up, even when you scheduled a date.
It's all love to the victims, stuck in a fiction. If you hate this piece...your ignorance got you unable to listen.
Not my problem though. I'm speaking without any permission! I like that idea...oh ****, wait...I think I just become my own contradiction?
...forget it, I'm healing, my words and unpredictable wisdom, I am still dealing.
Insanity is a fear that is expressed towards you when others have confusion
A realist, an idealist..no one is right...our concepts to each other seem all an illusion.

-Dougie simps
No proof read. My bad
I hate the dreadful hedge behind the little wood;
And its roaming souls are blotted by a red-blood heath.
I hath treaded it, my imaginary path, since my years of childhood;
But still consolation hath come not to where I'th waited.

I'th painted it with my talent, my tears, and my solemn grief;
But even a light cometh not to such moments too brief;
Prayers are done; and even months and deserts and nights of supplications;
But still heaven is nowhere to me, heaven t'at is mute-and feedest only on our admiration.

Ah, Almighty, why is Thy image the one I so wanted to ****;
And why hath thou emerged within me no goodwill?
I am unable still, to locate my peace;
But though negligent-I think I am worthy of finding my bliss.

And Thy love of me is infamous like these frail petals;
And in my miseries Thou wert never around when I called;
Ah, where is this mysterious heaven, then, as Thou oft' boastest;
Whenst lightning is the one who destructs, and bedevils, and recomposes?

And Thy forgiveness is small and even absurd;
For salvations are seas-in which sins are bathed off and cured;
Making 'eir villainous souls are pure-and never impure;
Purified by the eternal corporeal blueness; so that t'eir weights merciful and sure.
And as sure as a gentle, understanding blood,
Where wouldst then be-a real punishment so hard?
And so where is this pompous hell embodied, thereof, as Thou often mirrorest;
If forests are dark enough-and at night canst be a terror deadliest?

Ah, and whenst my soul fallest ill,
Why art Thou not within me still?
I am weary; just like t'ese dark storms about me,
But still Thou art nowhere, so t'at my poems cannot find Thee.
Even as I starest at Thy plain rainbow;
Why is it of falsehood-instead of a sane tomorrow?
I searched and journeyed for Thy fair promise;
I am exhausted now, for I hath found not-one faint stretch o' Thy kiss.
I tired myself with Thy sour learning;
But Thou wert never there; Thou sat never, by my everything!

My blood and soul Thou hath grimly toughened;
And my flowery eyes Thou tested with tears.
Still I am febrile not-unlike my brethren;
And whenever I looketh up-Thou art never here.
Even of Thee my poems hath nothing more to say;
Though I hath fought true hard; 'gainst those who're 'stray.
Are true then-Thy bitter fires of hell,
Or is it just be a misguiding spell?
And wouldst there be fountains of water in heaven-
Or wouldst they be mere pools of poison?
For I s'pose it'd be but of one fake;
Bubbling and choking to everyone who takest;
And as my lust, and pain-Thy words consoled;
Still my misery was heroic; and I was the one scolded.
Even whenst flamed quarrels boiled;
I was the one ashamed, I was the one Thou harshly soiled!
Thou remained stiff, and in any way Thou couldst not behold;
I was oft' left stranded, collapsing and shudd'ring cold.
I was ignored, I was condemned to my suffering;
Thou soothed me never, Thou stood still to my pure straining!
I was left scarred, I was left scratched;
I was an orphan that the devil wouldst not accept;
I was like my unwholesome faith today;
And still Thou stayed mute; 's'though existed not-
'Till my tears died, and gave me nothing else to pray.

And so Eden is all abuse; and its roars are lies;
And didst I perish; wouldst only be glad its perilous eyes.
Perhaps to Thee t'is all be a tantalising story;
But as Thou needst now to know-I'd never be in thy territory;
Even though t'is earth wouldst perish, all of a sudden;
Never wouldst I kneel, nor supplicate to thy cursed ******;
Nor wouldst I cross thy damp riverside bridge;
For all is stained by dirt, and dry threefold filth.
And even nature shuffled away from my soul;
Still I stand firmly-away from Thee, o fishy and foul;
For I hath my own deployment, and honest authority;
I am honest and loyally even-to the swears of my beauty!
Ah, as Thou wouldst be pleased not, thus cast me now-away once more;
And neglect me stern' like ever before;
And admit me not-into Thy boastful superiority;
Caress me not, by Thy hands of menace-and regular hypocrisy.
I am tired of thy severable security;
As Thou owneth never-such sincerity!

And see Thy book-overborne by jokes;
Over which throats canst fall out their own yokes!
Leave me, leave me, but leave me now-just all alone;
As without Thee-I am used to being everything on my own!

Almighty, Almighty, Almighty-please now just kindly Thou leaveth me,
Strike away, if Thou couldst-my violin's barren chords-
So t'at all is silent to Thee;
And Thy dissatisfied other lords.
I am not Servant to Thy pleasures;
Though I'th strived to spell my prayers;
Thou made all feeble and obscure;
Thou turned all sickly and uglier.
Thou art hideous, hideous enough;
Thou art the devil-even the hidden devil on its own!
And thy book is not one plain verse of love;
But one naked pile of sworn lies-of plain vain scorn!
Ah, and as nothing is in Thy world, and Thy feverish harmony;
So listen, when Thou art to blame me;
I'd never still be thy bride-nor Thy wife;
I'd still fairly, but proudly turn-and leave Thee,
Though I's promised, immortality;
And though I's lent, another thousand lives.
Àŧùl Mar 2013
You tried misguiding me,
With your various distractions,
You had alcohol - offered *** to me,
But I'm me - And I'm a soldier of morals,
I'll practice Brahmcharya till I'm 25 - sorry,
You tried seducing me to your bedroom,
With your laces' & thongs' actions,
You made me look at yours,
But guiltless - I remained.
© Atul Kaushal
Cassius  Nov 2011
Clear Mind
Cassius Nov 2011
Not for years has it been clear
My mind of thoughts of meres and nears
Misses and mistakes, my mind was raked
looking for answers of how to make
sense of the fails, reasons for doubts
i'll give you all my many to pout
Mistrust and misguiding seems the key
For the reason my mind has never been free
They've taken my longing for ones they shouldn't
If asked to repeat, i swear i wouldn't.
Heike Borgard Jun 2014
***** the wil-'o-the-wisp sadly sat at home
for he was young and much too small
to roam the swamp alone

He wanted to be an elusive light
mysterious, misguiding and haunting the night.
„Oh swamp“ he whined „it all goes so slow
I don't want to stay home – please help me to grow!“

„Shut up, little ones, enough of that weeping“
bubbled the swamp and then started sleeping
„Oh not again“ the old tree moaned  as ***** burst out in tears
and raised his branches left and right
to cover up his ears.

Meanwhile a burglar with Police had a battle
with a big bag of loot he had to skedaddle
into the swamp  and lost the way.

He watched out for a guiding light
but all he found was crying *****
(wil-o'-the whisping really not bright)

„What's that?“ the burglar snidely asked
„a lousy glooming firefly?
can't even light my cigarette
get out of my way  little bug“
and  proceeded to pass by.

This now was too much for *****'s pride
(teenagers often  freak out)
He drew himself to his fullest height
and he shouted loud:
„listen you mean and human thing – I am no dim-lit light!
Beware of the rage of an wil-o'-the wisp!“
and then he run completely wild

„Hear what I will bring to you
first death then pain and sorrow
I'll **** you first then chase you down
for you there's no more tomorrow
I'll lead you into deepest swamp to a puddle of mud
and when you start to drown in it – I'll watch you in cold blood“

(if we were picky in logic and order we surely now have to complain
but let's close an eye for he is still very young – back to the story again)

Inspite all efforts and *****'s threats
the burglar did not catch a word
(wil-o'-the-wisping as language is not very common
and therefore not often heard)

Let's say (to help our ***** a bit)
the burglar was slightly confused
so nothing much happend
until the swamp woke up
and swamp was not amused

„Who dared to disturbe my holy sleep?“
he blubbered with utmost grim
*****'s finger pointed out to the burglar then
and he sheepishly squeaked „that was him!“

Swamp did not hesitate too long
burglar sank into swamp to a place deep and stealthy
(for medical reasons we have to admit  
this can't be considered as healthy)

In the next days ***** did not no more complain
to spend some more time at home
as he learned one thing this very day:
there are many ways that lead to Rome.

(©Heike Borgard 2014)
humor smile  Wil-o'-the-wisp swamp burglar
neth jones Nov 2022
the city's moon                                            
       fixated in its peoples tics and behaviour
                    crass and mentally fractured
traction acts
the loony satellite makes sway for rude construction          
                                          ­        padding our ego psychology
nothing    simple    allowed
we are all a manic reference of each other

the city weather is steered                              
       by currents of gossip
withhold your info
               culture clutches
misguiding alliances
    treasure your details                                              
                      it is your only insurance

this city                                            
it's a view to thrill                                              
            ­ but it odors me til ill
****** privacy and get undressed
too much time here   harbouring thirst      
quibbling hurt feelings                          
         signals ;  Life Emitting Distress

so                                                    
lock up the night city stars                                 
                 mar-glaring bulbs of pity-me
                          staring about for vagrancy
i flip up my hood             
lucent pandery eyes span the communal routes   
search us out       merchandise and mood
i turn down an alleyway
and am confronted
                                          a vain and voyeuristic fan tail
varieties cocktail of sales and entertainment
ad lights send out sonar 'pings'
wing-ed ; fencing judgement
i wear pricy contacts to veil my retinas
and my hood is lined with aluminium

     i cough and concentrate on breath
commemorate each step undertaken
weaponize my walk
eyes low
my being is voided into guise

heading further from the city centre
i can straighten from my defensive pose
in amongst the dwellings              
             the urban effect dwindles
kindled   instead   by the dosey soup wash of streetlights
delights;   the holy crop of them
webbing outward    retching past our boundaries          
              shored back upon natures breath                      
(so i imagine)
Georgiana S Nov 2010
"Forgive me, Father…for I have sinned"
This is how all my thoughts begin
Their ritual of villain regrets and sorrows.
They come, they lie, they spin…
Misguiding words and blinding the hallows,
While tears pray for the everyday forgiveness,
The tyrants chain my finned tomorrows
Forever consumed in acid of my illness.

Forgive me, Father…
For I have baptized my thoughts in holy water.
Their slushy sins dived into a cruel slaughter,
Leaving me senseless…hopeless…

My tongue have lost its ability
To cut the truth from raw evilness.
In this shell of madness there's no tranquility
In vengeance, burning wounds don't find stability,
In anger, blurry paths lie in selfishness
And so I lie there senseless.

The way back home
Can't be guided by crippled lights,
Redemption has got me in too many fights
Between me and my reflection,
I breathe and I bleed with no defection
While violins cry over my lost pure smiles,
Their grave shrouded me into a foolish disguise.

My lungs shout for Jordan River.
'Cause I can't go on like this…
Lies, mistakes then hinder
Every time dreams are never what is real.

Hear me, Father…

Here I stand in this place my tears used to gather.
Give me a rain drop so my eyes can heal,
Give me myself again so my skin can feel -
My thoughts are unsafe and they will ****
My insides as a sacrifice meal -  
I can hear their evil whispers, late at night…
Don't leave me drowned into this tight well,
Where my pillow is creasing words of farewell.

Thoughts sing lullabies in a shallow swing
Words like *"Forgive me, Father…For I have sinned."
copyright Georgiana S. 2010
PAGE ONE SIDE ONE

      The diffident boy’s chameleonic anguish sought to be cordial movements, only projected shaking and quivering hands while strolling along with a girl into a saunter down, down the street on a bridge hanging over a lake in a park.
      "Hold my hand" the boy said in a swoon to the girl, continuing - - "I love the shake, I love that frigid quiver, lets walk, jostle too beat, beat down the wind and jostle the street!"
       “Let us move further toward the illuminated illusions of the sun adjacent with the moon’s reflection blurred, misguiding us from shade for our eyelids, hiding,” the girl deviled, “but I know where, here,” she put out her palm, “that ****** glow is the heart of mine; take it, it is only our own warmth you will find. Let us be it. Only Be. Shade the other rays, for the other way to leave."
       She goes to hand the boy her heart, the boy abducting his hand to his side, distracted with the sun falling from the sky.
       “Oh, I must be here, here at this solemn lake, when it stills,” lightening and thunder from yonder occur, “Locomotion accompanying rain like pillars plummeting into walls capturing you and I becoming the storm’s echo. You may know where it is hiding, however, you will never go to where it is hidden.” each word pulsating from the boy’s mouth, his vision lost in the horizon of the sun burning out like a cigarette’s amber, “If I could only flick dawn into an astray and always be this high, then I would devour that glow in the palm of yours.”
       Tips of leaves sink to point to the ground, the sky begins to cry, and the boy and girl mourn.

PAGE ONE SIDE TWO

            “What the **** are we doing here, we, well I, must leave!” deep breathes in between each word as he spoke, “the air is dry, I can tear off the skin of an idol, spit up a song verbatim, ***** visceral vanity all over your tired hand.” The boy softly said, “To say that I care my dear.” Before the boy could finish all noise in the park inverted, causing sparkling wormholes splashed across the fields and meadows, slices of the moon shimmer on the rounded puddles. “I feel rested, well,” the boy paused, “the surroundings are spoken easy, calmed,” resonating, “calm, only small, smaller than the other."
          "Once… no only once I was told I was cold!  Consummate partner in your parallax! Whirlpool mirage, muddy pupils in the pits of hell, where at least? Is it scene that they are truthful devils?" The girl asked, “You must know, **** it!”

PAGE TWO SIDE ONE

The boy cried, he bellowed out killing, the sound killed,
whistles of felicity disguised in
a distant tree planted far, far over
on sides of mountains, where birds play a poet, creating, projecting the outcome of  this universe evolving, stepping-up the eardrums to shake… vibrate… create...
       "Noo…" the girl held herself under a tree with leaves stealing her. Roots absorbing her warmth, using it to darken the amassing shade, she’s dead, she’s a ghost now.
Killed while the sound killed, she's alone, holding herself, chancing upon her own to keep her memory alive.
       “Heed her advice, heed her owns. Draw pictures of her, with her face clear, photograph her face filled with tears.” The boy facetiously said.

PAGE TWO SIDE TWO

       "Oh, oh, I was a ****** fool, ******. It's graying out, the skies are dispersing, splitting into bluffs, let's go inside, forget about all of this.” The boy diverted.
    “Boy drops dead! Boy is dead!" the girl sedately said, "BOY IS DEAD BOY DROPS DEAD." She said, "lie down, grab hold of your chain, I will hold you no more, I hold only till I warm."
      "Chained? The links I combined on my own, with only you dragging me along. I'll speak easy, hang from this chain where I belong, and carve my epitaph into withering bark. I’ll starve until you deciduously leave this bright park." The boy’s eyes shutting as he fawns his final plight.
Boy dies changing his shoes.
Girl dies draped across roots.
Niveda Nahta Oct 2013
Now let me tell you what happened next,
The bold the feeble,
Went with the dead,
Down went the rich,
The poor and
The worthless,
The useless and
The innocent,
I was doing it,
No it can't be me,
I took lives,
With tears of glee,
Happiness is what filled my face,
My mouth kept moving,
And my mind insensate,
Insensible acts,
Proved my desires,
Divine were those and
those didn't tire,
shattered blessings,
Built up curses,
Collected bad dreams,
With songs and verses,
They wrote my stories,
Earned the fame,
Forget themselves
Became my tamed,
With fiery eyes
Heart of a master,
I stabbed her hard
With a daring laughter,
smirks and anger
My guiding angels,
my misguiding devils,
Made it stranger,
Misjudging me,
is your mistake,
Cause I was awake
On my bed,
When you were in your dreams,
Far away,
I was the bad man
You met in your way,
your dreams feed me,
Your smile kills,
But what suits you best
Are the smoking chills,
Give me life
Rather death,
I am,I was
A living hell,
I will take you to my nest,
Let's just say,
Yesterday,
I was possesed..
Raven  Sep 2013
hypocritical
Raven Sep 2013
They say to stop being a victim and to be a survivor
But then they add fuel the fire
They say life is to short so live it while you can
How is that possible when we're dictated by man
And I hate to be the 'party pooper' as they say
But they're a tad bit misguiding I mean who follows these everyday
They are fun to look at and inspiring to read
But its time to start living them
Are you gonna lead?
Dallas Allen  Jul 2014
Opiates
Dallas Allen Jul 2014
One and the same,
we are both opiates,
filling each other with a buzz,
while bringing each other down

Girls, just lead you on and play you
misguiding you with words that may be true
or may be a lie, may be garbage
"your just a chapter, time to turn the page"

make you feel worthless,
thoughtless
a waste
and regret missing them like you do
they destroy you emotionally

One and the same,
we are both opiates,
filling each other with a buzz,
while bringing each other down

Boys just misuse
and abuse
everyone around them
while hoping she doesn't forget em

they want a girls love
but treat her like crap, not a delicate dove
they want held, but push away
they abuse girls to feel better at the end of the day

loosing themselves in the fray
we call love, and swear feelings never sway

or fade away into nothingness
make you feel worthless,
and at fault,not good enough thoughtless


One and the same,
we are both opiates,
poisoning each other in the name of attraction
love, but its just a fatal distraction.
this poem i tried to format in a song format, what you think
I jump from this crowd
Slipping through the guards
Snatching your precious crown
The jewels to which they bowed

But you're no king
Not the kind that's revered
Your crown was built from spite
For those you kept on a string

I am no better than you
Stealing hearts to break
A fool filled with self-pity
Always doubting what to do

I don't steal what's not mine
Merely claim my title-to-be
The king of misguiding & self-loss
Just waiting for the end of the line

— The End —