Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Pauline Morris Apr 2016
Standing in a harvested field, the sky touching the ground
Not a raise, a tree, or a hill to be found
A coal black cloud is coming down
Standing there head back, hoping in it's rain I drown
My heart is bleeding black
Everything from a young age went so off track
I am just the black sheep
I am just the freak
Watch me as my eyes leak
This lonely watch I keep
On my knees now I just weep
It's only sorrow that I reap
For a life lived amongst the ruins
Living under a storm constantly brewing
Daylight seeped through once or twice
Made the formless bleakness more than thrice
So I beg for no more light
It just makes it harder to fight
If blackness is where I'm ment to stay
Just keep the sun away
Ciel Mar 2016
I envy you,
You, who has their future
all planned out
between the pages of the calendar
that’s been hanging on your wall
since December 31st,
changing every year with no delay
because you already know
all the important dates.

I envy you,
You, who has a dream,
the same dream you’ve had
since childhood
that’s changed or been tweaked
maybe once or twice
but that always becomes clearer.

I envy you,
You, who understands yourself
and who knows who ‘you’ are,
who understands your passions
and who knows what you want.

I envy you,
You, who knows what happiness is like,
and who has felt true sadness and despair
only a handful of times,
but who knows how to deal with it
and knows why it comes by.

I envy you,
While I sit here surrounded
by my sadness,
getting a glimpse of joy
maybe once over the weekend
and another if I wake up for sunrise.

While I sit here not knowing
who ‘I’ am
or what I love
or the emotions I feel.

While I sit here
without a dream in mind,
without a goal that I can run toward
Only sitting in a dark empty field
with no calendar in sight
because thinking about the days
that pass makes me feel empty inside.

So instead I sit here
on this bus full of people
that feels so empty and bleak.
While the fog from outside
clings to the windows
and blurs the thoughts in my mind,
thinking about ‘you’
and my envy
so green and so vast
it could be mistaken
for a meadow filled with grass.

I think about how I would
trade my life for yours.
But my mind disapproves
because then I would be
even less like the ‘me’
than I believe myself to be.

I know who I am because of
the emptiness I have
and for now it’s enough
and that’s all I need.

So instead I will sit here
and think of the many reasons why
I envy you.
It's been a while since I've posted.
Some parts of this poem I find a bit odd, constructive criticism is welcome.
Amilia TRipp Mar 2016
In a daze of darkness
the deer drinks from the well of the stars,
Wearing a necklace of bone.
They trample the grass and ***** the stones,
And leap through the field of the Dead.

(copyright A. Tripp)
RW Dennen Sep 2015
Soft sweet meadow
radiating its breath of life;
sounding its serenity
in echoes of the mind's eye

Living in this flat land
lay plush
in wild, multicolored-flowery-pockets in greenery
blankets "Sweet Meadow"  with fresh quickened
fragrance

And by our bedroom window
with a summer night's soft evening breeze
mellow cheeeping can be heard from way way down below
seemingly luring us to...

.. "OPEN WIDER THE WINDOW...
              ...AND LISTEN!!
Chant dear chorus
as violinist in "Cricket Suits"
join this cantor
that swings with rhythm
with wheezing sounding bugs, AH HUMMING!!
and an intermission of
Cha  Cheep,  Cha  Cheep
that breaks the nocturnal entomological singing
with ephemeral intermissions

Be bewitched by brillance as
tunes fly and z i n g
their little
whistle
songs so sweet a talent
unseen
little bugs sweetly sing
their little
tale of talent
in "Soft Sweet Meadow"

Comforted by vibrating frequencies
the air is electrical clasping
our good-inner child
as this meadow
unfolds its truth
being beneficial
to us all

We journey not too far
for this field draws us
to its delightful *****
We irresistibly suckle on its daytime scenic eye-filling foliage
later eliciting dreams made of peaceful slumber

Cha Cheep,  Cha Cheep and good night...
OH YEAH, THE HYPNOTIC AND RHYTHMIC SWAY OF NATURE
Raiford Brown IV Aug 2015
In a weary series of redundant repetition.
I feel less of a hearty player, but more of
a lethargic field whos reapings are to far from succession.
Evolution happened somewhere along the
way.
Somewhere along the way we forgot there's nothing more powerful than the verbosity of our name.
RL Glassman Aug 2015
And through the archway
to the field -
I saw what one would see
what one would see if they could build
build a world of free and blue
flowers on the grassy land
while the wind blows eastward
and takes the green-leafed hand
And under the bridge
to the lake -
I saw what one would see
what one would see if they could make
make a world of wonderful
birds that sing
while the wind blows eastward
and a present it does bring
And over the meadow
to the sky -
I saw what one would see
what one would see if they could fly
fly to the clear skies
atop the heads of all
so through the clouds so white and tall
I saw what one would see
What one would see if they had all!
Written March 24th 2015
Bill murray Aug 2015
Slim pickin's

I got to get some ear's of corn today

The bergschrund in the field

                           I have to dig back out from the drains
                           Gramp's has to be busy
                           Or wizzy dizzy he will get. I have to reap the good                        
crop.
Before the old fool forget's
Have to go to market first for some fresh greenery than off in the field today's going to be a womper working day
Kathleen M Aug 2015
He sprints across the field
Navigating obstacle after obstacle
Addiction, illness, depression
Bits of him flying off into the distance
His hope, dreams, will
He's falling apart, getting smaller
Propelling himself forward regardless of his destruction
The finish line is a bullet
There is no applause
Mercury Chap Jun 2015
Solitude ground of ashen field
The fire burnt memories feign
Happiness, joy, elucid emotions
In a place where the truth is buried.

Dry leaves left with none trodden on
Talking of theft and safety gone
In a field so tireless and abandoned
But one day comes when one reshapes surroundings.

That day will make all the bonding.
Next page