Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Kassan Jahmal Jun 16
All living fears have me dead in my feet,
Obscure; seems be the journey too fretful to take,
So as quickly as I start, I quickly retreat.
An outstanding trend,—a show on repeat,
On the screens of my eyes; blank as the static
dancing on your fingertips. Before doing an action,
A question of, "can I really do this"

I stutter my words before a speech in normal conversation,
I I trr-rryy not to chew on the words stuck on my tongue,
So frustrating; that the point of topic lost it's concentration.
But of course,—the confidence of pretend is louder,
Than the shyness of the wisdom I still keep silent,
Would they listen to me, as youth to old? I truly do wonder.

I'm afraid of love; of that I may not find,
I'm afraid of commitment at times,
Solely in the thoughts of fearing I won't provide,
So by the divide; two sides are of searching for love,
Or letting it be as is; whether found or not,
Perhaps as hopeful to truly believe all comes from above.

I'm afraid of time; that I do not have or waste,
Likewise having so much of it, to have nothing to do,
Perhaps as ticking over the time, my toc is out of haste.
I'm afraid of myself; moments I don't recognise him,
When I do more than I expected, or less of what I hoped,
Doing his level best, but his best is always at a whim.

I'm afraid of dreams; those I may not fulfil,
My head is filled with them, unlike the successes at hand,
Which dream comes true, seems to be by God's will.
A thrill at times, but a chasing heart out of a breathless chest,
I have many targets in life, my goal is to only stand out of the rest.

Will my fears be immortalised, to leave me traumatized,
Or will I find my bravery to survive?
My Dear Poet Apr 17
I’m tired of collecting the tears
that the sun never dries
I’m resolved to chasing the wind
let the breeze blow my eyes
I’ve decided to fan my fears
and live while I’m alive
breathe as much fire
and burn till I die
My Dear Poet Apr 12
Today is my birthday
reluctant to turn the calendar
I lingered here a little longer
the same age I was yesterday
I remained today
Til the wind blew the page
and turned to that age
that I am to be
So, unashamed and bold
I accepted my fate
and fighting my fears
I got old, a day late
My Dear Poet Mar 6
Life won’t wait for you
to wake up from your pain
Don’t wait till your happy
to learn to live again
Run further than your fears
Through that open door fast
Jump the hurdles in your mind
reminding you of the past
Don’t look back behind you
Keep your head held up high
Know when you can’t keep up
Hope, won’t leave you there to die
Allesha Eman Jan 25
You stole my fears
crushed their petals
to make a paint
that you use
to wash over this blank canvas
that is me,
when I am too afraid
too pensive
you surrender
to my hopeless hands
holding them in your palms of sand
brushing the tears
from tomorrow
onto this blank canvas
that is me.
Mark Wanless Jan 6
thought a half and
   did a half and
      dreamed a half again

worked until the sun
   was set slumped home
      in the dark

can there be a lesson learned
   in a hundred years
want to go to heaven but
   the devil owns my fears

in the future i am
   blessed blessed as
      man can be

walking to the childrens
   park my daughters
      hand in mine

went to work with
   my true mates
      good days sweat again

can there be a lesson learned
   in a hundred years
want to go to heaven but
   the devil owns my fears
neth jones Dec 2021
a heartness of light displays ;
in initial tinting
   the morning
        tipsy
dunked in the thirst
         from the passing night

unnecessary
the fight we experience
   in darkness seems

once exposed
wincing in the maturing sunlight
     a wedded weight is removed
[a heartness of light
scattershot through my peel
there was the warren of night
there was my overactive medicine whorl
then the cold roam of it
barely shared
seems so shallow
no-man and wide
lifted ; i part from darkness
the merciful hint of the morning]

[a heartness of light
beads the mongrel nature
of the sweating jungle
beds the bleeding
of clever trade
and foreign warfare
new growth
will always gloat over]
Next page