"awaked" poems - Hello Poetry

"awaked" poems

awakened by the offsprings cry, baby powdered morning dew showers the room, coffee stained smiles shine about cheerio blanketed kitchens, so worrisome for office tardiness, the carseat won't lock into place, tire marks on fresh paved driveways, to daycare tears dry not she's on time, fatigued she plants her seed to the office seat to grow even less awaiting to see the smile of her child and say her prayers before falling asleep - awaked by the offsprings cry, gun powered morning dew showeres the village, rotted teeth smile amongst the body-blanketed township, so worrisome of finding a slain mother sister brother just like father, the gun won't lock into place, they never will, tattered couches paved with the ***** of slaughtered buildings, mother's dead tears dry not, fatigued, hands of grungy drainpipes plant beside, holding stagnant a somber sibling, tremors ripple crimson tides, planted to grow even less awaiting to see the smile of his mother his father his sister and say his prayers with brother before laying down

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Aug 26, 2015

Aug 26, 2015 at 8:29 PM UTC

Seattle to Syria°

awakened by the offsprings cry, baby powdered morning dew showers the room, coffee stained smiles shine about cheerio blanketed kitchens, so worrisome for office tardiness, the carseat won't lock into place, tire marks on fresh paved driveways, to daycare tears dry not she's on time, fatigued she plants her seed to the office seat to grow even less awaiting to see the smile of her child and say her prayers before falling asleep - awaked by the offsprings cry, gun powered morning dew showeres the village, rotted teeth smile amongst the body-blanketed township, so worrisome of finding a slain mother sister brother just like father, the gun won't lock into place, they never will, tattered couches paved with the ***** of slaughtered buildings, mother's dead tears dry not, fatigued, hands of grungy drainpipes plant beside, holding stagnant a somber sibling, tremors ripple crimson tides, planted to grow even less awaiting to see the smile of his mother his father his sister and say his prayers with brother before laying down

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I WOULD that we were, my beloved, white birds on the foam of the sea! We tire of the flame of the meteor, before it can fade and flee; And the flame of the blue star of twilight, hung low on the rim of the sky, Has awaked in our hearts, my beloved, a sadness that may not die. A weariness comes from those dreamers, dew-dabbled, the lily and rose; Ah, dream not of them, my beloved, the flame of the meteor that goes, Or the flame of the blue star that lingers hung low in the fall of the dew: For I would we were changed to white birds on the wandering foam: I and you! I am haunted by numberless islands, and many a Danaan shore, Where Time would surely forget us, and Sorrow come near us no more; Soon far from the rose and the lily and fret of the flames would we be, Were we only white birds, my beloved, buoyed out on the foam of the sea!

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4.4k

William Butler Yeats

The White Birds

I WOULD that we were, my beloved, white birds on the foam of the sea! We tire of the flame of the meteor, before it can fade and flee; And the flame of the blue star of twilight, hung low on the rim of the sky, Has awaked in our hearts, my beloved, a sadness that may not die. A weariness comes from those dreamers, dew-dabbled, the lily and rose; Ah, dream not of them, my beloved, the flame of the meteor that goes, Or the flame of the blue star that lingers hung low in the fall of the dew: For I would we were changed to white birds on the wandering foam: I and you! I am haunted by numberless islands, and many a Danaan shore, Where Time would surely forget us, and Sorrow come near us no more; Soon far from the rose and the lily and fret of the flames would we be, Were we only white birds, my beloved, buoyed out on the foam of the sea!

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Too late for love, too late for joy, Too late, too late! You loiter'd on the road too long, You trifled at the gate: The enchanted dove upon her branch Died without a mate; The enchanted princess in her tower Slept, died, behind the grate; Her heart was starving all this while You made it wait. Ten years ago, five years ago, One year ago, Even then you had arrived in time, Though somewhat slow; Then you had known her living face Which now you cannot know: The frozen fountain would have leap'd, The buds gone on to blow, The warm south wind would have awaked To melt the snow. Is she fair now as she lies? Once she was fair; Meet queen for any kingly king, With gold-dust on her hair. Now there are poppies in her locks, White poppies she must wear; Must wear a veil to shroud her face And the want graven there: Or is the hunger fed at length, Cast off the care? We never saw her with a smile Or with a frown; Her bed seem'd never soft to her, Though toss'd of down; She little heeded what she wore, Kirtle, or wreath, or gown; We think her white brows often ached Beneath her crown, Till silvery hairs show'd in her locks That used to be so brown. We never heard her speak in haste: Her tones were sweet, And modulated just so much As it was meet: Her heart sat silent through the noise And concourse of the street. There was no hurry in her hands, No hurry in her feet; There was no bliss drew nigh to her, That she might run to greet. You should have wept her yesterday, Wasting upon her bed: But wherefore should you weep to-day That she is dead? Lo, we who love weep not to-day, But crown her royal head. Let be these poppies that we strew, Your roses are too red: Let be these poppies, not for you Cut down and spread.

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2.6k

Christina Rossetti

Too late for love, too late for joy, Too late, too late! You loiter'd on the road too long, You trifled at the gate: The enchanted dove upon her branch Died without a mate; The enchanted princess in her tower Slept, died, behind the grate; Her heart was starving all this while You made it wait. Ten years ago, five years ago, One year ago, Even then you had arrived in time, Though somewhat slow; Then you had known her living face Which now you cannot know: The frozen fountain would have leap'd, The buds gone on to blow, The warm south wind would have awaked To melt the snow. Is she fair now as she lies? Once she was fair; Meet queen for any kingly king, With gold-dust on her hair. Now there are poppies in her locks, White poppies she must wear; Must wear a veil to shroud her face And the want graven there: Or is the hunger fed at length, Cast off the care? We never saw her with a smile Or with a frown; Her bed seem'd never soft to her, Though toss'd of down; She little heeded what she wore, Kirtle, or wreath, or gown; We think her white brows often ached Beneath her crown, Till silvery hairs show'd in her locks That used to be so brown. We never heard her speak in haste: Her tones were sweet, And modulated just so much As it was meet: Her heart sat silent through the noise And concourse of the street. There was no hurry in her hands, No hurry in her feet; There was no bliss drew nigh to her, That she might run to greet. You should have wept her yesterday, Wasting upon her bed: But wherefore should you weep to-day That she is dead? Lo, we who love weep not to-day, But crown her royal head. Let be these poppies that we strew, Your roses are too red: Let be these poppies, not for you Cut down and spread.

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It was 4am and Bill bit me My two arms soar and itchy, I awoke in discomfort which quickly turned into anxiety and anger Scratching to ease my pain which temporary ceased Thoughts of my life, work and my insecurities burned to my attention God **** Bill! I sighed, he's awaked my anxieties too early Seething now, feeling redder and redder I wondered why Bill didn't let me be Id had enough and got up to apply some lotion Slowly my pain began to soothe and I drifted away Awake now at 9am Somewhat calmer, my insecurities still present but other thoughts present too I ponder on what lotions I can use

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Sep 13, 2014

Sep 13, 2014 at 3:55 AM UTC

What's your lotion?

It was 4am and Bill bit me My two arms soar and itchy, I awoke in discomfort which quickly turned into anxiety and anger Scratching to ease my pain which temporary ceased Thoughts of my life, work and my insecurities burned to my attention God **** Bill! I sighed, he's awaked my anxieties too early Seething now, feeling redder and redder I wondered why Bill didn't let me be Id had enough and got up to apply some lotion Slowly my pain began to soothe and I drifted away Awake now at 9am Somewhat calmer, my insecurities still present but other thoughts present too I ponder on what lotions I can use

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"Too late for love, too late for joy, Too late, too late! You loitered on the road too long, You trifled at the gate: The enchanted dove upon her branch Died without a mate. The enchanted princess in her tower Slept, died, behind the grate; Her heart was starving all this while You made it wait. "Ten years ago, five years ago, One year ago, Even then you had arrived in time, Though somewhat slow; Then you had known her living face Which now you cannot know: The frozen fountain would have leaped, The buds gone on to blow, The warm south wind would have awaked To melt the snow. "Is she fair now as she lies? Once she was fair; Meet queen for any kingly king, With gold-dust on her hair. Now these are poppies in her locks, White poppies she must wear; Must wear a veil to shroud her face And the want graven there: Or is the hunger fed at length, Cast off the care? "We never saw her with a smile Or with a frown; Her bed seemed never soft to her, Though tossed of down; She little heeded what she wore, Kirtle, or wreath, or gown; We think her white brows often ached Beneath her crown, Till silvery hairs showed in her locks That used to be so brown. "We never heard her speak in haste; Her tones were sweet, And modulated just so much As it was meet: Her heart sat silent through the noise And concourse of the street. There was no hurry in her hands, No hurry in her feet; There was no bliss drew nigh to her, That she might run to greet. "You should have wept her yesterday, Wasting upon her bed: But wherefore should you weep to-day That she is dead? Lo we who love weep not to-day, But crown her royal head. Let be these poppies that we strew, Your roses are too red: Let be these poppies, not for you Cut down and spread."

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2.5k

Christina Rossetti

The Prince's Progress (excerpt)

"Too late for love, too late for joy, Too late, too late! You loitered on the road too long, You trifled at the gate: The enchanted dove upon her branch Died without a mate. The enchanted princess in her tower Slept, died, behind the grate; Her heart was starving all this while You made it wait. "Ten years ago, five years ago, One year ago, Even then you had arrived in time, Though somewhat slow; Then you had known her living face Which now you cannot know: The frozen fountain would have leaped, The buds gone on to blow, The warm south wind would have awaked To melt the snow. "Is she fair now as she lies? Once she was fair; Meet queen for any kingly king, With gold-dust on her hair. Now these are poppies in her locks, White poppies she must wear; Must wear a veil to shroud her face And the want graven there: Or is the hunger fed at length, Cast off the care? "We never saw her with a smile Or with a frown; Her bed seemed never soft to her, Though tossed of down; She little heeded what she wore, Kirtle, or wreath, or gown; We think her white brows often ached Beneath her crown, Till silvery hairs showed in her locks That used to be so brown. "We never heard her speak in haste; Her tones were sweet, And modulated just so much As it was meet: Her heart sat silent through the noise And concourse of the street. There was no hurry in her hands, No hurry in her feet; There was no bliss drew nigh to her, That she might run to greet. "You should have wept her yesterday, Wasting upon her bed: But wherefore should you weep to-day That she is dead? Lo we who love weep not to-day, But crown her royal head. Let be these poppies that we strew, Your roses are too red: Let be these poppies, not for you Cut down and spread."

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"Too late for love, too late for joy, Too late, too late! You loitered on the road too long, You trifled at the gate: The enchanted dove upon her branch Died without a mate. The enchanted princess in her tower Slept, died, behind the grate; Her heart was starving all this while You made it wait. "Ten years ago, five years ago, One year ago, Even then you had arrived in time, Though somewhat slow; Then you had known her living face Which now you cannot know: The frozen fountain would have leaped, The buds gone on to blow, The warm south wind would have awaked To melt the snow. "Is she fair now as she lies? Once she was fair; Meet queen for any kingly king, With gold-dust on her hair. Now these are poppies in her locks, White poppies she must wear; Must wear a veil to shroud her face Or is the hunger fed at length, Cast off the care? "We never saw her with a smile Or with a frown; Her bed seemed never soft to her, Though tossed of down; She little heeded what she wore, Kirtle, or wreath, or gown; We think her white brows often ached Beneath her crown, Till silvery hairs showed in her locks That used to be so brown. "We never heard her speak in haste; Her tones were sweet, And modulated just so much As it was meet: Her heart sat silent through the noise And concourse of the street. There was no hurry in her hands, No hurry in her feet; There was no bliss drew nigh to her, That she might run to greet. "You should have wept her yesterday, Wasting upon her bed: But wherefore should you weep to-day That she is dead? Lo we who love weep not to-day, But crown her royal head. Let be these poppies that we strew, Your roses are too red: Let be these poppies, not for you Cut down and spread."

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2.2k

Christina Rossetti

The Prince's Progress

"Too late for love, too late for joy, Too late, too late! You loitered on the road too long, You trifled at the gate: The enchanted dove upon her branch Died without a mate. The enchanted princess in her tower Slept, died, behind the grate; Her heart was starving all this while You made it wait. "Ten years ago, five years ago, One year ago, Even then you had arrived in time, Though somewhat slow; Then you had known her living face Which now you cannot know: The frozen fountain would have leaped, The buds gone on to blow, The warm south wind would have awaked To melt the snow. "Is she fair now as she lies? Once she was fair; Meet queen for any kingly king, With gold-dust on her hair. Now these are poppies in her locks, White poppies she must wear; Must wear a veil to shroud her face Or is the hunger fed at length, Cast off the care? "We never saw her with a smile Or with a frown; Her bed seemed never soft to her, Though tossed of down; She little heeded what she wore, Kirtle, or wreath, or gown; We think her white brows often ached Beneath her crown, Till silvery hairs showed in her locks That used to be so brown. "We never heard her speak in haste; Her tones were sweet, And modulated just so much As it was meet: Her heart sat silent through the noise And concourse of the street. There was no hurry in her hands, No hurry in her feet; There was no bliss drew nigh to her, That she might run to greet. "You should have wept her yesterday, Wasting upon her bed: But wherefore should you weep to-day That she is dead? Lo we who love weep not to-day, But crown her royal head. Let be these poppies that we strew, Your roses are too red: Let be these poppies, not for you Cut down and spread."

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As a young child I would awaked from my mid-day nap to the glorious smell of fresh home-baked cookies, not the premade out of the tube crap ... the real deal made by mom Was I dreaming of her awesome soft baked chocolate chips, the classic sugar cookie or the peanut butter thumb print No matter... I was good with anything produced by her hand Sneaking down the stairs to the kitchen I follow my nose to discover nothing but aroma Mixing bowls are all cleaned and no sign of any used baking sheet First instinct is to climb the cabinet and search the old hiding spot to no avail, she has out smarted me yet again in concealing evidence No jar is left probing by my best Sherlock Holmes investigation the HIDDEN COOKIE JAM will not outwit me again and again I will seek you until I find you then I will lay waste to you like Cookie Monster had his way on Sesame Street.

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Jul 12, 2016

Jul 12, 2016 at 6:14 AM UTC

HIDDEN COOKIE JAR

As a young child I would awaked from my mid-day nap to the glorious smell of fresh home-baked cookies, not the premade out of the tube crap ... the real deal made by mom Was I dreaming of her awesome soft baked chocolate chips, the classic sugar cookie or the peanut butter thumb print No matter... I was good with anything produced by her hand Sneaking down the stairs to the kitchen I follow my nose to discover nothing but aroma Mixing bowls are all cleaned and no sign of any used baking sheet First instinct is to climb the cabinet and search the old hiding spot to no avail, she has out smarted me yet again in concealing evidence No jar is left probing by my best Sherlock Holmes investigation the HIDDEN COOKIE JAM will not outwit me again and again I will seek you until I find you then I will lay waste to you like Cookie Monster had his way on Sesame Street.

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Do you remember me The way I remember you? Like a mild, wordless creek; A neverending heartbeat Caught forever in my awaked sleep. Burried alive, too deep In all my heart aches Soaking my life so weak In all the lakes Where your heart's creeks flow. Do you dream of me Like I dream of you? On every dawn's tender hue, On every cloud that quickly flew It often seemed it looked like you. A pure embrace, a soothing touch - Reason says I dream too much And a cold silence takes your place... I dream of you and your embrace. Do you long to see me Every morning next to you? 'Cause I do... I remember you, I dream of you, I wish our worlds come true.

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Apr 9, 2011

Apr 9, 2011 at 3:44 PM UTC

Do you remember me The way I remember you? Like a mild, wordless creek; A neverending heartbeat Caught forever in my awaked sleep. Burried alive, too deep In all my heart aches Soaking my life so weak In all the lakes Where your heart's creeks flow. Do you dream of me Like I dream of you? On every dawn's tender hue, On every cloud that quickly flew It often seemed it looked like you. A pure embrace, a soothing touch - Reason says I dream too much And a cold silence takes your place... I dream of you and your embrace. Do you long to see me Every morning next to you? 'Cause I do... I remember you, I dream of you, I wish our worlds come true.

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Around fire the Wa arised syllables afloat, stories alive Above fire the Wa aligned steps abeam, songs alight Amidst fire the Wa awaked sparkling out, sprouting in Cease me not Behold the way, bet a say Brick a home slumbered whither for return in gusto Blaze a tune of unity weather harsh with vitality Beam through ashes blew Wa fire fueled the way found Wither thee not It knocks me out. In tap, on tread, mud you black The mount knows our track. In weft of brunet dye flows the lapse defied dancing a dance not our own for a waft of strangers. Memories ruffled in rusty voice, melodies frozen off the echoes. A small hand in a big one, the way home. There grows crops, plants, and lives picking, watering, handing, crunching, In gentleness built upon nothing less than the radiant afternoon sun creeping down the alley, a melancholy tune, a melancholic loss and a terrible greatness. Hedged eyes I descry your silence lingering on

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Sep 25, 2025

Sep 25, 2025 at 11:27 PM UTC

EvelynYiningChen

In Echoes Off Embers

Around fire the Wa arised syllables afloat, stories alive Above fire the Wa aligned steps abeam, songs alight Amidst fire the Wa awaked sparkling out, sprouting in Cease me not Behold the way, bet a say Brick a home slumbered whither for return in gusto Blaze a tune of unity weather harsh with vitality Beam through ashes blew Wa fire fueled the way found Wither thee not It knocks me out. In tap, on tread, mud you black The mount knows our track. In weft of brunet dye flows the lapse defied dancing a dance not our own for a waft of strangers. Memories ruffled in rusty voice, melodies frozen off the echoes. A small hand in a big one, the way home. There grows crops, plants, and lives picking, watering, handing, crunching, In gentleness built upon nothing less than the radiant afternoon sun creeping down the alley, a melancholy tune, a melancholic loss and a terrible greatness. Hedged eyes I descry your silence lingering on

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Here in this world I’m awaked with mistakes But it's love that keeps fueling me Pretty little lady with the swollen eyes Would you show them to me? I know I’m not that perfect But you stay awhile Baby, then you will see Miles away I can still feel you Lay your head down on my embrace My embrace Far away Pretty little lady with the swollen eyes Would you show them to me? I know I’m not that perfect But you stay awhile Baby, then you will see Don’t give up, baby I know that it's shaky Just let love consume us Consume us… Here in this world I’m awaked with mistakes But it's love that keeps fueling me Fueling me to love you Miles away I can still feel you Lay your head down on my embrace Be not afraid to love me Pretty little lady with the swollen eyes Would you show them to me? I know I’m not that perfect But you stay awhile Baby, then you will see

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Jan 17, 2015

Jan 17, 2015 at 5:40 AM UTC

When you can't sleep at night..

Here in this world I’m awaked with mistakes But it's love that keeps fueling me Pretty little lady with the swollen eyes Would you show them to me? I know I’m not that perfect But you stay awhile Baby, then you will see Miles away I can still feel you Lay your head down on my embrace My embrace Far away Pretty little lady with the swollen eyes Would you show them to me? I know I’m not that perfect But you stay awhile Baby, then you will see Don’t give up, baby I know that it's shaky Just let love consume us Consume us… Here in this world I’m awaked with mistakes But it's love that keeps fueling me Fueling me to love you Miles away I can still feel you Lay your head down on my embrace Be not afraid to love me Pretty little lady with the swollen eyes Would you show them to me? I know I’m not that perfect But you stay awhile Baby, then you will see

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Alas! Awaked again Enough to send me tumbling down Into what might be something familiar Yet entirely new Coming in without permission Controlling me like a puppet to a puppet master Taking pride in its reign Towering high above my will Like fire that never cease to grow Though sometimes away but not for good Gone But surely to come back I sigh in confusion Helpless in this happenstance I'm human, yes But it's the most annoying thing ever.

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Oct 19, 2013

Oct 19, 2013 at 1:53 PM UTC

Alas! Awaked again Enough to send me tumbling down Into what might be something familiar Yet entirely new Coming in without permission Controlling me like a puppet to a puppet master Taking pride in its reign Towering high above my will Like fire that never cease to grow Though sometimes away but not for good Gone But surely to come back I sigh in confusion Helpless in this happenstance I'm human, yes But it's the most annoying thing ever.

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the time is crawling awaked in a painful dream in this eternal dawn inside a spiral i'm still sinking under a senselessness life wondering the smell of death pretending i'm still living but not alive, actually the time is running slipping through the maturity drying the skin that covers a portion of meat that one day will stink before feed some worms and maggots that probably ignore the fact that they're alive

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Apr 16, 2014

Apr 16, 2014 at 1:23 PM UTC

guilherme-coutinho

senselessness life

the time is crawling awaked in a painful dream in this eternal dawn inside a spiral i'm still sinking under a senselessness life wondering the smell of death pretending i'm still living but not alive, actually the time is running slipping through the maturity drying the skin that covers a portion of meat that one day will stink before feed some worms and maggots that probably ignore the fact that they're alive

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A picture says a 1000 words but poems speak where senses fail. I can’t remember or recall my awaked dreams scribbled with scattered penmanship. Before ink dries I cry in the passionate silence of inner groaning till I exploded into the unknown. I don’t know my poems but they new me…. 1 year later on the date I read them for the first time and saw the faces of yesterday’s fear in full ignorance. …. OO poem you waited in my timid soul so to face my yesterday right now. I wish to kiss you but you’ve passed on….leaving a poetic obituary of the human journey,, where present words fail…. Holy Spirit guided me from death into life……..”seek and you will find” ……..

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Dec 23, 2014

Dec 23, 2014 at 5:41 PM UTC

Poetic Obituary

A picture says a 1000 words but poems speak where senses fail. I can’t remember or recall my awaked dreams scribbled with scattered penmanship. Before ink dries I cry in the passionate silence of inner groaning till I exploded into the unknown. I don’t know my poems but they new me…. 1 year later on the date I read them for the first time and saw the faces of yesterday’s fear in full ignorance. …. OO poem you waited in my timid soul so to face my yesterday right now. I wish to kiss you but you’ve passed on….leaving a poetic obituary of the human journey,, where present words fail…. Holy Spirit guided me from death into life……..”seek and you will find” ……..

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The one, who awaked feelings I've never felt. The one, who gave me a reason to smile. The one, who appeared on my dreams. The one, who cared about me. The one, who loved me. The one, who made me believe in love. The one, who occupied my mind. The one, who stop loving. The one, who disappeared. The one, who broke me. This one is for you, and this is the last time that I wrote about you; because I've realized that you weren't the one.

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Oct 27, 2015

Oct 27, 2015 at 10:22 PM UTC

The one, who awaked feelings I've never felt. The one, who gave me a reason to smile. The one, who appeared on my dreams. The one, who cared about me. The one, who loved me. The one, who made me believe in love. The one, who occupied my mind. The one, who stop loving. The one, who disappeared. The one, who broke me. This one is for you, and this is the last time that I wrote about you; because I've realized that you weren't the one.

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When I close my eyes and think of the moment our lips melted together in the park where my soul got awaked I could still feel your softest touch and hear the sweetest words one can ever tell I could also hear the music the stars played just before our eyes met for the first time where people usually say farewell and not their first hello And in this short moment overwhelmed by feelings I cannot describe my soul starts dancing as though I was by your side All I want is to be your two minutes as your are mine when I close my eyes

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Apr 4, 2016

Apr 4, 2016 at 8:59 AM UTC

afrodita-nestor

When I close my eyes

When I close my eyes and think of the moment our lips melted together in the park where my soul got awaked I could still feel your softest touch and hear the sweetest words one can ever tell I could also hear the music the stars played just before our eyes met for the first time where people usually say farewell and not their first hello And in this short moment overwhelmed by feelings I cannot describe my soul starts dancing as though I was by your side All I want is to be your two minutes as your are mine when I close my eyes

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Temper of truth Momentum of energy Healing silence Translated smile, Whistle in the dark Non Judgemental Breathing a common ground Removing difference Perceive beauty anywhere Murmur against a thought Once in a lifetime Start leading a life, free of fear Chords awaked Conscious living With a third eye Forgotten language How to rhythm, what to say......... Keep ego free Never let it to be tamed Fabricated, all just a dream.

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Feb 18, 2018

Feb 18, 2018 at 7:32 PM UTC

mystic-ink-plus

Temper of truth Momentum of energy Healing silence Translated smile, Whistle in the dark Non Judgemental Breathing a common ground Removing difference Perceive beauty anywhere Murmur against a thought Once in a lifetime Start leading a life, free of fear Chords awaked Conscious living With a third eye Forgotten language How to rhythm, what to say......... Keep ego free Never let it to be tamed Fabricated, all just a dream.

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Beat me a heart, unburdened of sin Through a passing of time. Through the monochrome hyme. Beat it hollow and cold. Who Refuse, thee, the bold Ever you find, Your story untold. For it Currency of an unmeasured gain. Holds its value of nothing, If efforts are feigned. Yet, emboldened are we. Awaked of gray. To the right and the wrong. To the dawning of day. For the prelude of leaving, A world gone awry. Will we never again, Be the proxy of I.

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Jul 26, 2016

Jul 26, 2016 at 6:14 AM UTC

Beat me a heart, unburdened of sin Through a passing of time. Through the monochrome hyme. Beat it hollow and cold. Who Refuse, thee, the bold Ever you find, Your story untold. For it Currency of an unmeasured gain. Holds its value of nothing, If efforts are feigned. Yet, emboldened are we. Awaked of gray. To the right and the wrong. To the dawning of day. For the prelude of leaving, A world gone awry. Will we never again, Be the proxy of I.

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There was a man, Over the age of 40, His dress was bland, A shirt, a coat, And pleated pant, He stood on a bridge, Overlooking the sea, And was admiring it's beauty, He stood there gazing across, And wondering what mystery, Lay beneath, After a while its been, Came along a boy, No older than 17, Teary eyed the boy stood, With anger, Consuming his mood, The man made eye contact with the boy, And saw a look in the boy's eyes, A look with which he was familiar, A look meaning the end was near, A look..... Lost in the early years, The boy looked away, Into the sea, This world he wanted to leave, His body was trembling, His fingers twitching, The man read fear, And hatred in the boy, The man walked towards the boy, And hugged him, On his face was teary joy, Somebody saved him, Somebody cared, The man held on, Until the boy left him, The boy left the man, And walked away, His spirits awaked, The man continued looking at the sea, This time wondering about with a sigh, The biggest mystery, Mystery of life!

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Nov 25, 2016

Nov 25, 2016 at 12:54 AM UTC

There was a man, Over the age of 40, His dress was bland, A shirt, a coat, And pleated pant, He stood on a bridge, Overlooking the sea, And was admiring it's beauty, He stood there gazing across, And wondering what mystery, Lay beneath, After a while its been, Came along a boy, No older than 17, Teary eyed the boy stood, With anger, Consuming his mood, The man made eye contact with the boy, And saw a look in the boy's eyes, A look with which he was familiar, A look meaning the end was near, A look..... Lost in the early years, The boy looked away, Into the sea, This world he wanted to leave, His body was trembling, His fingers twitching, The man read fear, And hatred in the boy, The man walked towards the boy, And hugged him, On his face was teary joy, Somebody saved him, Somebody cared, The man held on, Until the boy left him, The boy left the man, And walked away, His spirits awaked, The man continued looking at the sea, This time wondering about with a sigh, The biggest mystery, Mystery of life!

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I wish I could turn back time, to stop you from hurting me. Your eyes were shiny, but now, I only feel fake. Deep in my heart, there is only pain and ache. I had so many chances to set myself free. But I never did because I was so blind that I couldn’t see. I wish I could turn back time, to slap myself and brake myself. I thought you were the one who knew me best, not until I awaked. Awaken from a dream about a couple, but you were not that she. You tricked me and played with my emotion, but why you still attract my heart. Even though I am supposed to hate you. My heart is meticulous, my brain is smart. But, still, I did nothing, when you were turning my world into the blue. People always say the end is the new start. I wish I could fix what you have done to me, but I think there is nothing I can do.

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Jun 13, 2018

Jun 13, 2018 at 10:40 AM UTC

I wish I could turn back time, to stop you from hurting me. Your eyes were shiny, but now, I only feel fake. Deep in my heart, there is only pain and ache. I had so many chances to set myself free. But I never did because I was so blind that I couldn’t see. I wish I could turn back time, to slap myself and brake myself. I thought you were the one who knew me best, not until I awaked. Awaken from a dream about a couple, but you were not that she. You tricked me and played with my emotion, but why you still attract my heart. Even though I am supposed to hate you. My heart is meticulous, my brain is smart. But, still, I did nothing, when you were turning my world into the blue. People always say the end is the new start. I wish I could fix what you have done to me, but I think there is nothing I can do.

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I was melted I was awaked Moon after moon Sun after sun I hope you understand I have stars, and those are not only you Now you're back Try to steal my stars I pray for this heart to not give a space How hard you try Even an ice cream..

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Jun 23, 2018

Jun 23, 2018 at 6:48 PM UTC

I was melted I was awaked Moon after moon Sun after sun I hope you understand I have stars, and those are not only you Now you're back Try to steal my stars I pray for this heart to not give a space How hard you try Even an ice cream..

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Newscaster spew out jargon, well orchestrated. Evening stars appear covered with hazy veil from chem trails unseen cover. Truth plastered in newspaper and TV for the sleeping is played regularly. It is not called an idiot box for nothing. Lies are fabricated, wrapped in a fancy box labeled truth for those handcuffed by controlling monsters of greed. They’re like vampires, who prey on the innocent un-awaked ones. Ones who buy into what is fed them like hungry cattle. When will enough wake up to see, I wonder? See that the many are kept in corrals of fear, lack, and prejudice. In states of numbness by our air and contaminated food. Humans bleed everyday with the paradoxes of lies that filter every aspect of daily life, until cleansing is done. Thankfully, more and more are being rounded up to pay for the atrocities to Humanity. More and more behind scenes are standing at service to help the sleeping transition with minimum casualties. Time to get out of the matrex and question to realign with the real truth. Will you keep going with old programs, or connect to truth and walk on new fields for freedom? Which version of truth will you vibrate with in waking days? Do you believe what your told? OR what is the truth of YOU being amazingly powerful, gifted, and a manifesting human with Gods spark within? (a Jesus in disguise) Time to decide.

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Nov 26, 2017

Nov 26, 2017 at 4:01 PM UTC

Newscaster spew out jargon, well orchestrated. Evening stars appear covered with hazy veil from chem trails unseen cover. Truth plastered in newspaper and TV for the sleeping is played regularly. It is not called an idiot box for nothing. Lies are fabricated, wrapped in a fancy box labeled truth for those handcuffed by controlling monsters of greed. They’re like vampires, who prey on the innocent un-awaked ones. Ones who buy into what is fed them like hungry cattle. When will enough wake up to see, I wonder? See that the many are kept in corrals of fear, lack, and prejudice. In states of numbness by our air and contaminated food. Humans bleed everyday with the paradoxes of lies that filter every aspect of daily life, until cleansing is done. Thankfully, more and more are being rounded up to pay for the atrocities to Humanity. More and more behind scenes are standing at service to help the sleeping transition with minimum casualties. Time to get out of the matrex and question to realign with the real truth. Will you keep going with old programs, or connect to truth and walk on new fields for freedom? Which version of truth will you vibrate with in waking days? Do you believe what your told? OR what is the truth of YOU being amazingly powerful, gifted, and a manifesting human with Gods spark within? (a Jesus in disguise) Time to decide.

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Whoever walks the path at midnight candle in hand Is processing and prophesied Deceased and dead But only in the morning could everyone know That their fate has been sealed on death row A boy had been watching to see whose death would be sealed in history The boy saw two candles that night But he couldn’t tell: a secret, his mouth held tight He needed to save them, to their houses he flew But before he reached the gate an owl in the tree above asked “who?” They said he couldn’t tell Better bite your tongue The spirits will get angry, the owl sung Go home don’t tell your family no one can know what you saw You reap what you sow Now take your secret and go He waited till morning To know if they died The owl asleep while the boy awaked But, through the night, the owl watched over them for his sake They lived, but he’s convinced their death day awaits On the day his secret spills, and he can no longer carry this weight And every night since then the boy never takes that path home He hasn't learned to keep secrets And he cannot carry that weight alone.

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Oct 29, 2024

Oct 29, 2024 at 6:49 PM UTC

Whoever walks the path at midnight candle in hand Is processing and prophesied Deceased and dead But only in the morning could everyone know That their fate has been sealed on death row A boy had been watching to see whose death would be sealed in history The boy saw two candles that night But he couldn’t tell: a secret, his mouth held tight He needed to save them, to their houses he flew But before he reached the gate an owl in the tree above asked “who?” They said he couldn’t tell Better bite your tongue The spirits will get angry, the owl sung Go home don’t tell your family no one can know what you saw You reap what you sow Now take your secret and go He waited till morning To know if they died The owl asleep while the boy awaked But, through the night, the owl watched over them for his sake They lived, but he’s convinced their death day awaits On the day his secret spills, and he can no longer carry this weight And every night since then the boy never takes that path home He hasn't learned to keep secrets And he cannot carry that weight alone.

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I owe it all—— to the words unspoken to the flow unseen to the poet-insanity uncomposed to the tunes unhummed. On the way. Azure thee afloat Drizzles, alluded not Absurd me adrift Dreams, awaked not Ahold see alight Drowners, ached not. In the way.

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Sep 26, 2025

Sep 26, 2025 at 11:13 AM UTC

EvelynYiningChen

I'll Never Be Here Again

I owe it all—— to the words unspoken to the flow unseen to the poet-insanity uncomposed to the tunes unhummed. On the way. Azure thee afloat Drizzles, alluded not Absurd me adrift Dreams, awaked not Ahold see alight Drowners, ached not. In the way.

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