Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Dev Sharma Apr 2018
At the blank pages I
Stare in annoyance to the empty spaces
I shake with the fear that the writings may not please
My pensive nature

My hands, my brain fail to develop good
Ideas that satisfy my heart and soul

I stare at the blank page and wait
For creativity to return
And paint it with words

Hanging in the smog,
I see an image that
I want to paint
Hovering just out of my range
As it slowly fades away, out of my focus

I don’t have enough inspiration to
Bring the fading image
Back into my focus

I strike the keys,
The words appear
But the words don’t seem to strike a bright bulb,
In here

I change the form,
It stays that way
For seconds
Minutes
Hours
And soon, Days

I think long about the
Mystery, as to why
The keys don’t
Unlock the rooms in me

It takes time to find the right words
Combining them to paint
A piece of art
That rests deep inside
A poet’s heart

I am impatient
Restless, Lost of
Words

Eager to find the words I need
I rush it, write to fast
Not thinking about what the artwork
Will turn out to be

I write a bad poem
Stare at it with shock

The impatient poet retires again
Hoping it won’t happen once more
As I rush again, I failed to learn from the past
Poetry needs time I noticed at last.
Ash Apr 2018
I feel what I want people to see
But the gift to create is no longer in me
Purpose pounds at my jailed heart
But yet to escape is passion filled art
Aa Harvey Apr 2018
I expect nothing less.


Here I stand before you all;
Empty of thought.
A mind of wall’s without a door.


In a time of need, I am without aid;
I believed in true love, but I will never do that again.
I gave to love everything that I could have given;
She walked away and left me behind alive,
But I am not truly living.


People expect; I expect nothing less,
But I have nothing left to give to a thing I no longer believe in.
Beauty all around, but none of it will I need today,
Because I have nothing but pain, to remind me why I must remain,
A Metalhead with no time to waste on regrets.
I have been able to love in the past, but I can never forget,
What love has caused; the endless chores.
This endless sadness that they call love.


The reason to fall; love puts you down like a dying dog.
A glimpse of bliss is a lie we all believe,
But I am still grieving down on my knees
And I am without strength and I am without doubt,
That again I will be lied to, if they tell me I need to love again
And if I agree…I will only weep.

(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Wilder Mar 2018
Can you show me a different path

One with exciting features

This one is so dull

Will we find it

Maybe

Now

Maybe

Will we find it

This one is so dull

One with exciting features

Can you show me a different path

This one is boring

Let's take
A
New
Path
      One that
               Twists and
                 Turns
            And
Is so much
More fun            
This is better              
See all the curves                  
But we could
Take a path because
We think we should
And that might be fun
But I can't rhyme
So I'll just stay on this path

For now...
I might have had writers block... XD
Kim Mar 2018
A work of art I must produce
One eye on the clock
and one on the muse
I sit here waiting
and watching time
Slip quietly by
with hardly a chime

With her she takes
my thoughts and expressions
Clears out my head
no trace of compassion

Beggared and blighted
An innocent fool
A would-be poet
stripped of her tools

I'm sure I should be grateful
for peace and quiet aplenty
but can't help being  resentful
at the cost of poetic currency
:/
Nathan Feb 2018
A lone troubadour
Hums his lonely composition
He stares at his reflection
Forged from the puddle at his feet

His humming falls silent
The puddle disturbed by a single tear
This lone troubadours pen
Has ran dry
TK Feb 2018
Internal screaming blares inside my head,

Clawing at my own skin as if it will tear,

Because at this very minute I really couldn’t care,

Drowning in thoughts of pure despair,

I am

Suffocating, in the wild mess stuck up there,
Vick Mandrake Feb 2018
The bard feels all sung out
As the world around him sleeps
He is the only one left
In the right sense of mind
Who doesn't feel strung out

So he sets to write a merry tune
'pon his lute so fine
For come the morning
When the people awake
An old tune just won't shine

He tries and tries
Till the **** does crow
But sadly sunrise comes

The women start to knead their dough
To cook their breakfast buns

And the poor old Bard
In this moment did find
Of songs he wrote not a single one
And he now is out of time
Next page