Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
William Troup Sep 25
Groaned, my mother did
   as my father wept in glee!
   A piping voice, with flailing hands;
   a struggle, I may always be?

Moaned, my parents did
   as my pasture swayed in seas!
   A fiend afoot, with wasted times;
   a failure, I may forever see?

Frowned, my brother did,
   as my journey cracked its stream!
   A chance away, with wishful smiles;
   a dreamer, I may really seem?

Smiled, my sister did,
   as my riches parked in streets!
   A sonorous voice, with waving hands;
   a struggle, I may always meet ...
once you reach the surface
it’s easy to float

and it’s easier to forget
about all of us drowning beneath

and easiest to pay no mind
to the gargling of salt water in throat
you've reached the top my love
with one hand you tread gently
with the other you hold me under.
JKJI Mar 13
It  is  only       hopeless
when you stop hoping

and  you  only        fail,
when you   stop trying.
If you
don't succeed,
try,
               try,
                           again.
Sooner or later,
something
  will happen.
Johnny walker Jan 26
There has been time In
my life thought I'd never get through but here I am at the age 65
And still trying muddle my way through lives many problems you either born rich, but most are born very poor
Some have the drive to succeed no matter what stands In there way but most just
give up through lack of motivation
the necessary drive that required to escape from poverty I'm afraid most accept and just roll over and die
Some born rich but most born poor there those who succeed no matter what but lack the necessary drive to win just accept roll over and die
Fires are for the hopeless soul,
the souls with nothing left in them but broken bits and bones.
They try to drown it out,
but it only feeds the flames,
soon turning it into,
an out of control raging inferno.

Floods are for desperate souls,
drowning any purpose of life,
they are pulled to and fro,
their breath all but dead.

Snow is for the empty soul,
cold and guilty,
void of anything but control.
Yet it covers them,
leaves them in a blanket of protection,
though it leaves there skin red and raw.

Hail is for the restless soul,
the pent-up energy,
the out of control,
the burning craze.
It cools there rage,
yet they can't see far in front of them,
they live in the here and now.
The hail hurts there skin,
leaving them cold and raw.

Earthquakes are for the broken souls,
the ones who worry to and fro.
Their lives are fine,
even great,
until the earthquake comes and breaks.
In an instant, it rips apart,
what had been a perfectly planned life.
It comes and cracks the land,
decimates it without a second glance.

Each of these has claimed our souls,
our lives, our time, our only goals.
and yet I trust you will go,
today with a message of hope.
If you try with all you have,
to fight these things I have said,
though it will be tough,
the journey long and hard,
met with troubles,
and many sorrows,
You. Will. Succeed.
And see the light again.
I haven't written a poem in about 2 weeks (or at least finished a poem, or came out with anything good). It feels really good writing something again.
Jonathan Surname Oct 2018
Houses in tall grass.
Another one shut down, the mines.
Boon of pride, swollen like a tick caught in your sock.

Winds blow through yesterday and are colder now.
Ever wonder why some things aren't allowed?

Attention like reception, cut-down by the everything in-between.

The quarry used to be a swimming hole.
Now it's just a hole.
Memories are the only reminders worth remembering.
The second hand embarrassment of a word mispronounced
makes my skin ***** with goosebumps.
Makes my hair stand on anxious end.
Hope no fleas are underneath.

Stay at home. Stay inside. Stay put.
Hole yourself up in your room.
The chance is a drink you'll wake to regret.
The mistake is in believing you know best.

What greatness have you achieved to give yourself advice?
Everything accomplished within four walls you've lived in alone.
Your whole life.

Houses in tall grass.
Sleeping in dusty room.
Tread softly lest you disturb the might-have-beens.
The first step in succeeding is listening to the lessons.
ten minute poem,
at this point i'm tired
of
living
with the negativity that won't stop
until my life falls
every second, every minute
i walk through the halls and what's supposed
to be the walls
are demons closing me in
suffocating me to
do better
it's rare
they would never want me to succeed
unless they feel that they would conquer me
how good it would feed
them but not i
that's why i try to change
to change i try
what are you tired of?
Anya Sep 2018
The first and last time I ever
bragged was in fifth grade
We’d been on a unit related to the
Ancient Egyptians
I was the only one in our class to have
gotten a good score
On the reading comprehension
Our teacher even
Announced it to the whole class

I was ecstatic
So, I tapped the shoulder of the girl next to me
Whose face clearly showed that
her result wasn’t as joyous
and I told her
The glee practically bursting out of me

“I KNOW!” She screamed
Red faced
A cascade of tears water falling down
Her face

That stayed with me
Even now I ask myself,
Such a pointless thing
It’s only purpose
Being
To hurt
Such a useless thing
Why did I ever do it?

And that is why
I never brag
Even to this day
Eleanor Sinclair Aug 2018
In moments of weakness I’m like a hermit

In moments of strength the lion emerges
Next page