Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Em MacKenzie Jan 2019
I’ve dreaded this imploding moment
my entire life unknowingly,
if there was a way to avoid it; I have blown it,
growing pains should end when you stop growing.

I’ve got speckle scars on my palms
they’re always kissing my fingernails,
there’s only one thing I’ve found that calms,
but the road collapses or the guide always bails.
“This is your brain”, but the egg doesn’t crack,
no sizzling grease rain, no white burning black.

It’s the things that feel the best that also cause the pain,
as you can only enjoy the sunshine when you’ve had a spout of rain.
Just like you can’t have a fire without an initial spark,
and you can’t bathe in the light unless you’re drowning in the dark.

But what if I’m tired of obvious consequence,
Hell, I’m tired of everything these ******’ days,
where self medicating was once used in past tense,
I think it’s time for me to revert to my old ways.

So fill a rig until it’s completely full,
and shoot me up with some false hope,
it correlates your method of push over pull,
but it’s still not as good as actual dope.
And let me rail a line of pure nirvana and bliss,
if you’re the one to cut it atleast you gave it to me technically,
if something was never there, how can it be something you miss?
I’ll keep feeding the habit until I can no longer breathe.

Destiny lost when fate found a wall of defy
to change it I would sell all of my remaining soul,
and I think I now know the reason why,
a bandaid won’t ever cover a bullet hole.
due to a lack of talent
in the writing sphere
a plagiarist will see fit
to pinch other poet's gear

brilliance not present
on the nib of the pen
hence a copyist will purloin
every now and then

a rich source of poetry
is tapped into online
as if robbing the golden nuggets
from a Colorado mine

their coda reads like
this let's nick a stanza
stowing the best *****
for a thieving bonanza

without any conscience
the reproducer does steal
making much of other's works
which are so ideal
Steele May 2015
Keening high notes mark our eyes
with scattered tears that multiply
with every breath we take in vain
and every longing lover's sigh.

Cellos resonate our hearts.
Timpani drums announce our march,
and when choirs sound like screams of pain
I know what it feels like to remain apart.
                                                     Al Coda
                                                Let's try this again,
                                                ere this depression,
                                                this lonely obsession,
                                                eats away at my brain.

Keening high notes mark my eyes,
because I know what it feels like to remain apart.
It's the requiem of a broken heart.
It's the sound of a Lark Ascending
that falls before the symphony's ending;
The caged lonely bird that dies at the start.
Arcassin B Dec 2014
By Arcassin Burnham

So much you could have done,
With life in an apocalypse,
It was about how you could do,
To worth more than being alive,
than being the notion of moving your lips,
You were someone's sister and daughter,
The fate you saw should have never taken advantage,
After the death of your father,
You and Maggie could barely manage,
These endings did so much damage,
To you,
No you were never average,
Getting though that extra leverage,
Just see rick and the crew,
I wonder how death is in Spanish,
The beauty you possess hold a lot of memories,
And when sacrifices were made , you made a lot of remedies,
And the way that you use to sing,
Made us all feeling there is hope,
And your passing will bring us pain,
We will miss you,
Just hope you know.

R.I.p beth greene.
I am a big fan of The Walking Dead Series and when they killed off beth , I cried myself almost half to death because she was an adored character and too dam kind to die, so I felt the need to make this poem about her.  We will all miss you beth ❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤ R.I.P ✌

— The End —