Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Osiria Melody Sep 29
Why can't I get it through my head
That I should probably shoot myself dead?

Or hang myself with a noose instead?

These are the thoughts that I take to bed
"You should get help," they said

I refuse to let my strength be fed
For too long, my happiness has been in the red

Nah, I'll let cyanide take the cred



Melody
9/28/19
Poetry has always been one of my creative outlets that has helped me overcome life's tribulations. To clarify, I'm not going to **** myself with cyanide or with any method–for that matter. The first two lines were from a written poem that I discarded a long time ago; I couldn't recall the original verbatim, so I rewrote the rest of the poem.
Bryce May 13
Standing upon these novel halls
The man, waiting
Seeks temperance and a kindness from God

He says,

"Give to me the gift of your knowledge and I will smite your enemy--rebuild the garden and replace those fruits long lost"

And his request echoes impotent through a voiceless hall

He cries, wails, churns and smashes
his dirtied knuckles on the walls

He yells, buckles, whines and sputters
Choked and lost in miserable,

The flanking rooms locked and dark
With constant voicing, gently call

"Who upon ye has the gall,
to name me Father"

And he is quiet.

------

In Moscow the Siberian fall grips the air
A wandering Dostoyevsky speaks in exhalations to the crack of gunshot in the dawn

A brief tightening of callous rope around his dry poetic throat

And at once his words sought to cull
the exquisite embers of furious retort

And he is silent.

----

The kindness of a failing city-state
Conveyed on the precipice of a bay
Jack teethed his frantic dharmas
And said to Them,

"What terminus of road
Would ever serve my unwinding soul?"

And as his gut trembled a final thought,
His eyes turned skyward, above the clouds

Where it was silent.

----

Dorigen, repenting the patient shores of tranquil sea
Accusing the chalk of its blackened soul
Traces the subtle dance of gulls
As their drowning feathers face these ageless things
whysper'd deep upon the winds

And she is Silent.

---

Basho, with a wanderer's grin
In solumn steps between the grains
Shades the path of unfamiliar road
And every poem steeped within

Where clouds are soft, where crickets sing
Past warbling stream with cadence grim
The Dao, leading ever onward

Says to him,

"Like water, do I rain."

---

Milton, his misted eyes
No light to guide their failed sight
Trace an ancient knowing glance
To Crown, his subtle circumstance

No soul in life
could see the might
Who gave this man his funeral rites

And when his words fall deaf at last
On his forgotten time and wishful past

He will stare deep into an inky void
And see
The stars for what they are:

Light, dispersed between the dark.

---

In the waning tide of Cresent lune
Twilight casts a gentle hue
Below the hill the city glows
The Palatine, gold and new

The ides, with consequence they come
And with them carry the will be done
Augustus' silent retinue of one
Notes a sky of draining sun

For Rome claws at all of Gaia's *******
And from sea to mount and desert dune
Ancient Africa, nascent Gaul
To Rome, will they forever fall

In darkness, the Palatine shadow loomed
Over web of flame-lit avenue

For the roads all led to Rome that night
For one small moment God guessed right

Cesar's legions on the fields of Mars
Clashed swords and drank to their Centurions
As an Era waited to see the dawn
And new blood to baptize the marbled Columns

And in the farms
beyond Rome,
The shepherds walked their sheep to rest
Where families returned to their homes
With stories of the day's parades and jests

And in the time
Between the days
When Rome slept and the crickets mated
The world was cast in velvet night
Lighted solely by constellation

And in that moment
God became
silent.
---
what pretty day?


that the sun shines here

the moon lights near

stars surrounded them

the world seems wider

the trees become greener

the roses have a brightener

the colors have appeared shiner

the butterflies fly around

the birds sing soft harmony

the heart looks happy

the weather becomes funny

when you are nearly

when you are not far

you make me look younger

you make me looked smarter

and I love all persons

even my enemy that hate me

stay here by my side

stay here don't be away

the time passed as wind

Comes suddenly and goes hurry

Stay with me to see how is the sky

Becomes more blue and clear

Stay with me,

to shut my eyes

And open my ears

To hear the world sings

To see the fishes dance

And the birds come near
the near of you  is wonderful
A M Ryder Aug 2018
You should know that I often fall in love with girls I play board games with.
Really, it's nothing personal.
It's just that when I get competitive, sometimes I get romantic
Someone once told me that they can't love someone until they've witnessed their worst, and I think you should know that I'm not my worst self anymore.
Breaking down isn't realness.
So for all that self awareness..
I am more of a coward
than I am a king
And I will fill my time with more ordinary things
Because I can barely stand the way all these feelings within me sing
Simra Sadaf Jun 2018
little bird locked
           in a cage,
     with broken promises
            flowing from
                          her wrist,
                waiting for her nerves
                           to untwist,
                    she
                          wants
                                 to fly,
                             f  l  y
                                a
                              w
                                a
                                  y
                                   .
                                  .
                                 .
SoVi May 2018
I lived in a country of thieves
Motivated by hearts and passions
Stealing love affection
Leaving broken pairs
But you asked me for my love
At that time I fell in love

You really thought I'll leave you
When he offered me riches?
You are everything that I have wanted
I'm afraid that you'll regret

If you are going to think again
Please do not tell me
I do not want to know your epiphany
Let me live in ignorance

How did I live in a country of thieves?
With people who do not even know they want
Stealing everything in your sight
Leaving broken hearts
You taught me that there is still good
I was given the gift of compassion



© Sofia Villagrana 2018
George Krokos Apr 2018
The caged bird sings because
it longs for freedom
to fly and be with its own kind
and to know what life is really about
and be able to share it with a soul mate.

That's why the caged bird sings -
a song of hope and for all we know
a mournful yet beautiful sad song
of longing for the life
it was created for and dreams of having
instead of being cooped up in a cage
playing a role that was
never intended by nature
for it to have and live
as a captive showpiece
for a higher evolved form......
the ultimate expression of cruelty
- to deprive another creature
of its natural born freedom.....

That's why the caged bird really sings!
Written today on the spur of the moment after reading
tHE cAGED bIRD  by Mister Granger on the front page of H.P.
Mister Granger Mar 2018
I know why the caged bird sings.

It's not because his song
is as vibrant
as his feathers, that he plucks away
each day because he doesn't
feel beautiful.

It's not because of the majesty
that exist in the freedom
of being able to spread his wings
though he knows
he'll never rise to the occasion.

He sings because he believes
that this cage
was made for a king
because he has never tasted
freedom with a side order of skies.

He's never flown past the sun
on a cool morning
or hung with the moon
on a warm night.

He's only ever known
the comfort of a prison
that his thoughts have
become accustomed
to calling home.

He would never venture
beyond the "welcome" mat
because what's beyond the threshold
holds no promise
the way these bars and metal locks do.

He sings because he knows
that no one is listening
so if he makes a mistake
he doesn't have to live with the regret
or embarrassment of knowing that he missed his note.

The caged bird
never believes that he's caged
because behind these walls
he's safe
and he prefers it this way.

I know why the caged bird sings.
A twist on a title by one of my favorite authors...
Next page