Hello Poetry is a poetry community that raises money by advertising to passing readers like yourself.

If you're into poetry and meeting other poets, join us to remove ads and share your poetry. It's totally free.
What is better, something left up to chance or something to choices superiority?
You see time, the Mistress of authority.
Sitting up on her throne, dealing you a chance laid in your majority.
I look in and see, a chance dealt seldom laid to but in minority.
So, a future that could lay greener, or an assured decentness. Which takes priority?
I must take these decisions seriously, before it must be dealt in Parental seniority.
But, my words now are vague and dealt in inferiority.
To the realities and it’s sentence to us mortals, maintained posterity.
But the question remains, do I take it or leave it?

Life is laid on its toes, forged in assurity. Never is it found boringly.
Those moments of silence are well earned, acts of charity.
But silence drives the loud men mad, they seek clarity.
“Where oh where will I be brought today?” Asked in fear and a voice spoken drearily.
But, must I force my own hand, Or are there things laid out already forcefully?
I see this future, and it has me dressed out in a suit made formally.
But, my choices and my sense of right and wrong are decimated horribly.
But there she lies, away from mystery and its surprises known horridly.
If I were to give up my quest, I could live out my life normally!
Little am I stable towards change, an attitude ornery.
But all I have to do is surrender, and sit in piety.
And in that slowed down version of life, quite possibly,
With her I would have children that would know the meaning of Organized Purity.
But, what is the quality?
This vision haunts me now, it’s presence in rarity.
However, the beauty of life is it’s finite nature and it’s mystery, change rewards me with sanity.
After time it does, comfort is dealt sparingly.
But she and I know of this confirmed future, but to live in verity!
I want to live good and true. To her, I mean this statement in no asperity.
But a life laid out is one laid out in atrocity.
But, if I fail I hope that I will never have the audacity
Hope I have that I will never go in wrongful conformity.
There is someone better for her, but those who aren’t appear often despairingly.
Her beautiful face, our wondrous life. Look at it empirically.
The children are ours, shared in a sense of equality.
And our love is hinted now, but assured then in finality.
I just have to reach out my hand in trust of futurity.
But what of previous mishaps, those shown historically?
Surely this mustn't be so! I draw back my hand slightly inquiringly.
“Must time show me itself in lines and not layers? It is of planes and not plainess. No linearity!”
But the Mistress of Time whispers, “These things are true only in your sense of maturity.
If you are ready to make these things be, then real will this become.” I sensed the severity.

I saw my possible Children, and me and her with them. Looking as if we knew it all along.

But I, could not live in that society.
She desired, no deserved a Pious, Christian man. But who am I who rests in vulgarity?
That is a form of me, an Echo. I am still bridled in Immaturity.
Many of you will mark this as an inexcusable case that ensures my notoriety,
“Choose this great life!” That is against who I will become. I suspect it Reassuringly.
But I still look down the always open vision into this life from time to time in curiosity.
How would I act as this Father of them? Husband of hers? Bridled in insecurity?

I will always tear myself away in tears. I am Individuality.
I learn from it, but I am Individuality.
I look at my happy face, but I am Individuality.
I know that is rightful in it’s wayward being. Am I Individuality?
Legacy lies languidly, laying lovingly lopsided on lethargic lovers.
I smile at myself, this could be me.
I cannot fathom it
I can control it.
I close my eyes and turn to Mistress Time
“No More. Close it.”
“This is Mercy, accept your wonderful life.”
“This is his life, I don’t want to create this foundation on my faulty being.”
“You will mature with time, you must and you will.”
“Must you trivialize yourself Mistress? I know your tricks, this is me.
But I am me, and I must decide to be me. I know that it seems good
But what of the strife? The undecided variables?
I love her too much to make her succumb to me.
But I love her too much to let this vision go.”
Mistress Time, awarded me with the ability to see this vision at my will.
To look upon this possible future.
And to always allow myself to come back to it
“Life can’t be Deterministic, this must be wrong.
And I will never know, for by even viewing it I may have set it aloft.
I hold strong against Determinism, Mistress Time must have entrapped me.”
I went to her side again,
“Mistress Time, how must you exist throughout everything as a single being?”
“I am only but a figment, a being of profound representation.
I am not time, but I speak on its behalf.
My powers are limited, as time is molded.
That vision is not real in this plane, but in another you could be approaching it is.
This future could exist for you, I showed it to you because I wanted you to see it.
To see that you could aspire to be this Father in this life or another.
To see that you could reach it or avoid it.
I understand your love for her, and if you do denounce your secular ways
I show you this as a way to continue on.”
She disappeared from among me, and her essence entered my mind.
I envisioned her, as my entity for time.
She speaks for what I understand, and I was speaking to myself.
I do not know what will lead to that future
But what I do know is that I will continue on as if I were to normally.
Making mistakes, and being ignorant.
I will not take this as divine intervention.
No future is that clear cut and predictable.
But if it does end up that I progress in such a way rightfully, then I will have no anger.
I will not push anyone out of character, but rather ride this wave of existence the best I can.
I look at whom I love, and back to me.
I love her in a way that transcends time.
But, if this future were to be not realized by our real persons.
Then I would not wish it upon us.
So, I rest the case and the vision out of my mind.
And continue my journey.
I am Individuality.
Long story short, even before me and my Ex ever got together, I doubted it would work. She implored, and against my gut feeling we got together. Saw how that turned out. A poem about my doubt before it happened. (Ax7 -}B bx2 Bx5 bx1 B bx8 Bx3 bx6}-}bx6}w*x3 l*A%}[Dialogue])
Elizabeth Jan 7
Let me fade away into the distance
Like temporary hair dye
Or a cloud after rain
Not into pages of books
Not into family secrets
Into memories covered in cobwebs
Not gilded in gold
Bleak. Barren. Broken.
Blackness blotting out the blood
Basking in blazes

~ j.l.
First attempt at a haiku :)
Ocean T Dec 2018
crushes are crushing,
flings are fleeting,
hook-ups are haunting
yet love is lovely
I'm not incredibly experienced in the dating world, but I definitely have my fair share of moments in pursuing people and coming back to the same conclusion that if it is not love, then is it worth it?
Elizabeth Zenk Dec 2018
the pouring of acid into my skull,
the song of searing sadness
burns in a boastful boisterous blaze.
lonely leeches lavish my love
removing roses and riches,
and turning treasures into terror.
echoing emptiness etches erratic thoughts
and cremates the cool calmness.
wander, worthless worms
and dare to drift into a daunting dream.
all alone.
Oliver Philip Dec 2018
Sport Alliteration.
Can you canoe white waters in a bucket ?
Slam dunk that punk for stealing your best car
Watch pool aces take it from your pocket ?
Or pretty perky jockeys riding last.
Tennis stars still have their cake and eat it.
Chess masters checked from mating much
         this year.
Simple sailors question whether weather’s
          clement ?
A runner’s been a runner from the start.
Notice now a notice board to board to notice?
TV covers the sport. Sport covers the TV.
I rest my case for alliteration Who really cares?

Written by Philip
December 2nd 2018. ~
Sport Alliteration
Sketcher Nov 2018
Yet another someone else decides suicide is significant,
In some manner and mulls over the materiality and innocence,
That would wander away while pending the process,
Some scalpel, shotgun, or Saturday night special to scrap the stress,
Together till Doomsday take trifling tribes to the terminal trial,
The end is inevitable so make off the supplemental mile,
Suicide is not fun. Alliteration is.
Sketcher Nov 2018
Alliteration is commonly the key,
To all successful sounding poetry,
Successful sounds are strenuous to seize,
But I can ensnare the melody with ease,
Emotions are the essential element to extract,
From people probing unplumbed parts of perceptive apprehension,
Compassing county's that are charred, crumbled and cracked,
Living lives loaded with languishing litter and interminable tension.
The Mellon Oct 2018
People are beautiful,


Pretty people please a perverted industry,
Of powerful men
Preferring **** to passion to progress,

Preferring ******* productions over
#metoo protests
As mr. president likes to grab 'em by the p..

Provoking pain-passing-fists
Pulsating pro-rights protests,
Journalists plee for coverage praying no one pulls a
Knife and produces plumes of blood from the press
All while
Young picassos paint Guernica in America.

A broken people of a nation perpatrating hate-

Where red plus blue can only make purple-
But dark blue and dark red parish and persecuted plee for due process?

Plain racism profoundly perpatrates power and policy because polititions prefer power over people!

A parchment in hand is worth two poor people on the shores of Philippine islands passing pork bones around on plastic forks polluteing ashore to portion a pathetic excuse for super.

Admittedly population proceeding proper capacity depleting the recourse needed per proper production for product based programs-
-tax breaks produce proper rich persons-
Poor penny pedalers paddle street corners prostituting their dinner from someone's porch steps.

Pathetic "Presidential" GOPs
Catapaulting propaganda past press outlets producing media paranoia.

Piranhas perhaps are the least problematic politition ashore.
Petulance is peace right?

Perhaps Palestinian misplacement and
Poor communication produce
A melting *** per pound of C 4
Terrarist propaganda pasted
On highways toting plywood posters
Providing hate.

Parasitic politics polluting a proud nation
Patrolled by plastic islands and pay-per-view gun violence.
Police brutality providing protection for
Parkland shooting,
The NRA having premeditated lawsuits against progress

Programs protecting people getting

-Sorry blocked,

By political party(s)
Preferring deep pockets to
Public safety

Appocoliptic predictions
Loom in present day policy
As unreputable "science" papers
Preach lies to gospel preachers

Perhaps human problems
Produce paper cuts
Peeling skin to skin
For radical apologies to bleed out,

Perhaps bleeding pools
Poor out filling
Evaporated paradise
With EPA Pruit's preference of
Proper science.

Perhaps penguins and polar bears
Produced proper plans:

Die off before the planet plummets per plume cloud of nuclear power.
Or more likely planetary pestilence
For people.
Inspired by Harry Bakers poem "Paper People"
Filomena Nov 2018
My mind is a prison.
I can read the sign, but it wasn't mentioned in the manual.
Just sigh and move on.
Next page