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Ronnie Mar 24
Over Silesian mountains
Somewhere beyond black seas
There is a forgotten dream
Conjuring visions of peace

Go your own way, go now, go
You are meant to lead, not follow
Walk on, fly by, sail ashore
To the land that you adore
Go your own way, go now, go
You are meant to lead, not follow
Walk on, fly by, sail ashore
Go your own way, go now, go

Many lives faced the dream
More of them fade to black
But in the eyes of the eagle
There is no turning back

Go your own way, go now, go
You are meant to lead, not follow
Walk on, fly by, sail ashore
To the land that you adore
Go your own way, go now, go
You are meant to lead, not follow
Walk on, fly by, sail ashore
Go your own way, go now, go

Their hearts are worn on sleeves
Determination so earnest
Merely calm before the storm
Quiet before the Tempest

Go your own way, go now, go
You are meant to lead, not follow
Walk on, fly by, sail ashore
To the land that you adore
Go your own way, go now, go
You are meant to lead, not follow
Walk on, fly by, sail ashore
Go your own way, go now, go
Inside the city walls
The static is meant to frighten
Those who await the call
In the echoes of the siren

Go your own way, go now, go
You are meant to lead, not follow
Walk on, fly by, sail ashore
To the land that you adore
Go your own way, go now, go
You are meant to lead, not follow
Walk on, fly by, sail ashore
Go your own way, go now, go

There are many roads to follow
Some of them are painted red
Yet as long as we march on
No one can declare us dead.
Attempt at a Polish-style folk ballad for poetry class.
Aa Harvey May 2018
All women are beautiful to somebody.

All women have something beautiful about them;
They all have a beauty spot.
A reason why they will be wanted by men;
A unique style of hot.

Be it beauty, or intellect, or empathy, or whatever.
Any woman can be seen as beautiful; some like dumb, I want clever.
When the stars align and you see them in the right light;
You know they are the one you want, so you set them in your sights.

One man may say that she is ****;
Another man might disagree.
The attractive quality they see as beautiful,
Could possibly, not interest me.

I see passion as very attractive; I see adultery as very ****.
Some men would disagree.
Another man may want a meek woman;
Another man might want a woman who is willing to cheat.

Some say beauty is without; some say beauty is within.
It is without an undeniable, definite explanation.
Some women are more beautiful,
Depending on their nation.

Hispanic or Latino women to me are simply phenomenal;
Some other men may prefer blondes from Sweden;
To me that’s not desirable.

Some men prefer a different type;
But at the end of the day,
We all need somebody to become our wife.

I know what I want from the woman I desire;
I want the passion within her to burn hot like a raging fire.
Some prefer thin; I want voluptuous!
I want her to have any kind of long hair; except blonde.
I want her to be ***** whenever I am with her
And I want to be the only one who she wakes up to in the morning sun.

I want to see her love for me in her eyes and in her smile.
I want her lustful towards only me; I want her shorter than I.
Then I can put my arm around her shoulder,
When we walk under moonlight.
I want her to be a nymphomaniac; I used to want her to be high.

Now I want her on top.
She can have any kind of job;
Though she cannot be a stripper.
Only I can see her ****.
I want her mind to be *****;
I want her to desire to be true.

I would like her to be an artist,
But that is not high on my list.
It would just be nice if she was creative
And liked to read my poetry…and understood it.

I see beauty in her,
When she allows me to let myself go.
I want her personality to shine love;
I want her to be worthy of my soul.

(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Mystic Ink Plus Feb 2018
I almost become popular,
Paparazzi’s lens stay unfocused.
I almost asked to cast vote for me,
Nomination under trial.
I almost get nominated,
Due date expired.
I almost planned to develop nation
Nationality under trial.

I tried……..
I tried …… and tried,
I almost transfix to be human
Humanity under trial.

Still I will try, a try.
Inspiring senses.
Genre: Rational
Theme: Election Vibes
solEmn oaSis May 2017
buhay natin ay ano nga ba?
kung walang lagyo ang musika
kagaya ng isang A capella
ang bawat simula
ay may kataposan
ngunit sa bawat kataposan
ay may panibagong simulain
isang prinsipyo na di kayang tuldokan
isang nakaraan na di mapaparam
sapagkat ito ay binantasan ng tandang pandamdam!
kaya naman halina kayo SAGLIT
samahan ako sa pasakalye ng aking DALIT
dahil tulad ninyo...di ko rin nais na wakasan
itong himno ng aking kaluluwa na di ko mapigilan
mailapat sa papel ng aking hapag sulatan
at marubdob na papangyarihin ang taos-pusong koalisyon
ng aking Pag-asa, Pananampalataya at Debosyon
sa pamamagitan ng aking Isang Libo't isang Awit
na pinapag-sanib ng samot-saring kudlit at kuwit
hanggang sa aking maabot ang liwanag sa dilim
at kayo ay aking handogan bago ang takip-silim
What ever happens.... I will continue
what i have been started and
what i haven't yet!
What i am trying to say is...
" some have some while some have no
that's why for those who have most-
this one is also for all of you! "
because for me your Poetry is my Music!
PaperclipPoems Sep 2016
Do you mean the ones who live on the other side?
Clear across the ocean, two miles in from the tide?

The ones that live with little means or the ones that live like we were meant to?
That work, play, stress, fear, and cry, just like we do?

The men who were created from the earth and the women from Adam's rib?
The ones who fall asleep staring at the same galaxies wondering if we're all there is?

Do you mean the ones in straw houses near dirt roads?
That learn how to survive on the land and wear the clothes that they sew?

Others and me,
I'm sorry, pardon me... I'm just slightly confused
Because when I think of them, I think of me
I can't separate the two.

Thanks for the topic!! It's a good one. :)
undefined Aug 2015
shuffling feet & carry-on suitcases
walking through countries
temporarily nameless, faceless, homeless
in the middle of nowhere
cut off from society
people who, for the time being,
don’t really belong anywhere
a mixture of nationalities & cultures
thousands of different languages,
different races,
different colors
just passing through the terminal
one country to another
some with a final destination in mind
others finding meaning in the journey itself
a lack of permanency
a lack of belonging

i must admit
there’s just something about airports
which *makes me feel very much at home
// but these places & these faces are getting old, so i'm going home //
Kylie Rose Oct 2014
She hates that she is a woman
The putrefying weakness perceived in the curves of her body
The naivete shown in her blues
With the unintentional flutter of butterfly lashes
That refuse to meet the glances of those that pass by
The fear-- Of what?
That stereotypes are true?
She doesn't even know
And it sickens her.

She sickens herself.

She hates that she is white
The blandest vanilla
The marble statue
Somehow revered
But simultaneously overlooked
The Caucasian mongrel
In light of the fact that her People
Have no proud history
Which she can name herself heir to

She hates that she is middle class
Not poor enough to struggle
Not rich enough to be free
Just situated dully in the middle
A footnote in the statistic
That they tell her she must use
To identify herself

She hates that her belief system
Has to be called by a name
That she has to choose
To be a part of a group
As part of her "identity"
And she is not allowed
To stand by her own integrity

She hates that she is American
The pudgy, loud-mouthed, laterally-speaking nation
The brashly jumps into conflict
Guns blazing
As its political system decays
In the stench of its overwhelming debt and corruption

But in truth
She hates
That they force her
To whittle her essence down
Into Gender, Race, Class, Religion, and Nationality
A *****-inducing statistic

As if there was nothing more to her
Than the facts surrounding her existence
Pilot Sep 2014
Please see me.

Not the person I appear to be.
Not the one you see walking isles,
The one who grins, who looks at you with those doggy eyes
Who apologizes, who cowers.

Please see me.

Not my skin. Not my hair.
Please don't call me something I'm not.
Please understand that I love your people
But I come from somewhere else.

Please understand me.

As I have come to understand you,
This place, these people,
These ways and the talk.
Please try, as I have tried countless times before.
Mouth opened to speak;
remembered that most don't care
    to listen to what needs saying;
closed mouth decisively,
smiling at the futility
of human endeavor
    blocking its own way.

Handcuffed to the bars
in prisons like "I've got to be me"
    and "I resent all inconvenience";
cosmopolitan effeteness
gums its own fleshy ****.
Watching in rapt silence
    this unendearing cacophony.

Imagining the vast toil
of this skeleton waste frontier,
    Mind disdains dead grasses
underfoot, burrs, spines,
fruit of the blasted heath
that grows wild in absence
    while cities chew our bones

A world full of lanterns
illuminates better-left-hiddens,
    the loudest of the best-unsaid;
Forgetting to listen closely
to the Moon's secrets, whispers
from star-lit skies, Today strives
    vainly in Yesterday's shadows.

— The End —