#poemsaboutlife - Hello Poetry

A dramatic symphony, Echoes from billowing clouds above, The marble sky glows with golden warmth, At times even the orb is concealed, Gusts of wind fly past, Like driving a car with the windows down, White flashes illuminate brief moments, This marks the beginning. As diamonds descend from above, I turn upwards smiling, The cold weather relieving a tropical heatwave, The water replenishing parched soil, The blessings replenishing parched souls.

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Mar 25, 2019

Mar 25, 2019 at 11:07 PM UTC

Batrisyia

The Good Rain

A dramatic symphony, Echoes from billowing clouds above, The marble sky glows with golden warmth, At times even the orb is concealed, Gusts of wind fly past, Like driving a car with the windows down, White flashes illuminate brief moments, This marks the beginning. As diamonds descend from above, I turn upwards smiling, The cold weather relieving a tropical heatwave, The water replenishing parched soil, The blessings replenishing parched souls.

13

Bruised bitter apple: the horror! To roll across my tracks. Of the crab variety, we decipher what's in cider. Fright, how might, precisely, the worms persisted- when once flesh was tender enough? Now they are dead, the apple dented where butted their unsuspecting heads. When guts are made a graveyard, no Wicked Queen’s power overrules the external grotesque, or the royal inner circle’s internal damage, ringed like trees, like circles of hell. Sour taste, and, more importantly-- wriggling, struggling, self-pesticidal hopes and dreams. Unsightly to fit their environs. Some as parasites, but some only friends.

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Jun 27, 2018

Jun 27, 2018 at 8:38 PM UTC

1sadiewrites

Bad Apples

Bruised bitter apple: the horror! To roll across my tracks. Of the crab variety, we decipher what's in cider. Fright, how might, precisely, the worms persisted- when once flesh was tender enough? Now they are dead, the apple dented where butted their unsuspecting heads. When guts are made a graveyard, no Wicked Queen’s power overrules the external grotesque, or the royal inner circle’s internal damage, ringed like trees, like circles of hell. Sour taste, and, more importantly-- wriggling, struggling, self-pesticidal hopes and dreams. Unsightly to fit their environs. Some as parasites, but some only friends.

20

By: Jack Wilder (Ramon Carlos T. Castillo) Inhale, exhale— I make a long trail, Like writing the lines of which you love to read, A call of the aching heart, Are seen through the words my soul would bleed. With my hard work, your mind I feed. And I think about it— life, So I pick one, straighten it up, And ignite the inspiration coming from within me, As I show you the light through paper, pen, and nicotine, In return, you fuel my perseverance, And give meaning to my existence. Such a long trail it is— life, I think to myself as I puff off a trail of smoke into the night, The smoke of which is a lot like life, Long all at once— and gone in one blink.

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Dec 29, 2016

Dec 29, 2016 at 1:19 AM UTC

jack-wilder0770

The Long Trail

By: Jack Wilder (Ramon Carlos T. Castillo) Inhale, exhale— I make a long trail, Like writing the lines of which you love to read, A call of the aching heart, Are seen through the words my soul would bleed. With my hard work, your mind I feed. And I think about it— life, So I pick one, straighten it up, And ignite the inspiration coming from within me, As I show you the light through paper, pen, and nicotine, In return, you fuel my perseverance, And give meaning to my existence. Such a long trail it is— life, I think to myself as I puff off a trail of smoke into the night, The smoke of which is a lot like life, Long all at once— and gone in one blink.

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