Trinity Key Mar 2015
I always answered with anger
But it was never the answer
So what is?
Chiny Apr 2014
I close my eyes.
I open my eyes.
I feel a great change.
But How can things be so different and still be quite the same?
he sat naked and drunk in a room of summer
night, running the blade of the knife
under his fingernails, smiling, thinking
of all the letters he had received
telling him that
the way he lived and wrote about
that--
it had kept them going when
all seemed
truly
hopeless.

putting the blade on the table, he
flicked it with a finger
and it whirled
in a flashing circle
under the light.

who the hell is going to save
me? he
thought.

as the knife stopped spinning
the answer came:
you're going to have to
save yourself.

still smiling,
a: he lit a
cigarette
b: he poured
another
drink
c: gave the blade
another
spin.
Ashley Swamy Jun 2014
We're a generation of suicidal kids,
Telling other suicidal kids,
That suicide is not the answer.
(A quote I found somewhere)
It's excruciating to comfort, when you know the pain-a tribute to the children of the 90s
Robert Thompson Mar 2015
My skin rough and red,
my hair unwashed and rumpled.
Dirt and grease,
under my nails.
Eyes heavy and distant,
searching for something lost.
The memory eludes me,
like so many of my dreams.
Which turn was wrong,
sending me down this path?
To wander without purpose,
looking for the question.
While living the answer.


                                                                                            rthompson
So many wander and no not all are lost.
Man asks questions
Therefore he thinks that he exists

No other animal asks questions
Therefore they do not exist

Existence is the question
That no one has the answer to .

God gave us the ability to ask questions
Let's not question our ability to answer too .
Thoughts

We think them

We feel them

We share them

We write them

We visualize them

But what prompts us to think of a thought?

Are thoughts created?

Or were they already there from the start?
J A M Aug 2014
PIE
The answer to life's problems
Is in front of your face
It is pie indeed
Make no mistake

Pies of all sizes
Take your place
Delightful to gaze upon
If even not so great

How can you mess up
Something in a round plate?

Meringue or not
They are all so yummy
Just thinking about them
In your tummy

The thought alone is
Oh so yummy!

For now I will retreat
To something not so grand
But soon I will rejoice
With pie in hand
Silly, I know. For my son who loves pie! :)
princessninann Apr 2015
"Oo",* ang sagot ko,
dalawang taong hatid sundo.
Mga araw na hindi sigurado
kung ano ba talaga tayo.

"Oo", ang sagot ko,
Buong buhay ko
Ngayon lang ako naging sigurado
'Di ko maiikakait pintig ng puso.

"Oo", ang sagot ko,
Salamat dahil hanggang sa dulo
Hinintay mong tumibok muli ang puso
Di ka napagod, di ka huminto.

"Oo", ang sagot ko,
Mga matatamis na pangako
Mga araw na ikaw lang at ako
Tunay ngang pag-ibig ang nakita ko sa'yo.
Oo means Yes. "Yes", i answered.
R Saba Apr 2014
Sometimes I feel
fleetingly
like I am not here.
I feel like a narrator
like a character
in an unfinished novel,
like
like

like an unending street.
Like this town,
like this place-
a collection of lives,
beginnings and ends,
tangled strings
and cracked windows.

Wandering through the small maze
of downtown,
I know the answer.

I need to get out of here.
From a year or so ago.
What is poetry ?
I am defeated please!
Kindly answer me
Poets give me a definition this is a challenge please please .
Renee 'Wisera' Aug 2016
How did I become such a loser
Perspective
How can I make my life better
Discipline
How can I get all this done
Habit
How long can I go on
Persistence
Tell me why it is we don’t lift our voices these days
And cry over what is happening. Have you noticed
The plans are made for Iraq and the ice cap is melting?

I say to myself: “Go on, cry. What’s the sense
Of being an adult and having no voice? Cry out!
See who will answer! This is Call and Answer!”

We will have to call especially loud to reach
Our angels, who are hard of hearing; they are hiding
In the jugs of silence filled during our wars.

Have we agreed to so many wars that we can’t
Escape from silence? If we don’t lift our voices, we allow
Others (who are ourselves) to rob the house.

How come we’ve listened to the great criers—Neruda,
Akhmatova, Thoreau, Frederick Douglass—and now
We’re silent as sparrows in the little bushes?

Some masters say our life lasts only seven days.
Where are we in the week? Is it Thursday yet?
Hurry, cry now! Soon Sunday night will come.
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