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Johnny walker Jul 26
Never ending stream of people constantly passing
me by all seem to be In a
such hurry and I'm
thinking slow
down take It
or you'll run yourself Into
the ground and you will
then end up like me for
when younger I was just
till I opened my eyes to what was happining the rat race we call working life but retired now but nothing to show for
efforts over the years a pension that hardly pays the bills let alone buys food all and everything that
gone through my working life and just continues on Into retirement so I still ask what the Hells It all
Neither do I believe in heavens,
Nor in any sort of hells,
But I do believe that after we die,
Our souls will definitely travel by
Em MacKenzie Mar 2018
First level was simple denial,
I argued with myself for awhile,
counted each and every bathroom tile
while I waited until sedated so that I could smile.

I felt the anger twinge inside myself,
I cursed all the time spent seeking wealth,
and bathed in loathing for my careless lack of health,
and my inability to ever ask for much needed help.

They say no one is ever ready to die
and there's always regrets when you go,
but when my number's up I won't try
I won't fight; I'll have no punches to throw.
Five stages and seven hells,
turn the pages and hope it sells.

Next was bargaining but I had nothing to give,
no reason to be here, no reason left to live,
but I took my chance on a lie a and fib,
and offered up my heart along with a shred of rib.

Every layer always gets warmer,
until it surely burns your skin,
you'll find the next is worse than the former,
is this the punishment for sin?

They say no one is ever ready to die
and there's always regrets when you go,
but to say life is short would be a lie,
'cause some of us just feel it's too slow.
Five stages and seven hells,
open the cages and ring the bells.

Depression walked in like an old friend,
it was no big change, there was no letter to send.
I realized I was defective with no chance to mend,
my spine officially broken even though I didn't bend.

Then acceptance finally washed over me,
with a conclusion some things are just not meant to be,
I didn't bow my head or fall on one knee,
words can't describe that feeling of being free.

They say no one is ever ready to die
and there's always regrets when you go,
I hope to find a comfortable home in the sky,
or atleast in soil for something else to grow.
Five stages and seven hells,
I'll live through the ages, constantly shedding my shells.
Lyn-Purcell Sep 2017
Sunborn scales of the Imperial Dragon
     whose body is entwined in a purple cloud.

               His feathered tail whips around with vibrant colours as it

   is  like the peacock's beloved eye of the Emerald Seas.
With coiling whiskers of fiery carnelians

              and eyes born of liquid sunrise
                    whose roar rattles the sky and cracks the Pearl Moons

           and out pours the Virtues of Harmony, wingless dragons

who dance to the music of the Heavens and it rains silver feathers,

            wind-beaten. Sweet, soft, feathery wishes that perch on my

                    shoulders that brings me tranquil seas.
A poem that I wrote in my journal by looking at the night's sky.
Leah Anne Aug 2015
Her heavy eyelids, her mouth shut tight.
A stare that could pierce through ribcages, through pumping organs, through spine.
Her lips were stained with an artificial tint, the same warmth of her own blood.
Her every step was guided by a strange beat of dark chocolate-flavored symphony.
She was there, and not there at the same time.

Venus burns like hell's fire.
When she ran out of tears, she turned into ice.
It was the same dark cloud that found a home in her brain.
It was the same garden of cacti that hangs in her hair.
It was the same piece of rock that blocks her throat.
It was the same mess of dead butterflies, trapped in her lungs.
The only difference was that she finally learned how to dance.
August 6, 2015. 3:30 am

— The End —