The thunder has crashed so loudly
The lightning has flashed blindly
What the gods wants to happen will happen
You must listen to these warnings.
I know heaven is a mind state,
I've been there a couple of times,
stock in my ways,
so I keeping on falling down
Beggars die, the heavens don't rage like this
Such a storm warns of the death of a king
The poor has no place
In the company of the lords
His ***** body in the market place
Is a proof of rejection by the gods
Cowards die many times before their death
A brave man only die once.
Yesterday a king died
But today another is crowned
Yesterday there was joy
But today there is pandemonium
One knows whom he loves
But the one doesn't know
who actually loves him
So is the way of the world
The difficulties we suffer
Is directly proportional to our actions
That's the way of the world
A world changed by our actions.
The cut off is a fictional poetry that tells about the way of the world and the ugly situations surrounding it...
You chugged down a pint of stout
Reason running in and out
Your friends cheering you on
Until all reason is completely gone
In a moment of uncertainty
You poise the possibility
Of ordering another pint of that hilarity
You get another one and a shot
You feel your head spins and you're hot
You're being cheered on by your friend-squad
Reason's leaving, but you're not
The evening just began
And you feel a certain urge to dance
Then that concludes
You get the pint again
And the reason still eludes
About the unreasonably high alcoholic consumption most folks go through at some point.
“The words just won't come, but the feelings are all here
Misunderstood mind-monsters whispers and that's all I hear
My tears are on hold; it refuses to be shed,
The silence turns into pandemonium as soon as I lay down my head
Some elusive words are hidden within my tainted heart,
Drenched in blood; a beautiful art
The thought of ever uttering those words suffocates me,
Thus the mind-monsters echo the words repeatedly
Every day I wish to escape these memories,
But seems like all that escapes me is my sanity
I was forced to acknowledge the muse in my miseries,
The mind-monsters said it would be one less frailty
Now as you walk this staircase to my mind;
Seek my angels to convince these mind-monsters to be kind” ~ Demi.M Potts
Wow what a ride I'm on
Man how much time has gone
How could the tide so rapidly subside
Just after doin yet one more line
Wow is her body so fine
And the way we take flight
My o my, the girl gets me so high
The way it feels so right
The way we fit so tight
Its like the beginning of the end of time
Or that other life when I was a double spy
Like the way I felt as a little child
Life wide open so fresh and mysterious
Seems to me there's nothing to fear in bliss
She rolls a tear as we let go from the last kiss
The earth and its magnetism are on a major shift
As soon as the winters done, I'll b on a major kick
If I don't read anyone else's lyrics, I can avoid subconscious plagerism
If I start to regularly meditate, I'll be b free from cages within
**** I'll never give up participating in sum of my favorite sins
The heart has many ways to sew its many mends
Maybe its that I'm still just looking to win
Maybe I'll finally begin tapping fr within
So many things I wanna begin
Never thought I'd meet so many friends
I drop to my knees and pray I stay in the right way
I stayed in the light today
The fine art of playing
Just to play
Like the kid I was
We're all new endings and beginnings,
raised as paramours to our rips and tears.
We swayed like Wordworth's Daffodils,
and we all cried out in the air.
We're faded pictures in an infinity
told to believe in the death of our lives.
But we were never taught how to live
in this world filled with beautiful lies.
So there was no foreground to build upon,
but we were given the chance to survive.
Even when we all can't dance to live,
we can make music to battle the anguished cries.
-i'm word vomiting again. help me
just a short poem about life and death
We are all so weak.
Soft. Tender. Transparent.
So easily scarred.
We take things. Break things.
Hurt people. Hurt those we love.
We swallow the shards of
fragmented words. We all hurt ourselves
when given the chance.
But it all wasn't for the attention.
It is the spiral to our breaking point.
But we are so weak.
Soft. Tender. Transparent.
So easily scarred.
We never seem to get enough.
-this is small poem I made when I was in Grade 8. I revised my old writing, and I found how I've improved so far in writing.
Blood boils over the chalice
in an insurmountable quantity,
pouring straight through the cracks,
spilling on the concrete and it stays,
dried like the Sahara, waiting for it to be scraped
off into non-existence
But it's torment to stare,
to remember the flitting thoughts
that refrain the calm to get back
Adamant to get over our Achilles heel,
striking the bruised flesh over and over
on a wall in detriment of our anger
Persistent to stand still on its feet,
to knock us over and over again
A breathing torso, has a defended chest
Guards are held up around the beast
Confined in a cage that turns brittle to
the eternities that pass by, and it crumbles
It's torment to think about it and not
to let it in.
nonsense into the early morning of late September
Pain shall not cease
That grips the soul
Will always bleed
All the intent
Comes to naught
Love transforms to dissent
And tenets become acerbic
Suffering in silence
You're not a fallen angel in this
Pandemonium called life.
You're an outcast like the rest of us,
Trying to survive.
- Christina Rosa A.
— The End —