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I scream to drown the noise, fight to hold my poise
Against this sonic wave that dismantles and destroys
This place that I called home… It’s all that’s left of what I own.
I fear I’m destined to the desert, or somewhere desolate to roam.
Tried to convince my brain this wasn’t real – that lies are all I feel.
I’m not sure why I fear this noise;
There’s nothing left for it to steal.
Yet I plug my ears and scream; tear the stitching from my seams
I find it difficult to sleep, and near impossible to dream.
I scream so hard it makes me sweat, and my skin begins to gleam
This heat turns smiles into tears, like water into steam.

My head begins to ache; my hands begin to shake
If I chose the wrong path, I made one **** of a mistake.
While my lungs still permit, I’ll keep their volume set on high,
Lift my head to the clouds, and scream at the sky.
I have yet to hear an answer, and while I’m not much of dancer
I learned some steps from Lady Luck in hopes to cure me of this cancer.

Now, I don’t believe in luck – but she still left me with something.
While we danced I took notice; the noise dulled slightly to a humming.
I looked back to Lady Luck – and I’m sure this wasn’t just a dream –
But she had vanished to the air, like water into steam.
I said “I don’t believe in luck.” She still left me something, though.
She said “You can’t predict the world – I assume this much you know…”
“But if a farmer plants a seed, in that spot a plant will grow.”

One day, my throat gave out.  For no longer could I shout.
And I don’t believe in luck, so I was simply left with doubt.
I cursed that lady’s words; told myself that she was crazy.
When something caught my eye…
There - at my feet - grew a daisy.
A daisy… In the desert…
And despite how bad my head hurt, I thanked God for Lady Luck.
I thanked God that I had met her.
For the noise I heard was her opposite. It was the presence of chance.
I learned the farmer can’t predict the world, but his seeds grow into plants.
So since my only choices are my actions... I think I’ll take today to dance.
Dae Feb 11
i can see all the demons in your closet

i wonder if you can too

are they dismissed and swept under your bed?

or do they watch you when the lights go out?

has your obliviousness

caused them to follow me home?

they’re under my bathroom sink,

between the sheets and

they crawl throughout my drawers.

when they scurry across the tile

and crinkle my old wrappers

it wakes me out of my sleep.

i wish you would come and

take them back.
polite criticism is welcome!
Dean Jan 21
A rusty chain wrapped around my ankles
Holding my legs together
Holding me down
I didn’t even know it was there till two rotations ago
Rotations circling the sun
A beautiful orb of gold and warmth sending rays through the clear blue
Even when I shiver now without the comforting rays
I will be alright
For I am a boy of the ocean
And that is enough for me
wow these are actually getting a little bit of attention, honestly just one person reading my stuff is exciting and makes me feel so much better about my writing.
Dae Jan 12
you’re so pretty

my sweet suffering

just like my daphne

you’re blooming again.

i forgot to remember

your little delirium

why do i bother?

now,with everything forgotten,

you’re gonna dance, dance, dance.

you’re so indulgent

my sweet suffering

just like my daphne

you’re choking again.

i won’t acknowledge

your growing ego.

is it my turn?

now, with eyes wide open,

you’re gonna fade, fade, fade.

you’re so dense

my bitter suffering

just like my daphne

you’re wilting again.

i can't hear

your poisoned words

are you done yet?

now,with my last match,

you’re gonna burn, burn, burn.
One of the first poems I have had the confidence to publish, I appreciate criticism but please don't tear me apart. Thanks <3
Bound by rope
wrists bleed
sacks removed to expose the cold faces

December, the hangman long gone
a woman and two men hang by rope
The wind moves them
their last movements, in turns
in immaculate phases
bodies turn east, south, east, north, east, south, west

A small girl with black hair and pale-blue eyes
no older than six
she enters the wooden structure
and innocently looks over the executed

Birds gather on the shoulders
she sees
to keep them company
Their fingers, rough and ******, and faces, no expressions, look white and blue
They must be cold, she knows
West, south, east, north, east
The body in the middle remained turned to the east
a cold breeze rushes over the girl
the body turns south
She’s cold too, but gives the man in the middle her gloves
they’re woollen
they don’t fit

The girl pulls a small ladder up the stage
from up there she can look at the man from the same height
His mouth has dropped open, but she knows he’ll remain still
but if he could speak, what would he say?

His hair black, eyes pale-blue
Accused of **** and misconduct
by orders of an aristocrat
Would he have liked a wooden horse just to have? she thinks
but he is an adult, so he must have had a real horse to have

She cuts the rope with a sharp knife
the body sinks into the surface
Shortly, he falls and sits upon his knees
sitting, lost in absence
the girl thinks he might be praying
then the body falls east, calmly, into abyss

Next to the girl, the bodies waver on
East, south, west, south, east

And from the all ending darkness
Freedom arose
A red flower in the Altaï mountains
A direction from the swallowing abyss
The illusion of freedom is the ultimate freedom you cannot escape from
From the liquid surface
A creature crawled out
Oozing with sweat
It held out his claw
To show the girl his way
A show
A dance
The end
I'm curious what you guys think of this piece I wrote a few months ago. I  wrote this almost entirely with symbolism and I wonder if anyone can take some meaning out of it :)
Austin Draper Dec 2018
I declare war on red, how it’s colors offend me. How it painted my people. It painted my monument. Oh how I hate it. We must **** it, with guns. Tanks, copters and weapons of war. Red will pay! But wait, how must a gun **** red? I know! I will attack the people who use red! That will do it! Go to the homeland of the red lovers **** them all! I can find them and **** them. I will take down red.
Blue was very afraid of red. It was hurt. What once was the fear of sound being a fear of sight now. Little did it know the piercings of bullets will only bring up more bullets to be seen. Fighting red with a gun is as saying all who eat chocolate should be killed just because some like to eat too much. Us versus them. Red versus blue. Red was a familiar color for blue. 50 years before red was its running buddy. Pushing it farther and farther.
Now red has a new hue. Blue is afraid again. Red is just a color. A label. Something easy to label but hard to get rid of. So, abstract that war on it with war weapons we fear that our weapons of war will only be more dangerous to ourselves. The only way to break red is to have red become a color not red anymore. But instead accepting that Red and Blue are similar and both colors people can believe. Let the people who use red decide if they don’t want it. It’s running “comrade” can tell you that, just look eastward. Of course, this is a different color problem, but same basic principles apply, fight color with color. Color with color, idea with idea, Red vs Red, Blue vs Blue. The last two are how it is.  But in the end, show how blue and red are more similar than you think. Fight them only to understand how to live them. War on color doesn’t mean that you have to eliminate a color. Blue vs Blue, Blue vs Red when it should be Red helping Blue understand it and Blue learning how to be safe living with Red. It will take long, but it’s worth having Red with Blue.
Notes a few years ago I formed into a statement, basically saying that hating the Religion of Islam for loosely affiliated extremism is not justified. Political one I know, but we are all people and labels make us inhuman.
A ringing in my ear
The soft cry of children
My innocence slaughtered
Where did time go

I lay here awake
Aware of the mess
Who dragged me from my bed?
My fists are cut and ******
And the bottle lay empty
Another night out?
Butchered tree in my pocket
There’s more to it than this

An endless road lie yonder
The heat waves friendly
I see you but hear nothing
I don’t wave back

Another left behind
Learning new ways to walk
Have we forgotten how to live?
Worshiping false idols
Media is a speedy vehicle
Inebriated driver behind the wheel
The minds of the masses
A thirst never quenched

I laugh as I know
And wander off the road
I think I found a new place to go
The land of maize
But I’m not lost

I have no place to be
Do you?

The new place one finds amidst the chaos of society can either be physical or mental
living makes me want to die
while the sound of the river keeps playing,

and my privilege will soon drown it out
as the river trickles down my ears,

but i keep hearing the same song.
I dance in the rain

people start to believe my lies
and I splash in a puddle.

i laugh with grief

there is no me anywhere, anymore
My clothes are soaked with protection.

I run and run and scream and play,
Waist deep in my little river,

it's thick
must be the polution

no one hears my calls or wishes.
I let myself float care free.

I hold my breath everyday
I feel it slosh in my brain

I won't wake up from this dream
I'm sinking


I hear the river stream
as it moves past my body
as it moves through my body

it goes on
     it goes on
          it goes on

what goes on when i can't?


the two parts me and end together
Austin Draper Dec 2018
There were two pigs, A father and a son, Pup. In their pen they dwelt, the father chewing with his mouth close to the dirt. His son, assuming that his father was indulging himself asked “Father may I have some oats?”
         The father turned his head and answered “First answer me some questions. How many oats do you need to live?” Oinking confidently, pup responded “Well I remember that there are 30 oats he gives to us for a meal, we store 5 in the ground and 35 oats I eat, 10 for breakfast, 10 for lunch and 15 for dinner.” His father then said “What are oats made of?” Oinking again; “Wheat.”
         His father continued; “What type of word is oats?” Oinking less enthusiastically, Pup said “Noun” Again his father asked a question “Who came before us?” Pup angry now said “Your father and the Farmer who put him there.  Now may I have oats?” The father solemnly said “Son, I have no oats to spare. Though I did when you were young I have none now.  But I have given you the skills to obtain oats, for knowledge can generate oats but oats cannot generate the love of knowledge. Son, you may have oats if you like me, you and all those to come to hunger. Pass this knowledge on so that future pigs, maybe like you; can have a love of knowledge. Teach your sons and daughters this lesson, for losing the quest for wisdom will seed to the loss of our people.”
Although the son retaliated much, he gained enough knowledge to answer his daughter the question “Father, May I have some oats?” And give her a hunger beyond the stomach.
This is just kind of a Prose poem I made for an allegory about a Parent teaching their kids to learn. With Pigs of course.
Teal Nov 2018
I love that smile.
It makes my day.

With the clear, morning sky,
And the smell of fresh, recent rain,

Let's take a walk
down my favorite lane.

Stay by my side
Let's enjoy the endless time we have.

It's amazing how
The presence of someone really special to you
Can uplift your world entirely.
The poem is not what it seems to be.
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