Ender Royalty Apr 12
What does it mean
When you have a dream
Is it to remind you of what you want
Something you will never have

Is it a form of torture
Something your mind has had in store
To make your aspirations come true
Just to take them in an instant

Will my dreams ever come true?
Will everyone else's come true, too?
Icarus
O' paragon of my dreams
My aspirations given wings
Our tales tailor you as a foolish boy
Yet who succeeds, he who does not strive
Regardless of fear
Towards thine highest height?
Poetic T Mar 21
To honour
           ourselves
      we must exist.

For without
             purpose
       of being we are empty.

But life is the
                aspiration,
       for we only endure one.

Live it without
               the shackles
        of others, we alone are free.
Jeff Gaines Mar 18
There is this place I love to go,
some would call it a dream.
I smile and laugh with all who're there,
no one is ever mean.

It's not one place I drift off to …
It changes all the time.
The same location, night and day,
would truly dull the mind.

Exploring the seas
and mountains
and caves.
Zooming low
over high tree tops
and skimming across the waves.

It's not a delusion of grandeur
nor a proclamation of emancipation …
It's really more like a form of
therapeutic anticipation.

It's not that I hate being here,
I simply aspire to do more.
I have so much to share with the world
and places I wish to explore.

Share is the watchword here.
I want something back.
I wish to see and do and learn …
To gain the things that I lack.

But somewhere here along the way, something's bogged me down.
I find myself spinning my wheels and often wearing frowns.

I close my eyes and off I go, to the place I've told you about …
I see it more like a vacation … not a desperate way out.

I'm sure one morning that I'll wake up
and I'll be there for real.
Then no more moments of my day,
on this journey will I have to steal.
This was written a very long time ago at a moment in my life when I was feeling exasperated and frustrated about all my efforts seeming to end up fruitless. We all go there sooner or later, don't we?

I think I was in my early 30's and getting a lot of rejection emails on my first Novel. My writing was doing great online, my poetry winning awards ...

My favorite part of it is the multi-syllable words strung together. I was just beginning to stretch my wings with whimsy and word-smithing.

But, without a degree, the "Literati" in the publishing world will usually have little or nothing to do with you. To them, I guess ... without that paper, how could you POSSIBLY have something to write about?

This is just simply one of things we write as a form of "self-medication" as-it-were. It did make me feel better ... and as it always does ... things got better.

Such a Roller Coaster we are all riding, huh?!
Like bees to honey
are my anxieties to me
In subtle matresses
with sunken eyes
I percieve my neurotic dreams
my desperate aspirations
my misconstrued qualities
my blinded prophecies
Megh Nov 2017
all that is lost
isn't always meant
to be found,
in the first place;
like faint traces
of your cologne
on the pillow
where i rest;
like our first
awkward picture together;
like your maddening lust
to not be satiated
because it makes you
value things less,
and probably that's why
when you found out
that you could have me:
you left,
because some things, darling
aren't meant to be
found.
I love the butterfly
It's beauty & grace are easy to see
But hidden a plain body
Hiding under vibrant wings
She wants to be loved
So she shines her beauty
Not letting anyone see
The struggle and the pain
Endured for those wings she's gained
For so long she was held down
Dreams shattered she almost drowned
But the butterfly was given wings
And now with grace, She will fly
anon Nov 2017
I don’t mean to alarm you
But I am dying
I’ve been dying for awhile
And I hope that when I go
I join the ranks of the greats

Robin Williams
Audrey Hepburn
Robert Frost
George Washington

Names everyone knows
Names I grew up admiring
Aspiring
Wanting
Wishing

Everything tries to be them
And falls flat
Probably because I’m dying
And when you’re dying
You aren’t as great
As you once thought

My jokes will never crack a smile
On the wrinkled
Cavernous face
Of Mr. Robin Williams

My beauty lies inside
Since I lack the seraphic
Elegant
Graceful
Beauty of Audrey Hepburn

My words are mere letters
Where they could be scars
And stars
Like Robert Frost

I lack courage
I lack leadership
Greatness finds victims aside me
Leaving me
Always one step behind
George Washington and his armies

Bet he keeps those armies in his sleevies

I’m dying up here
Just like these sucky jokes

I’m dying here
From school
From work
Anxiety
Grades
And all the like

And I’m dying in here
From loneliness
Ostracization
Failure to complete
Lack of motivation

I’m dying here
Can’t you see
Brent Kincaid Nov 2017
As I sit here in my easy chair
Watching life pass me by
There are people in the world
Who do greater things than I.
There are great minds at work
Studying the world and space.
Not me, I’m afraid, I just sit,
Watch TV, a calm look on my face.

I have not written an opera
Or an awesome symphony.
I have not written great poems
To be read by more than me.
I have not waxed political
With rhetoric that will astound.
I have not created grand products
To be taken from the ground.

I did not engineer a vehicle
That will run on just dirty air.
And, yes, I painted for a while
But found few who would care.
All I seem to be able to do
Is to survive my horrendous past,
And I thank all the gods that be
That the horror did not last.

I answered, as a young fellow,
When people asked to my face,
“What do you want out of life?”
I quickly answered, “My own place.”
Now that I am adult and that
Has finally come to be a reality,
I can’t seem be anxious to comply
When life demands more of me.
redruMAndTea Oct 2017
It started in the seventh grade.
You were young and I was young and I think
we can both completely agree that we were
pretty dumb and ignorant.
It was your voice I think,
that really brought me in.
Sweeping me up until
I was hopelessly and mindlessly
wrapped around your finger.

It wasn’t like honey.
and it most definitely wasn't like
“Sunshine on a cloudy day.”
It was dark.
Dark like midnight skies twinkling with starlight
and warm cinnamon that stings pale
Lips.
It was quiet like mysterious city alleys littered with
brazen homeless people,
sleeping in fetal positions on the streets.
Like hurt and joy and youth and indifference from the rest of our peers.
But that's the catch.
You were different.

You were beautiful in all your youthful glory and wildness.
Adrenaline spilling from your presence; sweeping everyone up along the way.
Taking them with you.
Smiling and laughing and dark eyes twinkling
Like that of the stars nestled deep in your voice.

And then there was I.
The shy, extremely indifferent, and mostly awkward
middle school girl with too many freckles
and too big glasses that filled her face full.

Your name passed the coven that was my lips
like a sacred secret
too many times to be sane yet,
did mine ever pass yours?

I aspired for you.
Only you.
Yet you never did for me.
Unrequited love, my Dear.
Unrequited love.
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