Why are my words cruel and unattractive?

Will I never write words of inspiration?

My words relfect me.

So why is it you don't think I'm ugly at the very least?

Shall I never shine?

Will my rhymes be anything more then awful times?

I seek a slick tongue which spread happiness and expresse love.

Nobody enjoys my rants.

They aren't written for that...

So whats the use of pain written on cue?

I'm but a waste, like my words and all the hate.

Will I ever rise from below?

Will I ever be able to let sweet words flow?

I don't know who I am any more.

With this creativity darkness is sure.

What comes with pure happiness is definitely unsure.

Bury this pen.

Bury me alive...

I'm not even worth this moment in time.

I'm corrupted by my past.

The only thing I have are words written with blood and a broken cast.

And depressing words vast.

And arranging hate in words vast.

Soldiers of Peace march on
Have no enemies
Just hearts and souls to win over.
See no divisions
Between race or creed
Or whatever.

Engage with people.
Listen and understand
Where they are coming from.

Unite us all:
The human race –
Life Forms everyone.

Have that discipline
Of the best army
In the world
But channel everything
Into peace
And Love.

Stand together
For The Common Good.

Paul Butters

my parents taught me
to remain silent
when i have nothing nice
to say

they said
people will not
assume i'm a mute
if i keep quiet

so now
when something requires a nasty reply
i keep silent and
raise my *******

I can tell that
you can't tell
that you aren't
going to be famous.

You helped **** a kid
by selling him laced candy
because you were trying
to buy an acting career.

Your suicide threats
and cries for help
turn me on.
Because.
I would love
for you to die.

And if you were dead --
as dead as the dirt on
the graves you've helped fill --
I wouldn't sleep better or worse;
I guess I would just be happy
knowing that someone would
be able to sleep and wake up.

They put you on the evening news
and you laughed about it on twitter.
Because you are a river
teaching drowning lessons
but not taking responsibility
for the cornflower blue corpses
that haunt your dangerous brain
and contaminate nearby life.

You are a degenerate --
but not one with potential
or hope. You are not what
is beautiful about struggle;
you are not interesting.

You are written about
much like how cancer
is written about in journals.

Steam, Heat, sweltering mechanisms at work,
cogs, collected, combined, creating copper cirque,
wheels rotating, furnaces incinerating, gears moving at busy speed,
circulating, building, crafting, machines making what we need,
Tubes pump Scarlet Liquid, contraptions clank and ratchets clink,
as I ponder - what all the parts do, one requires to think.
Parts seldom give up, nor contraptions shirking,
but this wonder, marvel, machine, is the human body working.

Before I close my eyes ... Before I drift away ...
      fallow as the evanescent tide grows low;
      before the falling sun echoes
      upon shown waves of estranged sandbars

Before I draw this life’s ending breath ...
      as beclouding skies ache like a windswept shoreline
      kissed by a bitter sweet gale of love and misery
      beget a chilling spell cast of invisible winds of change

Before you no longer remember ...
      the way the song a gentle wind's caress
      swirls and sweeps away bare feet
      set free to soar beyond the reach of your eyes
      
Before these eyes see the final sunset tiptoe down the sky ...
      even the sun feels the dimming in its wake ;
      unrequited footprints in the sand course straightaway,
      never turning around to look back whence they came

Before another tide floods a deserted oceanside ...
      erasing the traces of where we danced naked as the dark
      glimpsing the diminishing horizon ― 

                              and I let go .........
      as the tears steal away the last glint of the sea

           The way you took your love from me ...



                 © harlon rivers ... May15th, 2017

And, sometimes, when I look back, I dont even remember how I got the courage to do it, yet I'm glad I've done it.
With all the pain I have inflicted upon myself at that precise moment, I'm glad I did it.
Because, today, I don't remember what the pain felt like, but I remember I heard my breath for the first time in a while.
I was alive.



- LynnAA

~
Bending low over cultivated flowers
feeling petals soft and delicate betwixt rough
and calloused fingertips. With the gentlest tug
a single veined pollen respite
floats at first then lays weightless
within my palm. I hold the entire universe as well.
Each atom in balance expressing color
and fragrance. All without any
measurable substance. A slight but steady
breeze takes my prize. I stand defeated;
no longer able to garner a mate…
or experience joy. I pull another
and am reborn in nature.  /