"droughty" poems
Stygian it was when she
looked at her face.
Her mind was angelic
and so was her soul.
Her lips were droughty
and her eyes were
watering.
Scars on her hand
reminded her of her
flagitious battle against
the world.
Every day she hid
herself in the
shadows of the
people who demean and
demote her as their
soul was as black
as hell which
could conceal
all her flaws and imperfections.
She made darkness her home
as the world outside was cruel.
Nobody looked at her for her
celestial soul.
She had forgotten what it was like
to be euphoric.
All the fiendish products she
used to make herself look
beautiful were lying on
the floor.
With empty eyes
and wasted hopes
she walked
towards the mirror but
turned away as she was
Scared to look at herself.
She wore a mask
of makeup everyday
which still didn't satisfy
society's needs.
Perfect skin with no
Flaws was
Considered the new
beauty.
She had a heart made of gold
but no one realised that
appearance is not what
makes someone beautuful
and beauty is always
on the inside and it
begins when you
start being yourself .
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 3:58 PM UTC
everything about you
makes me want
to caress every crevice of your skin,
learn every winkle and imperfection
in your distraught face.
your eyes speak wonders to those
of the untold caverns you dig
in your inner most sanctuaries.
Although your sanctuaries bring
the only hurt your body will ever feel
you treasure them like they're detrimental
to your being.
how horrifyingly beautiful it is
to see your current state of mind.
How it seems the devils touch ran
through your veins.
You've turned so horribly evil
and it's riveting.
I love all of your ****** up tendencies
and it amazes me how beautiful
you actually are.
Through every scar of your skin
and every droughty word that
flows from your mouth.
Infected with poison, and every touch
to your lips.
Needing more of the morphine your blood draws.
you drank my feelings like it's the only
thing you know how to do.
you're so dangerous and I love it.
I adore the dangerous nature of your actions.
your presence is enough of a mystery
to keep me attracted
to the lights in your dim eyes.
Beautifully simplistic.
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 7:37 AM UTC
Seasons die one after the other,
The voice of death becomes the wind.
A sober man, in a vivid city,
Looking at the moon seems just so bland here.
In a life stuck in quicksand, the rain tasted like wine,
With clouded eyes, wandering in the city,
I'm an innocent man acting suspicious at the station.
It's like a hazy shadow possessing life,
Which I can't clearly identify with myself,
If I sing in this rain, will the clouds break?
A droughty life in the blazing summertime.
Dear my ****** past,
This is a poem to break off relations.
Even if I breathed my last here,
With the remains of spiteful days and nightmares,
After ages, flowers will bloom and reach you,
This is a poem for change,
Even if I suffer and grieve,
With no light flashing onto this lasting song.
Tomorrows die one after the other,
Even if we hurry we never catch up,
And they become our past.
Live recklessly, spotlights last only a moment,
And the meaning of life will soon follow.
Even if your insecure self hates you,
Wondering who you really are,
When you sing, the darkness may clear up
But this is just a life given by a broken dream.
Dear my ****** past,
This is a poem to break off relations.
Even if I did my all,
Just to save what little time I had,
After ages, flowers will bloom and reach you,
This is a poem for change,
Even if I shout or shriek,
With no curtain falling onto this lasting pain.
With a weary face and kicking,
Frowning my face against the blinding sunset
"Should I turn back?" "Should I go?"
But soon I saw my feet taking off.
Yes I must go,
I must live, even if without meaning.
We are disposable lives after all,
We'll leave them here.
Dear my late past, This is a poem of nostalgia,
Just as I thought the horrible days and nightmares,
Were barely the beginning,
They were already left far behind.
Flowers bloom, sway and fall,
And return to this unending cycle of rebirth.
Even if I suffer and grieve,
Without a light to show the end to this lasting song.
Seasons come to life one after the other...
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 12:21 AM UTC
Seeking solace and peace
I walked barefoot
down to the creek
Rested in my favorite spot
near the trickling waterfall
now slightly dried up
Dipped in my feet
felt a little cool relief
as I watched my reflection
cast a strange rainbow-
of color and prisms
off the gleaming stream
and droughty rocks
Like a fish out of water
lost in blushing shades of love
heavenly higher
from a place unspoken of-
breathless with wonder
I sat and listened
for what seemed like forever
finally returning home at dusk
filled with many sweeping thoughts
of drifting wanderlust.
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 3:17 PM UTC
Defeat, my defeat,
I accept your jest and joy
like a sports captain accepts it
after losing a match,
I accept it with an applaud
with handshake
calmness, modest smile
But
your mocking smile won't last,
My droughty days will receive rain,
Defeat, my defeat,
The game between me and you
is reaching the last hour.
Sep 30, 2022
Sep 30, 2022 at 12:00 PM UTC
The battle field is here at rest,
End of years of droughty pest
After the seekers slaint
With less seekers triumphant.
What the hell do they seeked?
After all, they waited never to see it
Just a tears at their grave post, no feast.
Worth their bravery remarked.
A minute past, all forgotten
But the scars stay behind the chin
To tell foestuses the tale
With their bloods, the land was astonished.
No more bleeding of the wood,
Weeping of the swords are exhausted
Booming! Crushings, the machine dies in decorum
Surrendering guns to their triggers
Won't the foliages rejoice? Yes!
Dancing in akimbo to breeze of peace.
In all ruins of yester reds
Has today emerge luminous greens.
See! Phew! The tomorrow seeds
Beckoning more barns for harvests.
Battle field heaps for farming.
Swords that slain verge to harvest.
Hunting games not human; guns.
War hurt spoken peace at last.
The revolution thus triumph:
Our valours are farmers,
Soldiers for the green fresh leaves.
St. Ylexinho
It will end in total praise.
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 4:39 PM UTC
Can you become the unbroken staff
For the old men to walk with?
Can you become the rain
For the droughty hearts of the orphans?
Can you become the morsel
For thousands to satiate their hunger?
Can you become the cemented roof
For the downtroddens for their sound sleep?
Can you become kind and humble enough
For all men, birds and beasts?
Can you become the reason for smile
Blooming on the face of mankind?
You can be; you must be.
You are born for on this earth.
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 10:39 PM UTC
In this hell we call earth, Eden is beyond grasp, manna is droughty, evident we in the tic toc furnace...the secret to hint of happiness is to make piece with your demons and be find comfort despite the heat
Look what I have turned into, I've been taught to make the right decisions but never have I been given the choices yet blammed for every figured move I take, the damage is beyond my pain threshold, nonetheless I grin just to smile and say am okay to the sarcastic phrase “how are you”
May 28, 2018
May 28, 2018 at 5:05 AM UTC
I was hoping that my past would never come back,
I was searching for the love that I never had,
I was crying with my eyes droughty as the desert,
I was building all these walls that became my prison,
I was blinded by the fog that would never leave,
I was making up the world where I could feel,
I was clinging onto light fading from my cell,
But it always was around I just couldn't tell.
~
Nov 16, 2024
Nov 16, 2024 at 9:36 PM UTC
That heartfelt laugh
Never heard before
That salty tears
Never ran down before ,
When it dropped into my droughty lips
The heart felt the pain in that laughter of misery like never before
W.E
Dec 7, 2019
Dec 7, 2019 at 5:10 AM UTC