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Maggie evans Aug 2017
Upon each step as I walk this earth,
mud lies deep beneath my feet.
Weather climbing a rocky mountain,
to admire a far reaching view within horizons askue.
Mud lies deep beneath my feet.
weather running as fast as I possibly can,
after the last train as it departs the station,
under concrete platforms.
Mud lies deep beneath my feet.
weather walking fields of plains,
within sun kissed meadows on a summers day.
Mud lies deep beneath  my feet.
weather rowing a small boat,
within the cradle of the river.
Under silty bottoms spilling fresh water.
Mud lies deep beneath my feet.
Weather climbing weathered branches of the mighty oak.
Standing strong upon the valleys edge,
mud lies deep beneath my feet.

Weather running cycling flying or gliding,
mud lies deep beneath my feet.
Weather running late or running on time,
mud lies deep beneath my feet.
When my steps are smaller and less than few,
mud lies deep beneath my feet.
As I draw my last breaths  then placed within this earthern ground.
Mud lies deep beneath my feet.
For all of eternity back to the earth,
from which we were all once born.
Mud runs deep beneath our feet.
it is important in life that we stay humble and grounded.
claire elizabeth Mar 2017
I'll never understand how they live with themselves.
They condemn death only when it suits them.
They judge those who speak their minds
While embracing a nation of child-killers.

I'll never understand how they live with themselves.
Sleep must be hard to come by when you
Endorse the murders of millions of children
With no more thought than a gardener pruning a pesky ****.

I'll never understand how they live with themselves.
They extinguish the fragile flames of would-be daughters and sons
And explain that this heinous crime is
Not only acceptable, but essential.

I'll never understand how they live with themselves.
It must be nearly impossible to stand up straight
When the burden of innocent lives swings from your shoulders.
Death is so heavy, even if the souls are small.
An elegy for unborn babies. An elegy for morality.
Virtue Aug 2016
Some people make me feel heavy...
They carry their woes chained to the past --
Eyes low, downcast.
Stressing each breath as though it were their last.
And I wonder how long it takes to be comfortable with the weight of dead dreams.
How do they walk around
With the burden of unburied bones on their backs?
Held by conditions of the mind.
Burdened by the size of their gravitas
And they’re falling...
Into themselves crushed by the weight of their own contentment.
That fatal attraction to complacency --
A gravity to destruction --
A psyche made of black holes.
Their thoughts are collapsing
When their microcosms meet reality
Imploding delusions radiating that hopeless flare.
A signal for help.
The meltdown, a mental Chernobyl.
I’m just waiting to for them to blow up praying there won’t be any casualties.
Blow up
Inflated egos with hot air
And dead works
As they babble on in Babylon
Spoon fed trash.
Faith has no room to operate in a mind of science.
What is hope when proof dictates belief?
So they have erected Babel’s Tower in their hearts
And loan themselves to a system of debt.
Invest their golden years as sacrificial time
Traded for the wisdom that opened the door to death.
If the fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge,
Then knowledge without fear is the beginning of pride.
That monster...
Shadow of “I am...
That stands in the light of the court proclaiming his dominance as the reigning king.
Adamant to follow in the footsteps Adam went.
The way they lean to their own understanding
Until their spines break under the weight of their egos
Teetering over the tightrope’s edge.
The fall of the fallen is written in their genes
Ironed by the conditioned mind.
The crease, a solid line between right and wrong
They attempt to re-appropriate with the folds of personal truths.
Dry cleaned to a false sense of purity
Marks that won’t quite come out
Stain the fabrics of time.
Their morality is a matter of opinion.
The cross they bare crushes with neglected facts hidden in plain sight.
They embrace fantasies like pillows of bubbles
Alarmed when their resting place pops under uncertainty.
And they’re falling...
In the depths of a dream scared to wake
Drowning in their subconscious.
So heavy are the lungs
With the labor of life.
So heavy are their eyes
With the labor of attention.
Though winged like eagles
They have traded flight for earthly pleasures.
Lowered their sights from heavenly castles
To these fleeting natural treasures.
Regal royalty out of place from their thrones
Bowing prostrate before rulers with no measure.
Give them an inch
Now they must slave on their feet
To the yard they ***** pyramids for miles and miles and miles.
Standard measures for standard living
When they choose to cover their world
In darkness' cold blanket
And invite the warmth of temptation into their beds
Sleeping with the enemy unable to satiate
The Deadly Seven.
Carnal lusts mixed with greed
It’s in gluttony they trust
Envy to spurn ambitions
Too slothful to accept the mission
So they whisper a prayer full of doubt hoping he’ll listen
Ignited by wrath at the answers condition.
They point a finger up at He
Puffed up pride with the audacity
To curse His name - ****** bitter blasphemy.
It’s on his children they blame
The disposition of their fortune
Not realizing those without these familial ties
Are all out cutting deals with lady luck.
Many are bound to get stuck.
Meanwhile I sit on Cloud 9
Tracing silver linings in dark skies
Wishing I could rend the firmament to show them heaven is but a thought away.
To believe is the only way
I know to escape this purgatory
Called life.
One must learn to flow with the wind like a leaf
To move with His perfect will guided by invisible hands.
If these heavy souls could but release the reigns
And give him a little control.
Remember the authority placed in them…
Let Him shoulder their burdens.
Their steps will no longer carry the weight of oppression.
They would remember their wings to fly.
They would remember just how light it feels to be
Alive.
The plot unravels in a place where there is a conflict,
The Just turns the **** locking arms with the Instinct,
Wrapped around a ribbon of constant struggle,
Not an inch of movement was seen to loosen the knot,
Warped under a sheet of plastic paper it carries the thought,
Caught in feet of the moment loved and boggled,
Altruid and Maltruid speaking into the world,
Reflection of mists and essences scuffled into artificial pearls,
It peaks as they peek the unended curiosity,
Whilst the mirror is fuzzing and buzzing,
Of their frail but truthful simple realities,
The key to the treasure they do not see when those eyes are in pus,
.
.
.
.
They yearn or want to call everybody an "Us".
Have you ever seen two sides in conflict?
Calling the other an enemy?
When in the mirror they can not see?
Eyes, ears, and spirits... Debris...
Marissa Ulrich Nov 2015
She cuts and bleeds,
Because it's you she needs,
She cries and she cries,
Please help her 'cause I've tried.

She screams at her reflection,
Finding all her imperfections,
Her demons are eating away at her,
All those words caught like burrs.

She feels no pain,
It ****** her skin like freezing rain,
Coursing through her blood,
Then she hits her head with a thud.

Blood now rushing,
Her screams now, hushing,
She's fallen silent,
To her own assailants.
This goes out to the strugglers. Strugglers, with whatever it is, don't let it take you. In this poem the girl struggles with cutting over a boy, hating her own body image (which is personally what I struggle with), and drugs. It all ended with her dead. Don't let these things take you. Live. Choose life.

— The End —