"downhearted" poems
They said high school was a home of learning
Oh I learned alright
They said it would construct my future
All it did was destroy me with the past
They said it would be safe
They have no defense over the demons
They said it would develop me as a person
But I remain who I was... only shattered
They said so many things, yet understood so little
This goes to the pillow-clutchers
to the broken who carry soaked and salty handkerchiefs
to the flesh that thrive for streaks of red dripping out
to the souls that are constantly bombarded by screeches of lies
Lies that overrun every beauty in and out
Lies that lead to masochistic actions
Waiting for the second heartbeat after every punch
Hoping this would free the monsters trapped within
This goes to the insecure
No, we are not emo
How can one contain our being in just three letters?
We are not superficial pain lovers
We are violated, dispirited, downhearted, beaten, unsettled, splintered, forgotten
But we will never be merely emo
A high school is not filled with students
It is filled with labels, rumors, divisions and fake personas
filled with eyes that look straight into your soul
filled with whispers that spread like a virus
Getting worse and worse after every ear it has jumped into
Savages looking for the flaw that can destroy you
Until you break and mindlessly follow their example
**High school is where you lose who you are
And be who everyone else wants you to be**
Everyone thought I was just being vain
Always staring at the mirror, trying to be cute
Never did it come into their minds that I was already believing the lies
ready to accept the rumors
using FINE as my own maxim
**** I'm Never Enough
But I waited
Waited for someone to drive out the beasts
to heal my scars
to fill my emptiness
Yet until now I remain drenched in loneliness and fear
High school is worse than hell
A quick and small crack in your soul hurts more
Than an eternal burn of your flesh
This is why we're ready to see the light come out of our eyes
But I'm holding on
For you need pain before you're declared strong
For you need darkness before you see the stars
For you need death before you reach heaven
For where there are angels,
there will always be demons
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 2:47 PM UTC
Early minds turn to the sunrise
Wandering souls turn to the map
And the downhearted turn to the knife
Everything I hear is a blurred whisper
And everything I see is so distinct
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 1:30 AM UTC
I try to tell myself that I am in control this time
Hoping that you will feel some kind of wonderment or downhearted, one second thought about me
I will not call you
I will not give in
I will not get my heart broken again
I want to use you to show you how I felt
But I can't
Because despite all the disappointment and letdown I could never hurt you
I could never ignore you
Although while I am over here over analyzing and nearly overloading my cranium with what if's and thoughts
You have the air of nonchalance and disinterestedness while you pop into my life again without warning
Can you tell that you get me all frazzled?
Is this purely for your own amusement?
Why can't I figure you out.
Why do you interest me so?
Why do I feel like my connection to you is the strongest thing I have ever felt.
No I must be naive and disillusioned
Till the day I completely cease sparing my time and thoughts to you
You will be the winner
Even if it is a bad thought you are still consuming my mind
Confusion and Love
Spite and Wonder
They all are the same
Same being you
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 5:50 AM UTC
Hello you, I have a few things to say,
and although you are downhearted, I hope they make your day.
Your life took a turn and you fell so hard,
but I promise you're not broken but merely scarred.
Soon things will get better and you'll wake each morning with light in your heart,
with a smile that lives forever within your eyes, moulded like fine art.
I want you to know that you're the most beautiful creation I've ever come across,
you are the beacon of light for so many and if we didn't have you, we'd be at a great loss.
You are the one who can go ahead and actually change the world -
a precious soul who can break the mould and change the ideals that have been furled.
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 11:30 AM UTC
Refuge
***** soaked mattress holes in the door
This drunken behavior I can't take much more
My children are at risk in his drunken state
My son packs my bags he is only eight
Under police escort we are taken away
The children are stressed they don't want to play
What keeps you going when life falls apart
Encourages you to take each day as it comes
No one to love you've broken your heart
The strength of your love for a daughter and son
Living within the four walls of your home
Anxious depressed and frightened for them
Downhearted despairing facing life on your own
There's no silver lining not even a hem
I hope when they're older they're old enough to see
The reasons behind why I did what I did
Nothing was for gain nothing was for me
I did what I did for the love of my kids
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 6:20 AM UTC
Upon the clouds the figures stood
Clad in milky white, airy robes
They were both in jovial moods and nothing
Could make them downhearted
Staring into each other’s eyes, all problems in the world seemed to fade
But that was their job; they were angels after all
They were supposed to make things easier on the living
To make it as good as they had it
Or so they thought.
The two lovers had been unaware
Of two gleaming red eyes glaring at them
And the tip of a scarlet trident pointing at them
More specifically, the woman angel
With a wicked grin, the Devil struck
With a bolt of lightning shooting out of the trident,
The angel woman dropped, her magnificent white wings covering her
She fell threw the clouds before her partner could react
Becoming a fallen angel.
Tears spilled out of her ex-lover’s eyes
But the Devil’s smile got wider
She strutted out of her hiding place
And stood next to the grieving angel
He took one look at her, and he knew she was the murderer
Two scarlet horns on the top of her head, and her matching red trident
Her fair skin was adorned in a wine-colored dress
His anger overpowering him, he grabbed the trident the woman held so dear
And impaled her in the back.
He dropped the trident on the cloud and walked away feeling accomplished
But as he was almost to the Gates, the trident reappeared in his hand
Terrified, he tentatively reached a hand to his head
Where it came across two pointed lumps.
He looked down at his previously white clothes; they had become blood-red
A new devil was born.
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 5:14 AM UTC
I'm broken beyond repair.
A thinning string, eventually, snapping under extreme force.
A shattered piece of glass under ****** feet.
A crestfallen melody, playing on a skipping record player.
I am nothing.
An empty room, barren of any light.
A dark hole, filled with dirt and worms.
Rust and paint flecking off a dejected car.
It hurts.
Like a back which hides the knife.
An accusation flung towards me,
without any precedence towards the cause.
My rights taken away from me.
My hopes dashed before my very eyes.
**I am hurting.
For I am broken.
Because I am nothing.**
Jan 8, 2017
Jan 8, 2017 at 8:44 PM UTC
Oh, could dreams come true
And wash away the blue
How glad my heart would be
If only it could see
It's one desire manifest.
Then, should mountains crumble
And from the heights I tumble
All else could fade away
And though melancholy I'd still feel gay
And could e'en die content.
Alas, the sky remains to be parted
So I remain downhearted
Longing for the dawn to break
For my soul to cease to ache
And bask in the glorious light of a dream come true.
Feb 22, 2011
Feb 22, 2011 at 9:39 AM UTC
#Alexithymia
I'm not hellish i'm driven by a Mephistophelean relish
To reach an introspection to understand the inception
The ontological Manichaeism turned to be an existential absurdism .
And i'm drown in my own nihilism
Oh...what an owlish reality !!! i'm squeamish about this absurdity
I rely on self-revulsion to resist this daily delusion
...
What an exasperation !!! we live in the premeditation
This nature carries a lot of humiliation !!!
I'm sick of this fornication
Could the end of the road at least fetch a salvation ?
What a downhearted metamorphosis
I'm lost and i feel astonished
...
With conviction that this existence is only a deception
Oh...Oh...Oh....what a corruption !!!
This reality is based on a false deduction
That leads to a fatal destruction
Just where is the dysfunction ???
Is it in my creation ...
#Mzoughi_Moncef Le 06/09/2013
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 12:59 PM UTC
Why don't people want you,
who loved you once before
Broken heart's beyond repair,
are lost forevermore
Feelings hurt through emptiness,
they always feel so raw
Severed hearts forever torn,
the one true lovers flaw
A heart that is so delicate,
a life you can forsake
It only causes upset,
when heart's begin to brake
Chains of love have rusted,
links to your own heart ache
Severed hearts are locked away,
within a lovers wake
Sincere hearts are hard to find,
it's why lovers get downhearted
After all loves riches gained,
why are they disregarded
A lovers pain it never dies,
true hearts are not ********
Severed hearts are bled dry,
when a rejected souls bombarded
If I could mend our Severed hearts,
if I could seal the crack
I'd hold my lover close again,
and get our hearts on track
No one needs a broken heart,
or the absence of love's lack
Severed hearts can be repaired,
if you take lost lovers back
Flights of poison arrows,
the infection of love's darts
Hearts shattered in the fallout,
into a thousand parts
The lose of a true lover,
due to loves cruel arts
All True lovers should remain,
instead of severed hearts
Apr 5, 2018
Apr 5, 2018 at 1:42 PM UTC
In the sunlight the copse seemed fine
there had been tales.
Of ghostly sightings within its fencing
this was hard to believe.
Shadows cast as the sun shone down
leaves turning brown.
I had come on a field work investigation
requiring no equipment.
But observation of the sights and sounds
it was so natural in daylight.
Altering as darkness took over at sunset
and that sense of threat
The copse began to feel cold and sinister
we had worked out a route.
With areas for each session to be held
many natural sounds filtered.
At least for several hours it was good
then before me a figure stood!
Now we felt confused nothing was the same
our planned route not there!
It became dense the dark solid and thick
wandering around in circles.
Ending back in the same spot we started
sad and downhearted!
Each thinking they saw shadows darting
as torches were aimed.
It was like the beams had hit a solid wall
trapped in another reality.
Spiritually our essence was draining away
we were here to stay!
Then within an instance it had disappeared
in the copse the air clear.
Shocked and unsure of what had happened
we just had to leave.
Back to normality of a starry clear night
shouting out with delight.
What each of us had experienced I have no idea
but in the copse an unnatural atmosphere!
The Foureyed Poet.
May 26, 2012
May 26, 2012 at 5:43 AM UTC
There's a snapshot of you in my heart.
It never grows old or goes gray.
It sees you the way you're remembered
Forever a child at play
I know you have had your trials.
I know you have had your pain
But my heart wants to keep you protected
So you, a small child remain.
And now I finally understand
My Saviors love for me
For nwhenever I feel downhearted
I picture me on His knee
He wraps His arms around me
And protects me from my pain
A child of God forever
I always will remain
I had to share this thought with you
in hopes that you will see
When lifes road gives you hardship
seek God's love..Then seek me.
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 12:32 AM UTC
The ugliest woman that ever was born
was called Margery Pilkington-Brown.
If a monkey was born half as ugly as that
they would certainly have it put down.
Her head was as bald as a billiard ball,
yet the hair on her chin was quite long.
For a girl to be cursed with a whiskery beard
was, in anyone’s thinking, quite wrong
Mrs Pilkington cried, “Nurse, please take it away.
It’s a miniature monster from hell.”
“Put a bag on its head,” said the nurse, with a wave,
“If you need a supply, ring the bell.”
So Mrs P stayed for a month and a day
‘Till they told her, quite firmly, to go.
The nurse sympathised with a rolling of eyes
as she packaged the Lady-Shave Pro.
“Oh, what a disgrace when they look at her face
and they see she’s a hideous brute?”
“We’ll give you a bag with a hole in the top.
You can hide her away in the boot.”
So Mrs P left with a feeling of dread
planning what she could do with the sprog.
She drove to a wood at the edge of the park
and left Margery under a log.
“That’s a terrible thing that you’re doing,” he growled.
Mrs P jumped a mile or two.
The Park-Keeper peered at the face in the bag.
“Can’t you find it a home at the zoo?”
Downhearted, she took little Margery home
to a cupboard, until it was night.
She couldn’t risk anyone catching a glance
of poor Margery’s face in the light.
When Mr P saw his new daughter he scowled,
“God Almighty, my dear, what is that?
Has it crawled from a stone in the corner of hell,
or been dragged from a hole by the cat?”
“It’s our baby, dear heart,” cried a hurt Mrs P,
in a trice, feeling rather endeared.
“She may not be nice, but she’s our flesh and blood
with my feet and your belly and beard.”
“Well, yes, I suppose with her seventeen toes
and a nose that could open a tin,
she is rather unique in a curious way
and we’re blessed that she isn’t a twin.
She’s ours, as you say. We can’t give her away
So she’ll stay as a Pilkington – Brown.
We’ll give her a shave and a hat with a brim
And avoid going into the town.”
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 4:47 PM UTC
No Man is A Victim
Can it be, and do I mean it?
It’s a phrase that came to mind,
And so I looked it up.
One harmed or killed by so-called fluke;
One duped or tricked;
One who feels helpless faced with setback:
So I chose the last to help.
There’s truth in fate that causes earthquake,
And one’s sole concern’s escape.
That is a victim.
Then again,
One is alive, glad to survive.
Grounds to begin
Because one can!
But what about
The ones who feel useless in the face of sense,
Interpreting all happenings
With sadness, negativity and impotence,
Downhearted from the very start?
You’ve known a few. Me too.
Perhaps it’s you,
And what to do –
The problem philosophical, pragmatic, existential.
And, if one’s inclined, then spiritual.
Start a something, anything, for life’s a skill.
Good comes from bad, calm follows ruin;
Results come from what’s had or been;
And nothing lasts forever.
One’s endeavour is to strive,
For one’s alive.
Remember that you’re clever!
Act as if you have a choice
And make one – with your tiny voice.
Summon up your forces,
For of course, they’re many.
Do not hurry.
Lives are scurrying around you.
Do not worry,
For the ‘musts’ and ‘oughts’
Are values of society,
Not boo-choo, cry
Or future you.
No Man Is A Victim 9.30.2018 Our Times, Our Culture II;Nature In & Of Reality;Definitely Didactic II; Arlene Nover Corwin
Arlene Corwin Poetry.com
Sep 30, 2018
Sep 30, 2018 at 7:13 AM UTC
I’ve a coat with many pockets,
that’s special in its ways,
Although young when I first donned it,
still fits me well these days.
With a host of special reasons
for wearing it today,
It's gifted to my chidren,
when I reach my final day.
It’s got pockets full of memories
and others full of dreams,
from my ninety years of living,
with more to come it seems.
there’s a pocket for the future,
into which I hope to add,
all the moments I’ll enjoy,
be they jubilant or sad.
Should I feel downhearted:
an occasion that is rare,
I’ll recall a favoured happening:
or a moment I can share
with anyone that’s listening,
that has befriended me.
With a moment that I treasure,
I deem a priceless memory.
When friends have come together,
a common human trait,
we’ll reminisce on our early years,
and how we faced ill Fate,
We talk of our successes
and times of yesterday,
as for achieving the impossible?
We’ll brag the livelong day.
But there is a pocket hidden,
it’s one embedded deep.
Within it, lie my broken dreams:,
that have hurt me rather deep.
They rest with irksome memories:
that make me sad and blue.
as do my angry thoughts,
that I'll not disclose to you.
There’s memories that are cheerful:
there’s others that are sad.
Whilst others make me wistful,
for the better times I’ve had.
When I think the world’s against me,
I’m alone and feeling bored,
I’ll rummage through my pockets,
for the memories I have stored.
In its pockets by the number,
there’s many treasured dreams.
Amongst memories I cherish,
there’s a host of madcap schemes.
Despite pockets overflowing,
and others fully filled,
there’s plenty more to fill,
before my life is stilled.
Yes, my coat of many pockets,
is a cherished one I wear.
Though somewhat worn and tattered,
about it I really care.
It may not look inviting,
when hanging on a hook,
but Memories therein stored,
invite your second look.
Rhymer. August 10th, 2020.
Aug 11, 2020
Aug 11, 2020 at 6:37 PM UTC
Holiday cheer and hustle and bustle
From Thanksgiving until Christmas Day.
Running somewhat on autopilot…
Sometimes longing to get away…
Embracing the spirit of the holiday season,
I hoped good tidings would stifle bad news.
But now that Christmas is over, I am
Stuck with the after-Christmas blues.
Days have been for the most part sunny;
Winters are mild in southern Cal.
Holiday baking would have to be fruitful:
Cookies and candy would boost my morale.
The holiday sweets have all disappeared now.
I didn't gain and I didn't lose.
Fugacious pleasures have left, and now I'm
Feeling the after-Christmas blues.
Caught up in the holiday spirit,
For a brief moment I thought there would be
And end to lies, injustice, and hate…
An end to all this insanity.
But no, decorations merely
Hide the truths that we can't excuse,
And once again we hear the sounds
That linger: the after-Christmas blues.
Ah, but all things must pass, no?
That is what I find myself saying.
People will open their eyes and they
Will see what the deeper truths are conveying.
Change will come, so let's be hopeful.
Let us all together refuse
To be downhearted. Then we can say
Goodbye to the after-Christmas blues.
-by Bob B (12-30-18)
Dec 30, 2018
Dec 30, 2018 at 1:24 PM UTC
Boy
Get you
I don’t
Burning in the back
Am I
You call
Come
I ensure
You put me
Last on that list,
Busy
From me
I believed
Hopeful
I stayed
Fading
Can only last
prolonged
Soon push
Too far
Fall will I
Catch
You will not
Dec 29, 2012
Dec 29, 2012 at 11:23 PM UTC
I am but a lonely soul, my time now not recalled
Somewhere in the morning mist, I stand unseen, unknown at all
Just shadows on your memory, as nightmares in the day
I search for some safe haven from myself, though I have lost my way
Existence hides it’s face from me, I cannot see her eyes
I fear to look too closely, as I gaze into the distant skies
And so as such, I close my own, I cannot see the blinding bright
I fear that I may see those things I’ve dreaded in the darkened night
I may see that I am somewhere lost in time and space
The answers to my questions still elude me, although I give chase
Wandering alone, and far beyond, within the void of time
A Shadow man, downhearted, and departed from myself I find
Within the dark and empty places, dreams cannot survive
I search for one warm ray of light, to know that I am still alive
One soft quenching drop of rain, reminding me of blue
One unlocked and open door, as respite from the avenue
The avenue of broken hope, betrayal and regret
I wish someday to see the sun, although I haven’t seen it yet
I must believe it waits for me, out somewhere in my past
I retain no memories, no thoughts of any kind, that last
Imagined have I, what the world may look like with the dawn
Though swift I ride through mornings dusk, death, the horse I ride upon
Running from or running to, decisions ply uncertain fate
Behind me all forgotten, and the future finds me much too late
At times there is no other, but the one who lived once long ago
Days, are endless nights without the tenderness I used to know
Love is now unknown to be, Hell is watching, patiently
And I have seen the Shadow man,
in the mirror looking back at me...
Dean Evans
12-16-13
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 9:55 PM UTC
Brown, peeling rubber soles on big feet
Crunch crunch, the gravel and glass goes underfoot
The overcast gloom of the early morning.
Depressed and downhearted buildings lining the streets.
Weeds encircling the gardens like a dragon looming over its prey.
Flowers hanging their heads, gravely.
Smudged faces, dark purple eyes, gaunt complexion, another restless night for these children.
Bruises up and down each leg.
Trodden, broken. “Not good enough” ringing in their ears.
Dreary faces, ripped uniforms.
The school building silhouetted against the grey, emotionless sky.
“Line up in rows, nice and neat”
They would hear this repeated for the rest of their lives.
A zebra crossing worn and battered.
Cigarettes passed from frail, wrinkled, hopeless hands.
Hooked on 4 a day at the age of 13
The wind groaned through the yard.
Somber faces, with wide eyes awaiting an education.
Pale arms and legs bristling in the playground.
Teachers thinking the sun has set on their dreams.
The corporations rubbing their hands, stamping their boots.
Another day at school now, but do they have a future?
May 6, 2018
May 6, 2018 at 7:02 AM UTC
2/15/20
You’re everything that I need,
But are you all that I need?
I question if I even trust you anymore…
Oh Lord! I’ve been here before.
So I’m back where nothing’s new,
Reflecting on how much I believe You.
Last time I argued – put up resistance.
Yet You don’t punish my insolence.
I can be confused and frustrated with You,
So You have to be real and true.
You are not able to be defined,
So you must not be my own design.
God, You engineered my systems,
To pump life through me like pistons.
And I stand before You shaking my fists,
When You control whether my body exists.
But You love me! You tolerate my witlessness.
And I respond – as if taking my first steps –
With downhearted repentance. Lord, I’m sorry,
Without Your blessings, I’d be left in sorrow.
Oct 28, 2020
Oct 28, 2020 at 12:35 PM UTC
Brothers and sisters of ink and blood.
Storytellers, poets, connoisseurs of love.
The downhearted, broken. Betrothed and betrayed.
Lend me your ear, your heart, and your page.
My quill has run dry, but yours still runs free.
My imagination is dim, though you still believe.
I said hello, poetry. Goodbye tainted thoughts.
But it takes more than words to break such locks.
So, write me a sonnet, haiku, or a ballad.
A lymeric, lyric, even elegies are valid.
Deliver your song of keyboard clicks,
Tell of your lover, your pain, politics.
Grant me this wish,
Fulfill this desire.
I am freezing cold,
and your words are on fire.
Mar 30, 2018
Mar 30, 2018 at 11:22 AM UTC
i'm not that person
who feels happiness
when others are happy
instead
i relish in their misery
and pain
the downhearted and defeated?
i am drawn to them
like flies to ****
i look to the deflated
secretly giddy
knowing they have lost
all hope
come to me
so i could feed your fire
of despair
because the more desperate you are
the more content
i become.
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 1:15 PM UTC
After Rain
The audacious sun finally showed up, and green was
the winter landscape, I also saw the sun set just behind
the carob tree, where the almond tree first blossom,
asleep under a carpet of wild flowers and snoozed till dawn.
Over the easterly range, which is the first defence against
Spanish Marauders and the rain on its plane, the clouds
were dark blue, perhaps more rain tomorrow?
In fading light, a musical note danced down the phone line,
the first flirt of spring? And should it rain tomorrow I will
not be downhearted, this day will keep me warm for
weeks to come.
Sep 12, 2017
Sep 12, 2017 at 2:53 AM UTC
Do not be downhearted
Though fine weather
May not delight you
Do not be downhearted
Though the daily news
Seems too desperate to comprehend
Do not be downhearted
Though the scale of global challenges
Seem just too global
You
Just as you are
Can make a difference
If you believe
You can
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 9:13 AM UTC
tiny droplets of light
moving in measure with the drum
unnoticeable yet striving to become
rousing the forsaken utterance
of the somber and downhearted
coloring every inch with sanguine dust
shedding the blooming indigo that blues
removing pain with a sweet embrace
the limbs that falter regain its radiance
with every movement and pause of our lips
swaying in the heat of the moment
as odd timed beats metered
every rise and fall of your hips
we lay staring at each other naked
caressing the aftermath in our heads
Dec 4, 2016
Dec 4, 2016 at 2:08 AM UTC