Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
You're crazy.
You don't deserve to be alive.
I don't know
what you're thinking,
perhaps it's
something you've been drinking.
The way you
think,
the things you
do,
they make me scared.
Who are you?
All these crazy people, serial killers, murderers, and so many others that I can't bring myself to write. Why are they here and why do they hurt us?
Dost thee care for it which belongest not to you ?
Dost thee care for them who walk on wreckage as thou didst?
Why are the words misconstrued?
Why is the truth hard to you?
Ever that thou sowest
When yieldest the possibility of lowest
Measure thine life's circumference
Since thou revolvest most near the dark
Often it be the most absorbed
How thou mess with a mere sector
Yet the most of it collapsest
Sweating in the smoke to keep going
It requirest lest of a hope
Thee who dost not hear the screams
Cannot hear the sayings
Those qualms pushing to help that which benefits us nothing
To care for those who're going through that which we once nagged about
Those push and pulls could be the way to acumen
Some words can set you on fire. Some words can put your fire out.
Watch which ones you use.
Rules are made to be broken.
Guilty :)
CROW 1d
{|:|::|:|}
I am writer,
|::|
I am not a fighter,
|::|
But the pen is stronger than the sword,
|::|
and spilling blood isn't as powerful as a single word,
|::|
Fear that of which the writer will write,
|::|
Cause the writer is always right,
|::|
And his knowledge is what you think of till the end of the night.
{|:|::|:|}
THE WRITER
rgz 2d
Memories
Like a fistful of sand
Leaky and incomplete
Something I can't grasp
Like talking in my sleep

Memories
Of dreams in daylight
Of things that never were
Like reflected starlight
Music gone unheard

Memories
Of cold nights and warm lips
Of skeletons and their prayers
From buried paths they slip
Abandoning their lairs

Memories
Like a stream in the night
It's darkest depths concealed
Memories
Like snow's last flight
Melts as it's revealed
Someone said to me today (I forget who he was quoting) that it's the things we don't remember that define us
I find this to be a somewhat unfortunate truth
sempiternal memories
flow like a river
the resting brume on misty waters
twisting into the distant offing
the mellifluous melody of the ethereal past

like thunder above songbirds,
the illusion dissipates into a weazening
idealistic falsehood, an optimistic masquerade
the thrash of lightning onto deciduous skeletons
awakens the truth beneath

as the roaring flames erupt
the leaves effloresce to ash
the halcyon lies are swelted
into no more than gentle dust
the endless turned ephemeral
halcyon lies
burn into
ephemeral truths
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
What would i do
If i loved me too?
It's a given to have a shot at your standard poem on valentines day.
No valentines for me this year, gotta start on some more self love first.
Stop .
Stop telling yourself
that you
are bad.
Stop telling yourself
that you will always be
sad.
Stop telling yourself
that you ****.
Stop telling yourself that you
are bad luck.
Just stop.
Start telling yourself
that you are
great.
Start telling yourself
that something great you can create.
Start telling yourself
that you are enough.
This is because
you can
love .
And everyone can love, all you need to do is try.
It’s a shame for me,
To claim,
That I live in,
An independent state,
When all I see around me,
Are salves
Slaves of fate,
***** of greed,
Slaves of lies,
It is a disgrace for me,
To say,
That I live in a.
Peaceful state,
Where  everyday,when I wake up,
All I see are the bodies,
Of innocents hanging,
Hanging on the branches,
Branches of banyan,
Branches of trees,
It is so degrading.
For me to say,
I belong to a loving state,
When I see my people,
Being discriminated,
On basis of colour, sect,religion,
And I feel ashamed,
When I see a headless body,
Of an innocent child,
Who had only learnt to smile……………
Next page