#isolation poems on Hello Poetry

Seán Mac Falls Dec 2015

.
Deep in a shallow body,
Built for burials under moon,
The seas rage in tombs of vein,
Dark and salted, wet preserved
In flesh that fades by blistering sun,
A star much higher than old flames,
Mortal and frail in mucks of oft being,
Of earth and breaths traveled alone,
The tell tale heart was rung, hollow,
Swung bold on meat hook splinters
Of femurs soaked with leached lime
For life is a boneyard of wintertimes,
And summer merely drips of dreams,
Bleeding as the belled heart, in tells,
Is beaten into mettle shroud where
Hope only enters from two blinded
Eyes, in the drowning, dried ocean
Body, touch is printed off in dust,
Sorrow bred misinterpretations,
For love is a holey spirit, ghostly
In its wail. And heart can but
Only bleed so much red until
The last chimes of never.

#love #life #existence #spirit #isolation

Charlotte Huston Dec 2015

The Maiden's Temple

In the darkest of our valleys
    By dark angels demented,
‘Twas once a regal temple -
    Serene spring - tauntingly tormented.
A Queen in her Domain,
    It stood there!
Under Lock and Chain;
    A maiden so fair!

Lavender curtains laden;
    On this Temple may flow
Along the Times of this Maiden -
    In the ****** snow.
And every gentle air in that field,
    Of Doomsday,
From the Black Rose’s shield -
    Their aroma passed away.

Witnessing this Ominous blolly;
    Through luminous windows -
Spirits sing in melancholy,
    In the malicious meadows.
Upon this throne I bore;
    A tintinnabulation of air -
Befitting glory’s chore,
    Of this realm’s affair.

With many a jewel gleaming,
    Against the Temple door -
The River’s light came beaming,
    Sparkling for evermore.
A troop of Angels; on their duty,
    At my doorbell, sing -
For the Silent beauty,
    Who burdens the King.

Then, the Reaper came,
    Along the Temple’s River -
For the distressed dame;
    And the sorrows within her quiver.
Above this temple of glory,
    Sagacious scenes bloomed -
Of the maiden’s story,
    The clergy that loomed.

Now; Within that valley -
    Through the reddened windows see,
Figures dancing delicately;
    To her disbanded melody.
The river - now a pale white,
    Is her decor,
Night’s sweetest silent fright -
    And flows - Nevermore.

This is based on "The Haunted Palace" by Edgar Allan Poe, although Poe told the story of a king who eventually met his demise, his castle eventually becoming haunted by the phantoms of his family.

Instead, I told the story of a woman who locked herself away from society - and speaks of how the outside world seems to her.

#death #alone #river #isolation #temple #storypoem #maiden #antisocial

Biplav Shrestha Dec 2015

Prolog

It's not every day that you get the inspiration to write something. And when I say "write", I mean"write" in general. In my case,I experienced a coffee rush for the first time today after what seems like forever and for some reason it has lasted for almost 5 hours. Anyway, TobyKid tells me that many great writers are in agreement that you can't (want) to write! That you have to (need) to write and if you don’t need to write then you shouldn’t write.I am someone who has always found it hard to socialize with people. As a kid I was usually the one who didn’t fit in anywhere. And for reason unclear, I didn’t want to fit in anywhere. So that was fine and I never felt sorry for myself. I was the type of kid that usually sat somewhere in the middle of the class,doodling and scribbling on the backs of notebooks and wooden desks. If it weren't for the dress code, I think I’d probably have shown up wearing a hoodie that covered up my entire body. If I were an insect, I'd probably be a soil dwelling worm. You can put money on that! Call me a hipster for liking Linkin Park and The Weeknd before they were cool! It wasn't long before I found out that keeping things to myself had consequences. The symptoms of which included paranoia, insomnia, depression, OCD, (ODD) obsessive day dreaming, blah!! This is when I discovered art, poetry and literature. I never understood why people worshiped musicians like they were gods till I heard Trent and Maynard for the first time. Well! Now I know. For a while I could turn off the world around me and get lost in the euphoria of my self-isolation. Sometime it lasted for a minute, sometimes for days. Like it matters anyway! Contrary to what culture and society perceives as normal behavior here, I have been writing and sketching my feelings down ever since I had the motor skills to move a pencil across paper; though I must admit that I'm still crap at it. But none of that really matters to me because it's probably the only thing keeping me sane and functioning in what I would otherwise perceive to be a meaningless and mundane world.I have always found it hard to find inspiration. That being said, there's nothing poetic about the thoughts that nest themselves inside my head. Although I have met quite a few people who likes to think otherwise. I don’t share any of them verbally as I think that they're so muddled up that I myself lack the skill and knowledge to decipher them. Instead, I write them down as I am writing this very commentary to try to get a sense of what it is that I am getting out of this coffee rush. I am still unclear of it but as long as I'm having fun hitting away at the keys with all that jazz, it's okay. Now I know what Victor Frankenstein was feeling while he was digging up all those graves to create his.. Adam.There is no easy way to put it. Everything you see me do is an act. Or is it? I can’t really tell anymore. Does a worm know that it’s a worm? I remember reading something by Stephen King where he was talking to a bunch of kids in a college and he talked about how he didn’t know what would happen to his characters and his stories until they were written. He also talked about how writing the last words of your novel before you've written it is like licking the icing off of the cake and then eating it.But then again, he's a genius and I am just some ******* trying to make sense of my life off of a coffee rush.(8/21/2015)

#coffee #thought #isolation

Biplav Shrestha Dec 2015

Eggshells

"When is it ever the right time for anything? When is it ever just about the music?" I think to myself as the band that I had come to see becomes inaudible background noises to the voices of my own making. "It's what you want, not what you need."As much time as I spend singing to myself in silence in grey - hazy days, any urge to open myself up to people lasts only momentary. The mask slips back up faster than the voices can end their sentences. That's how it always is! I walk past my days in auto pilot, leaving but a whisper behind. I've grown used to it over the years! Stand in line. Say "Good morning" to people at work.Talk about wine, **** and women on rooftops of cold abandoned houses. Discuss art, music and poetry with people whose faces resemble my mask. You keep walking because that's what everyone else is doing. There are occasional outbursts of static excitement that I try to hold one to. But my fingers are always a little too big to get a good grip. It's like trying to watch your favorite TV show with a weak signal. My days become indistinguishable. Every day is the same. Even when you get what you want, you're not satisfied. I never liked the word"numb" but I don’t think that there's a better word for the way I mostly feel. I often find myself walking on social eggshells, pushing myself closer and closer to the boundaries I know I shouldn’t cross. It's cold outside and I need to get home.

#depression #randomthoughts #isolation

Loxodes Dec 2015

Something cheesy (stupid)

You are like the rarest of metals,
found on Mars.
Bright green and deep purple
Like the most beautiful stars.
The boring affairs on planet Earth,
Left far behind.
Always moving our perception,
changing our states of mind.
Like all lovers,
we pretend the galaxy moves around us.
I'm Homerus and you be my Venus.
Loving you makes inspiration easy,
Maybe thats why i had to write something cheesy.

#love #space #isolation #cheesy

sam plunk Dec 2015

nosebleed nonsense

rotting away, limb by limb
"how come you never talk?"
no one's listening
"but you're liked and loved"
and still I feel so alone
a kingdom to myself
isn't a place to call home
the trees are mad
ripping apart their hair
lifelessly laying, a shortage of air
the birds are glaring ominously
at me, a biased perception or reality?
animals are limping, moaning for love
while cupid's head dangles inside of my tub
I'll show you my hands, indeed they are red
guilty I'm not, only sick in the head

I miss you, mb.

#love #fear #loneliness #isolation #sickness #bleak

Parker A Blackwood Dec 2015

3am

Everyone else lays unconsciously in there bed
Peaceful or fearful all the same
While you sit in the floor staring at the walls and the ceiling
Wondering about everything and everyone and every every
3 o'clock in the morning is for those of us who need more time
Time to think
Time to take a break from reality
We live more life this way, intending to or not
And maybe that is why we die young
Maybe that is why we seem so much wiser than our age
But somehow it makes us the most alone people in the human race
Nobody to speak with but yourself
Nobody to console in but yourself
So we sit
And we sit
And we sit
Thinking
Pondering
And dreaming a life away while you exist in your own at sunrise

#depression #insomnia #loneliness #isolation

Tristan Rethman Nov 2015

Don't Befriend Me

Don't Befriend Me
I'll lure you in
Act very nice
Show my within
But hide my vice

Don't Befriend Me
Once you are here
I'll trap you in
With what you hear
I hide my grin

Don't Befriend Me
I will hurt you
Not on purpose
But still I do
Hide my fakeness

Don't Befriend Me**
Hurt you, I'll do
Please don't hate me
I didn't mean to
Hide my sad plea

Just do not befriend me
I never want to do
But I always will be
A monster with no clue

Hello everyone. This poem originates from my romantic relationships ironically. It touches on how I've been the reason every one of those has failed. Thank you for reading and I always welcome feedback.

#depression #pain #sadness #hurt #sorrow #isolation

Francie Lynch Nov 2015

Found Out

If you've lost someone,
Check out the Personals.
Keep your eyes to the ground;
Only tourists look around,
There we'll find the jetsom
Of someone's empty pocket.
A book of Vegas matches
With the middle ones missing;
Neither left or right-handed.
You'll not be found.
There are tissues,
Stained with mascara,
Lying
Beside beads from a broken necklace
That gilded your skin.
You'll not be found.
Blowing across the path
Are shreds of paper
From the note she wrote,
Swirling towards the river.
Chase them to the bank,
Watch them float
Towards the falls.
The meaning is smeared, blurred
Then lost.
This is what finds me out.

#love #isolation #unrequitedlove #lonliness

T E Pyrus Nov 2015

diamond you

does the word
isolation mean
that they place you
on an eternal
glacier at dawn?
it’s not windy
but cold; tales
and yarns that
you fold, but there’s
no one around,
they’re all gone,
and you’re quiet
in a wheelchair,
head high, in a
world where you
cannot ask why,
but by grace,
if you do, they’ll
all say, ‘mary sue!
say thee, that’s
a fine bird in
the sky!’
so you stay
there, your book
upside down,
staying lost ’til
you want to
be found,
you sit with
the back of
your head to
the world,
tired, ‘touch wistful,
o’ the people
of gold,
when you spoke,
they all shrouded
the truths that
you told,
now wait still,
all alone,
not a sound.
then one day
you hear your
heart call, after
forever of
nothing at all,
then your eyes
are warm, glistening,
but nobody’s listening,
melt a hole through
the floor and you fall-
right through ice
and through stone
and through crust,
diamond you,
you shall burn
for you must,
feel your heart
beating loud,
blaze a bright
brilliant cloud,
singing,
ashes to ash;
dust to dust.

#hope #lost #eternal #frustration #cold #pride #wind #isolation #wheelshair #askwhy