Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
All that's human
is uncertain
life's secrets gnaw
at the heart of reason--

yet I know
this as credibly certain
when life is weary of me
that's my good-bye season.
A strewn learner sticker

His ego was always too thick



Too thick for glass

A windscreen stood no chance



Now mourners melanchol

Of a young man taken



His mother saw the real him

She saw the fake



"A little angel" they say

Certainly the one he took away
ciankennedy.me
 Sep 2017 Suja Gunasegaran
J
Forgive them today,
Or resent them everyday.
A tough choice, indeed.
One gives peace; the other, pain.
You're free to choose either way.
Easier said than done. Applies to one's self, too.
i lost a friend when i lost u
i cried more than ever
i needed u the most that day
bt my conditions were clever
i want to trust u again
n i miss u alot
but can i ever look at u
the way that i alwys used to
they say trust is like a paper
once crumpled can not be the way it used to
but i still want u back
i dont know how
its ok
dear frnd
i still love u the same
its just a bitter feeling
that never wants me to trust u again
 Sep 2017 Suja Gunasegaran
Vani j
She wished she had more depth.....
Although she was already drowning
 Sep 2017 Suja Gunasegaran
Vani j
She had beautiful eyes
They looked like sunrise
 Sep 2017 Suja Gunasegaran
Vani j
Blue Blue Blue Blue Blue
But she was so
True True True True True
Saying “Women of the Night”
Might be alright
As a description for some girls,
They stream eastward
Along the bank,
Checking for marauders and adjusting curls.

Yet courtesans are different;
They came as swiftly as they went,
Called on by important men.
From house and hotel they are borne,
In carriages, and in finery worn,
For those who have a yen.

Yet others still elude one name,
Of condemnation or fame.
They do not wander at men’s whims.
They deliver terms to him or him.
And live in dwellings finer still,
Until the payer has had his fill.

But with the latter does he ever
Tire of the source of pleasure?

For some the need outlasts his want,
And he becomes the supplicant!
Then woman’s wit becomes the master,
While her body wields a whip.
The sinner’s desire speeds still faster,
As she the body’s scale does tip.
This was an attempt to fuse Galsworthy's view of Victorian "women of the night" versus the updated version of Irene Adler as a ******* in the BBC's "Sherlock".
Next page