Ain't no money to see
In this mess of a reverie.
Cold winters kissing me,
Smokey wind upon my door.
If only I had one...
I'd be all set,
Chaufer driving me
To my charming jet.
My honey and I
Would always kiss sweet,
Never having to worry
About what to eat.
life weren't so grim.
Poverty & cheap thrills
Wearing my spirits thin.
My charcuterie is plastic,
So is my base lifestyle.
I'm dreary eyed with things drastic,
Trying to chase a break for a while.
But my blues are static
And they're charging me up
Just to drive me wild.
Rest your head
Today you did your part
Wake on the morrow
Another day to start
When you get down
Tell yourself this:
Today is the struggle
Tomorrow is bliss
Passion and motivation are great things, and together, they are unstoppable.
It stormed yesterday.
Today the sky is clear
and now they're yours
So remember, whenever struggle
and pain are present,
it will always pass-
the oceans are yours to surpass.
So fill your heart,
Purge your mind,
Spread your wings,
Go ahead and fly, kid,
The world is yours.
Don't try to change me
You're never gonna save me
You can't save yourself
Plan to practice multiple forms of poetry and I'll be starting with Haiku. Some will be traditional, but most will probably not. :)
It was planted.
It grew into intoxicated
I forgot what we was fighting
I felt trapped , when I opened
Too many doors.
Beautiful as my petals fell.
As I crumble away from sounds.
Waiting to hear what I created,
A different story , on different ground.
Please plant me somewhere else.
Once, a child aged four asked her mother,
"What are those lights over the yonder?"
Then she held him tight, before giving an answer
"Those are fireflies and they'll soon cross our border"
The child's heart was filled with delight
Ever innocent of the impending plight
"Will they be here before we go to sleep?"
He asked and the mother tried not to weep
For she knew that that *******
Will sent them to an eternal slumber.
What kind of fireflies can give people too much woe and fear? What kind of fireflies can send people to an eternal rest? They are war bombs.
We were raised by your many hands
To hold and guide us all
No other fool understands
The strife behind our fall
When lilies of pain bloomed from soil saturated in
Mother Gaea gave birth to her most wretched daughter
A Stifled and stillborn and butchered daughter
A sacrificial lamb, of a daughter
An empty and anguished and defiled daughter
who was born from the corpses
left clinging together after the dust has settled.
who’s cries were the imminent whistle of a descending bomb.
who’s very breath was fulled with our most desperate whispers and prayers.
We set Gaea ablaze,
Left her singed and seared and amputated,
nothing but the sharp-edged fragments of what was,
burning away at memories of the battles that lingered still on her tongue.
A forest fire consuming and destroying itself, yet continually growing,
Growing enough to
but not quite ****,
Only to leave her daughter alive.
A daughter left to roam the blistered cadaver of her mother,
An Ache, still alive,
Alive and sickly and sweet
Full of beating blood and sticky wet breath.