The heart of a poet
Is a difficult one to understand
Complex in nature
And a challenge to read
With convictions and thoughts
That run deeper than you think
Don't mistake my empathy for weakness
Or my smile for innocence
To speculate is not to know
My eyes are windows
To the beautiful madness
That is my soul
I see things for more than just what they are
But for what they could be
Finding the meaning in everything
You may think I'm too sentimental
Or in tune with my emotions
But that doesn't bother me
Why stay on the surface
When their are such depths as the Ocean
So stand my fellow poets
And raise up your pens
And lets show this world what were made of
One word at a time
This art to never end
Indeed! All is a sea of flames...*
Her will be done, her kingdom come,
On earth as it is in nature, blessed is her
Only divine beauty. Strong her motherly
Hands which hold you, in being nurtured.
If only the will of what we call love
Could see how we lose control, turn away,
From the actual truth, because we could
Have saved ourself a rainy day.
But in this chaos man will learn, he can't
Be something bigger than the earth,
He can't defend us all from loss
That has existed since the dawn of time,
Always and forever in denial of his pride.
all and about
But who, that gullible?
Come forth ye,
and lend me your ears!
I tell of a superstitious being!
Born and raised she was,
with the superstitious act,
was it external?
She told once her superstitions,
one out of numerous times,
what doubt I was in!
The superstition dumbfound itself,
hearken her superstitions!
The pride she carries within them!
For any question you might ask
Who will answer more honestly
Are those who are wearing a mask;
Can answer anonymously.
One has to wonder as to why,
It would seem a contradiction.
For it seems the best time to lie
As there's no fear of detection.
But with no mask, no hiding place
The truth is people often lie
So brazenly, right to your face;
I often have to wonder why!
Though a most peculiar thing,
Perhaps there's no contradiction?
These people may just be lacking
The courage of their convictions.
Why do you only see
what is wrong
what is bad
what is kulang
What is sobra
Lately you look at me
in a negative light
all the time
and you are one to preach
to not tag other people
to bully someone
calling it cyber-bullying
when it was friendly
I didn't tag strangers
I tagged friends.
But remember when
you raised your voice at me
in a public place?
I was humiliated
Lately you have been
so critical of me
and I appreciate
that you notice me
or to everyone
correct and restore
I received correction
but no restoration
BUT REALLY STOP IT.
one day I will die
I will die in a car crash
in a frontal colision
with some ******* who drunk too much
I had my fare share of responsability
but I will not tell you why
I will just say it wasn’t pleasant
blood and bones all over the road
no, that’s not it
what the hell am I saying?
I will be murdered
in my own house
by some one who don’t belive in my ideologies
someone who profoundly disagree with me
therefore I am a threat to his way of life
or maybe I’ll just do it myself
not that I don’t belive in my convictions
but sometimes I have really hard times
one way or another
by accident, ****** or suicide
in the end,
someone will have to throw away my stuff
and delete my facebook account
Standing on the curb
Watching your other self
Pass you by, waving as they pass
Do you get up and go find yourself
Or do you wait for yourself
To come back to yourself?
A question I asked myself countless times
Times when I felt like I wasn't being real
To my true self
Life is sometimes cruel
With its trials and tribulations
To the point where one has to leave
Ones truest convictions
To pursue a life of less substance
Thinking about the fellow
Who looked like a replica of me earlier
I examined myself and how my life
Has taken turns to the unknown
Crisscrossing into an unknown maze
Knotting and unknitting
Right in front of my eyes
I sometimes sit and wonder
What I had done with the thread of life
Cause I'm at the point of choking myself
With every move I make
The next minute I found myself lost
In the beautiful words by a wonderful poet
That I hold dear
And she said:
"It is the very liquid soul
That oozes from this pores
To light the sidewalks with our magic
Beyond the distant shores
It is the joy from which the laughter
Of the dying is drawn"
Sitting in my apartment
Later still, that same evening
I got rudely awaken by an abrupt call
From the police department
When I was asked to identify my own body.
— The End —