Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jo May 2019
Something about what I never had
something about what is to come
something about cycling through
again, and again.
02:22 being wistful
Cedric May 2019
I have come of age to vote,
Yet missed the day to register.
I have come of age to be wise,
Yet missed the day to remember.

I love my country dearly,
I live in it and am bound to it!
Yet a finger I couldn’t raise,
To those who deserve disgrace!

If not for my wicked heart,
Struck by apathy and antipathy,
I would have remembered,
The cries of my own country.

I lament the fact that I’m AWOL,
During the day of difference.
What can I do to redeem myself?
If my heart knows not itself?

My heart and head stand neutral!
With right or wrong just equal!
And there is no greater evil than me,
Who watches hearts bleed out.

There is no greater evil than I,
That see blue, red, yellow, and white,
Become pure in their sad colors.
A non-voter who laments to himself!

Become pure blue due to suffocation.
Become pure red due to old wounds.
Become pure yellow due to disease.
Become pure white as death visits.

Oh, dear Philippines my motherland.
I see, speak, and do evil on your body.
I ask the Lord for forgiveness and grace,
As the church rot from inside the gates.

My love for you is conditional!
I was born in your womb, motherland!
I serve you as I live on shame!
Yet my heart is grasped by ignorance!

Let my coming of age speak,
Let youth cry out in agony.
As I wait for my next chance,
To rid myself of this apathy.
I missed my chance to register and vote. I know not of the political affairs of my country and I am ignorant of politics as I hate it and want no part of it. Voting seems like an adult thing to do, and I am just nineteen. But as a citizen I must do my part and redeem my ignorance.
Let my Absence teach you what my presence did not
Let my laments teach you what my songs did not
Let my disloyalty teach you what my sincerity did not
nihiliti Jun 2018
gently beckon
the sweet words with
slivertongue fingers
slowly, steady
'til all is ready

placate them with lemonade
and roses for the sweetly grave
snipped especial so to save
their souls' decay
as it were
in olden day

gaily affair we
singing high and merr'ly
and twirl as tiny fairies
do in mid-summer eves

sprinkled loves
and lists
of hopes and kisses
and corpse-like tenderness
it sickens

so do the sweet words sour
and I alone this hour
do turn the tables paleweak
and weep them
so they sink
into my nothing
I keep
oh so dearly

how sincerely
I do try
to **** them softly
and dry the eyes
of mourners
far and wide
but alas
they always die

the end is my domain
Never was one for parties.
gentle demeanor and caring soul,
you watched me from afar.
you came from a troubled home.
little did you know that I did, too.

misunderstood, my night princess.
you held the keys in your
hands the whole time,
you just never had your timing right.

four garnet pomegranate seeds
you offered me.
believing me to be of
grace and elegance.

I came swiftly.
and though you rule the
grounds of the underworld,
we were the two queens.

I was already broken
by the time you captivated me.

addicted from the start.

I taught you tricks of my own,
and being the princess of darkness,
you already knew them.

but the stories have it wrong.
the history books documented our inevitable arrival incorrectly.

it was not hades that corrupted persephone, but the path of destruction we paved together.
I was always leaning toward
your side from the start.

in love with danger and the promise
that you would never hurt me.

I am your queen, and you are mine.
june 1st, 2014

dedicated to my lady hades.

I loathe my inability to hate you.
I still love you, but I will never be your queen again.

you threw me from the underworld, out of the depths of eternal winter.
who will keep the keepers?

we are the patron saint of broken souls, bearing the weight of the sorrows of others; yet who will carry ours?

who dares to hold us up when our hearts are too heavy for the chests that carry them?

we are the menders of broken minds, we fix the fragmented psyche; but who will sew our tattered edges?
november 14th, 2014

the lament shared between sisters, empaths, and psychologists.
Ekstyn Jan 2016
Ink blots,
Words blur...
I can still
see the
of your own
written between
the lines I've
penned when
I still have
the heart to love.

Torn pages,
erasures here and there-
I have tried to
write you off,
but it seems
I cannot ****
what's immortal.
More so, I cannot
erase what I
have written.

Tear stained,
scratched papers-
I have bled
enough blood
to tamper
the words I've
But you...
You, I cannot
and I, I was
the only one
at fault...
It was my own
that made
you immortal.

*When a writer falls in love with you, YOU CAN NEVER DIE.

— The End —