Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
All the wars that have ever been
Under the sun, every invention
Every beach ever proclaimed
Boil down to two choices of alternative things...
a Democrat or a Republican, a Big Mac or Whopper, a Lincoln or a Cadillac, A Catholic or Protestant.
We feel we have many options but they are the ones with choice.
It has all added up to nothing.
You
I ******* miss you
Wish I could kiss you
I'm furiously mad at you
Tried to be good for you
Feel ******* sad without you
Nothing but bad to me
Should have minded myself
Instead I blinded myself
Is it about you or God,
Does your religion teach hate,
A bed of roses may not be your life,
But is was Jesus who wore the thorns of strife,
Don't judge but show love everyday,
God will sort us out on judgment day,
Live your life so when you die,
Nice things people say won't be a lie,
If you're going to be religious,
Instead of a nut be a fruit spiritually delicious,
It's good to talk the talk,
More pleasing to walk the walk,
If you keep your eyes on God above,
Then how can you not know love.
I fall short every day and God knows it. We often complain and we judge others but we have no right. It was Jesus who suffered and wore the thorns so that we might be saved and love one another without condemnation.
https://m.facebook.com/venjenciecliftonarnold
i have many weights sleeping on my heart.
distraction brings no solace,
escapism not a change in scenery.
pain is a tree of replacement,
my suffering the blood of their fruit,
my flesh the main victim.
a collaboration of gnawing and burning truths
what else would make this life, a life
if not the wretched deal
of karmic strife?
when the wound passes through clear,
a hole in my chest,
the ringing of my ears,
only then must i talk to the pain.
to look the dark in the eye
and to find their hiding spots.
but until then,
i will think about what to say.
i have much i would like to say to my pain. much to ask.
Sleepless
by Intoxcy8me

It's just time, one tik, one tok,
a movement of hands-on life's big clock.
As each tomorrow becomes today,
is our destined end on its way.

Shadows forming around the edges of my life.
I've seen enough of pain and strife.
What's to do when sleep refuses you,
night after night devouring time too.

A heavy sigh escapes echos of reproof,
My lids are heavy but my mind is aloof.
A void against the glass the rain did beat and bicker,
driving my taste for some more corn-licker.

To drown my conscience in another batch,
to start the day again from scratch.
Just to sleep if only for a few,
there's only so much I can do.
Stop focusing on the other person and control your own world.
Thomas W Case Apr 18
We poets were a sensitive lot
in a world that shat on us
although we fought.
We are who we are, and the world is...
Dez Apr 2
Write about your feelings
Write about your dealings
Write about your emotions
Write about your notions
Write about anything you want
Write about what does haunt
Write about your life
Write about your strife
Write about your happy times
Write about it all in rhymes
Mark Toney Mar 23
Mom’s words cut like a knife, honed razor sharp
Which saddened my new wife
Mom now, after years of strife
Says I married up in life!


© 2020 by Mark Toney. All rights reserved.
2/17/2020 - Poetry form: Englyn - ENGLYN is a quatrain from Welsh poetry of 30 syllables in four lines 10,6,7,7. The sixth syllable of line one announces the rhyme, the last syllable of the succeeding three lines rhyme with it. (The final syllable of line one is without rhyme). The content often has an enigmatic quality. - © 2020 by Mark Toney. All rights reserved.
Bhill Feb 5
Live every day the best that you can
You will never know, how long it will span
Take on each day, with a new and fresh view
See how high you can go, how far you pursue

Don't be afraid, of the scary things in life
They're there for a reason, that reason is strife
If it all was green, you would never know red
Would you even know blue, or just be mislead

Live each day the best that you can
You will never know, how long it will span
Remember this note, it's the same for all
You live many days, but get only one fall

Bran Hill - 2020 # 36
Make sure each day has value.
There once was a girl who played the fife,
Looking at her filled my ****** with strife.
She played me a tune,
And I swelled like a balloon,
Now that girl is my wife.
Next page