"grueling" poems
How
do you erase
the demanding thoughts
that float around
your mind
How
do you stop
the howling wolves
that run around
your head
How
do you dim
the frightening scenes
that replay in
your eyes
How
do you release
the haunting cries
that reside in
your heart
How
do you forget
the grueling monster
that lives in
your soul
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 8:19 AM UTC
Started walking along the path
Where life was leading me
Towards a destination chosen
Not chosen by me
But was willingly following
To a predefined destination
Then I came along a bench
Weary I was travelling
The bench gave me respite
From the grueling march
I inspected the torn soles
As the pebbles were hurting my feet
Bleeding profusely
I thanked the bench
Where I could now rest for the night
Lying on my back
I connected the dots on the night canopy
Slumber took over
Dreams of a new road, I could see
Sleeping off the weariness
I woke up to a new day
The bench which taught me to wait
Another destination chosen by me
Clouds have cleared away
I knew the path to walk along
I was a traveler with purpose
My destination, waiting for me
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 10:53 AM UTC
An artist,
Bleeding his heart into the canvas
Carefully planning his masterpiece
Dutifully paying attention to every detail.
Emotionally drained,
Forced to finish his work
Grueling over an uninviting crowd
Helpless to the impending backlash
Inspired, the artist continues
Just to prove his critics wrong
Knowing that his work will be amazing
Loving himself even more
Meticulously painting his beautiful image
Never letting stamina get to him
Opening his mind to a grand illusion
Presented to him by an transcendent figure
Questioning if what he saw was true
Reveling in the moment of it all
Slowly, the artist comes to a finish
Trapping the moment inside of his easel
Unveiling to the crowd was his final test
Vociferously, he explained his masterpiece
When all of a sudden, the artist begins to run
Xenophobia had stricken him
You now know why most artists are obscure.
Zealous fans always ruin everything.
Oct 23, 2011
Oct 23, 2011 at 3:12 PM UTC
Tip Your hat
And curtsy low
The masses so mandate absolute guile
A handshake, a smile, a proper and refined bow!
To adorn thy head and semble wit
And do your best!
Take pride with etiquette
If not informed
Ye won't last a mile
And differentiation between animals distinguishes you,
Resplendent child
Wash your hair and underclothes with soap
Lest ye resemble sow
And goodness dear
Have I forgotten now?
Always remember to smile!
So I'll take your Winter clothes with zest
I'll scramble on point
No unruly mess
Oh, did i forget your coat?
No, I've got it, relax, care for a smoke?
My apologies, please forgive my latency
It must be warm in here for my blood
In fact...
Boiling over kettle within
Prevent me from committing sin
I do wish to vent
Pick up this pen
And release red wells from his dainty, fragile neck
Or...
The underbelly. It's beknownst to me entrails are thick
Now whatever shall I do with this fresh clutter?
I'll act for free, so cordially!
With my chivalrous lines
But can you, my friend, respond in kind?
After all, it's only common courtesy
It's over now, my fantasy
It dissipates with urgency
And this is my confession
Yes
Imbibed in me from every grueling, tedious lesson
An implication of uniformity
The daydreams borne from the perfunctory
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 7:56 PM UTC
The clinical nature of your tests leaves me
A cynical crater of a mess
My interest begins to wane
When your quiz sparks pain
Like little droplets of rain
Falling on the window pane
Of your picture
That once was scripture
But now seems impure
And superficial
Destroying my hope
Like a missile
You probe like a lawyer
And act like Tom Sawyer
And expect my interest
But I have none to feign
When your image is stained
By the grueling test I went through
That revealed your inner truth
Jul 31, 2017
Jul 31, 2017 at 10:57 PM UTC
♡><♡><♡
on bare boards
the glit'ring gause
graceful gesture found
an arabesque
an aching pause
apropos to concert sound
lithe lustrous girl
scarce woman grown
pours out her beating heart
to stretch with every
muscle owned
in pain for love of art
pure grace she is
just as a swan
soft white and deepest black
she sways and lilts
her own will gone
on point with arch of back
a strong male
who leaps and soars
stately carriage bounds
to show his love
unto his core
and sweep her
from the ground
no person in
the world knows
the dancer's struggle, care
they only see talent bestowed
as he lifts her in the air
the grueling practice
hour on hour
the hardship and the strain
taxing body til it's empowered
the tutelage of brain
hour on hour
same movement learned
feet bound until deformed
to ache, oh yes, to hurt and burn
'til she has perfect form
but all this pain
which we don't see
is never all for naught
for the roses she will be
for the applause
she's fraught
for when this girl
is on the stage
she will, as a swan, fly
and with great grace
she'll turn the page
and then, as woman
die
soulsurvivor
(C) 8/1/2015
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 12:26 PM UTC
life is not always what you want it to be,
but you cannot change what is destiny.
a mere instant can change your life forever,
you may even be bound to a grueling endeavor.
helpless you'll be in the presence of it,
but much like a puzzle your pieces will fit.
don't give up, don't get torn down,
don't make up excuses, don't let your dreams drown.
just keep going, be persistent, don't get angry when your poems don't rhyme,
it may sound a bit cheesy, but it is advice worth your time.
and when it comes time to leave this earth for good, I just want to say,
you might not still walk upon this earth,
but the mark you made will stay.
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 11:28 PM UTC
Soccer practice, as always, was grueling
Sweaty sediment sticks until showers
But the adrenaline is still pumping
Really? Do we need to smell like flowers?
No no, athletes deserve a better scent
Testosterone and *** suit us better
Instead, let us take a moment to vent
Afterwards, wear our Varsity sweaters
Big game coming up-we want to be loose
Skin on skin, touching curves, the same as all
We do on field, don't you be obtuse
C'mon now girl, let's win, be logical
You know I cannot play my best
Unless I strip that jersey off your chest
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 8:38 PM UTC
I awaken to find my mind either a complete blur, a fuzzy, foggy place, or a place of a maelstrom of thoughts, ideas, and emotions, some from the previous day, some from even before that. Electrifying anxiety, paralyzing fear, crippling doubt and depression are the orders of the day, when I fully awaken. I eat, then take my pills, to get my thoughts in some semblence of order. I go through the day, feeling trapped by problems my medications cannot control. I find myself either blaming everything and everyone else for said problems, or ripping out my own entrails as I blame myself - one extreme or another. I have visions, dreams, hopes of success, but then my depression, or whatever it is, kicks in, and wipes out those dreams, reducing me to a mess of shattered hopes and dreams. This is why I spend most of my days on tumblr, where people see me for who I am, but even there, people judge and discriminate against me, for whatever I have. On tumblr, I have friends that I roleplay out various characters with, different personalities, sometimes variations of myself take shape. Tumblr is the only place where I can seemingly have a reality in which I have control. The Internet is my portal to reality, my line of defense against what could be described as agoraphobia. But I still desire the company of people my own age, physically, rather than electronically, but I do not have the same interests of most of them, and am scared to death of doing so. The very thought of meeting a large group, or even an individual, sends me into a panic attack-like state, then I fall quickly into a state of depression because of that. I hate myself for that anxiety, the awkwardness I have. Loathe is the correct word. This is why I hide behind a computer screen. It may not be perfect, but I find it easier to interact online. I do not know how to translate how my characters act to my own actions, as some have suggested for me to do. I have been told that I need to choose to get out of this hole in which I am trapped. It is a struggle every day to even get enough energy to care, much less try to get out of the hole. The only way out is by climbing a steep cliff, covered by snow and ice, cut by the howling, bone-chilling wind, with only two hooks, in my hands, to claw my way out, fighting the falling snow and ice, occasional rock and hail, sleet too. There seems to be no place to make a camp, where I may rest, only the long, arduous, grueling climb, my vertical trek, my seemingly Sisyphean task that awaits me. A choice that may seemingly **** me. People have suggested that I turn to the supernatural, but that is a fool’s bet, a folly of hope, a wish of the people who build their castles in the sky.
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 2:46 PM UTC
We have erred from the path.
We have succumbed to the illusions of our foolish desires.
We have extended our hand to brush against her beauty, even if for a moment.
We have broken our vow.
For this we have suffered. We have been stung by the barbs of her disloyalty.
For this we have spit venom upon ourselves, burning against the skin as if it drips from our teeth.
For this the Solitude mocks us, boasting in its victory with fervor.
Alone we kneel in darkness.
Perfection guide us.
Alone we wage war against the terrors of the night.
Perfection save us.
With every nightfall, we stare deep into the harsh gaze of the Solitude.
Soon our beloved mentor will depart, and our enemy will be mightier than titans.
Yet the Perfection is mightier, and has called a traveler to cross our twisted path.
We gazed in awe as her very steps smoothed the jagged edges without difficulty.
How we wished to learn her secret.
The venom turned to silver as we pleaded for the Traveler's attention. Yet with every glance she cast upon us, we hadn't the strength to look on.
How we wished we could meet her gaze.
Her company was short-lived, yet we cannot help but admire the footsteps she left behind.
How we wished for her to stay.
We shall press forward on this grueling path, holding firm that the Traveler will return to polish the road once more.
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 12:11 AM UTC
I’m searching for Paradise
Beyond the vast ocean on a beach filled with white sand
Under the palm tree in the shadows of untamed land
Where the ocean tides pave over the imprints of a desolate shore
And the wind echoes around caressing the sun drenched floor
In front of the sea, sparkling from the sun’s radiant light
Waiting to set, and be engulfed by the night
In my hand I clasp upon a cold and crisp, refreshing beer
Looking upon the horizon so clear
Oh, wouldn’t it be so nice
To escape this place to Paradise
I’m searching for Paradise
On an immeasurable plane of green land tangent only to a white mountain range
Where the prairie has been spared from the time of industrial change
In front of the sun as it strokes the horizon line
I sit, while I clasp upon my tall glass of wine
The sky is painted by an array of colors, reflecting off tranquil clouds
Free from the hustle and bustle of crowds
The grass is soft, like long bristles of velvet fur
As the pollen rises from the flowers, it creates an indescribable blur
Oh, wouldn’t it be so nice
To escape this place to Paradise
I’m searching for Paradise
In the big city, illuminated by artificial light
Surrounded by friends in the chaos of night
We trek, pushing through the people infested street
And pulse to the music of an inescapable beat
In the heat of passion, impossible to explain
We pop bottle after bottle of the most exclusive champagne
Under the stars, beneath the glittering sky
Indulging within the penthouse so high.
Oh, wouldn’t it be so nice
To escape this place to Paradise
I’m searching for Paradise
On the edge of the world, perched upon a soaring cliff
Where you can taste the cool crisp air with but only a whiff
As the sun begins to peak out from beneath the earths womb
I pour a drink, full of spirits to consume
The birds begin to sing in metronomic rhyme
I sing along, to count the time
In the twilight hour sets
The new day begins as I’m purged of regrets
Oh, wouldn’t it be so nice
To escape this place to Paradise
I’m searching for Paradise
After an extensive and exhausting day of work
Grueling and toiling for a boss who’s a ****
Breaking my back for the lowest of scraps
Sweating and Striving till my knees collapse
I return to an undersized and meager house
To be greeted by my enduring spouse
Embracing the responsibility of my new role as a father
I look upon the face of my daughter
And within her eyes so nice
I finally find Paradise
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 4:27 PM UTC
To join something that unites
A brother and sisterhood
Together for eight grueling weeks
Learning to work together
To fight side by side
Gain the experience
That can save each others life
At first we felt and seemed hopeless
Homesick and lost
Feeling all alone
Days went on
Days turned into weeks
Finally like a light switch
Everything started to make sense
We came together as a division
We came together as a ship
We came together at the command
We can begin to understand
The meaning behind being a United States Sailor
Ready to go to war
Ready to make peace
Ready to save lives
What our forefathers taught us
Fought and died for
We are proud to serve
This great nation
The United States of America
Nov 8, 2014
Nov 8, 2014 at 11:50 PM UTC
Beads of sweat escaped from my forehead,
leaking from my back,
lubricating my hands and
making my work difficult.
Through years of practicing ever day,
The piano had become
something familiar,
something dear,
something intimate.
In it’s simple black and white surface,
I saw reflected years of commitment,
years of grueling effort,
and still something more:
a key to a future that is otherwise, unattainable.
Something that my yellow skin
would only stand in the way of.
Today, like a thousand days before,
I put everything that I had into my trade,
the only thing that made me unique,
my hands going numb
and my tongue growing thirsty.
Next to me, my guest watched
silently and intently,
with a focused expressing in her brown eyes,
carefully watching my hands as
they performed the song perfectly,
her lips curving into a smile
as I completed my song.
I began to play again,
content that my spectator was pleased with my work.
Her brown eyes focused upon my yellow hands-
her mouth curving upward into a contented grin
each time I completed the song,
her white hands clapping as I smiled,
enjoying the tiny limelight,
rejoicing in my handiwork-
the song that I had learned to play perfectly.
“Just like magic” she says.
Dec 25, 2010
Dec 25, 2010 at 6:28 PM UTC
What hides beneath my breath,
lies dormant just beneath,
vows about forever,
imprisoned behind my teeth.
A life of bread and roses,
a steady hand to weather the storm.
It's hardly an open secret,
I want you to carry my first born.
After years of trial and error,
sands pass through the hands of time.
Casting off the forlorn darkness,
one sublime kiss at a time.
I met you in the winter;
and we'll weather every season.
I'll never let you go,
not for any reason.
Take my hand for now,
love me without reason.
Grueling days and restless nights,
are the price we have to pay.
We toil in the sun of now,
to lie in tomorrow's shade.
You're worth every hardship,
just to have you by my side.
It's hardly an open secret,
I want you as my bride.
Because you're worth every effort,
and ounce of sacrifice,
it's hardly an open secret,
I want you as my wife.
It's hardly an open secret,
I'll love you til I die.
If you ever forget the reasons,
let my poems remind you why.
Take this ring as a token,
of the durability of love.
Say yes to my proposal,
make my heart lighter than a dove.
Oct 3, 2019
Oct 3, 2019 at 5:13 PM UTC
"Swing is the mythical moment in rowing. When the energy an oarsman puts into the boat seems to perfectly propel the hull forward, when the crew moves in unison and the boat slides over the water, when the output seems to generate more energy and a grueling pace seems infinitely sustainable, a boat and the rowers aboard feel "swing."
Swing is trust. Trust that you can do your own and the boat will fly because of everyone. The moment of swing is the moment seared into the memory; a moment to be relived in recollection."
Swing I know.
Swing is when my
living words
fall and flow so fast,
they complain, to me,
Keep up, Keep up!
We are in unison in a moment,
forever sustainable, forever lived,
and forever relived,
a myth created,
a recollection
collected and preserved,
singing:
Swing low, sweet poet,
Comin' for to carry us home;
Swing low, sweet poet,
Comin' for to carry us home.
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 12:33 AM UTC
I grew out my beard.
I grew out my stomach.
My ears ring randomly.
My eyes see things differently.
I speak or say less. I move in silence.
I sleep in when I want.
I haven't touched razors since my return
nor rifles since the field ops.
I've grown in maturity mentally.
I've grown insensitive verbally.
I've grown to miss the uniform
and pride of belonging in a brotherhood;
I miss my extended family.
I miss the people, not the troubles.
I miss the gym, where others alike
flexed invisible muscles.
My days once had routine,
pattern, structure and rhythm.
Weekends full of workouts, worship, and beer.
Weeks full of work, blood, sweat, and tears.
I've grown in experience.
I've regained freedom as a civilian.
But the transition has been a grueling process.
Yet, I've grown to be grateful nonetheless,
as not everyone gets to go back "home" ...
(remember the fallen) ...
However, if I'm honest, I don't think there's ever
an actual adjustment...
[I'm growing]
Dec 29, 2018
Dec 29, 2018 at 9:55 AM UTC
I was thinking
But are these thoughts mine
She used to be my valentine
Somehow my independence has been revived
O negative
Would you live how I lived
Grueling off the grid
I’m bleeding through a sieve
I might need some rest
Something could go wrong
But for now, I’m in paradise
With your good heart beating in my chest
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 3:20 PM UTC
reoccurring fascism
boiling over in my head
led by not only the bureaucracy
to which we sacrifice our
god given rights to
but by the
oppressing society
that force feeds us
elated lies
funneling us into
specific life paths
but I did not ask
to be born into
a fascist society
ruled by
a democracy, which is
more of a
soft spoken dictatorship.
So excuse me if
I would rather
practice my own
beliefs, instead of
shoving money up
my *** crack
while i sit behind
a desk for the majority
of my life.
Not to mention
the 18+ years of
a mandatory education
that only taught
me how to pass
a state standarized test
put together by the same
******* idiots
who are too
brainwashed by the generations
before them to realize
that the state
is their new God-
but refuse to believe
that America,
the land of the free,
is a theocracy.
Instead of involving
myself in that obvious
grueling cycle
I think
I would rather
separate myself
from the state,
society,
and the false belief
of legal freedom
that was drilled
into all of our
heads
(I do not need a government
to tell me I am free,
just by them saying that
expresses that I am only free
merely because
they let me be.)
I am free
because I am human
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 9:21 AM UTC
Push
Go
Shove
Progress
Stress
Mess
Race
Pace
Grueling
Trip
Fall
Stumble
Quit
Get Up
Fail
Succeed
Speed
Need
Lead
Follow
Hollow
Empty
Done
Spent
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 1:34 PM UTC
*"Though the mills
Of God grind slowly;
Yet they grind exceeding small;
Though with patience
He stands waiting,
With exactness grinds He all."
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow*.
The Mill
The grueling weight
of happenstance,
A millstone for to grind,
It deflates the ego
And shows us
Where we're blind,
It renders flesh a ruin
Obliterates the mind,
We leave our idols desolate
Leave the ties that bind.
Under painful hardship
We release the very things
Which put us in the circumstance
And caused the suffering
We leave behind our craving
For wealth and diamond rings
Everything exalted
All exalted above God...
That means EVERYTHING
Whatever you adore
On this temporal earth
Whatever gives you pleasure
In which you find worth
These very things will shackle you!
You'll find out they're not free.
They are just the Golden Calf
Of base idolatry.
But the millstone slowly purges
Turning hour by hour
Turning the wheat kernels
Into useful flour.
And so I am refined
As I surely must
Put to naught my flesh
Make powder all my lusts
For I am as ashes
for I am as dust.
SS (C) 8/23/2017
Aug 24, 2017
Aug 24, 2017 at 1:43 AM UTC
I'm sure you're out there hating all that I have become,
Cursing me and memories of all the things I've done.
I'm sure you're out there wallowing in the depths of I-don't-care-where,
I'm even sure you're chanting that all of it was unfair.
And while I don't feel I owe you a single wasted breath,
Allow me now to tell you how I came to bring you death:
As your lapdog I felt compelled to take you in my jaws,
And as your partner I was shackled by all those grueling laws.
As your master I was bored by every tear you ever shed,
But as your killer I was tickled by just how much you bled.
Can you see it now--should sight allow--what I never could foresee?
That only once, my tortured dunce, could you bleed enough for me.
I may spot you in the ether of the world not quite our own,
And you may ache to see that I have found myself alone.
However...
I've taken many others in the time that you've been gone;
Many who have served me well, so very few withdrawn.
These things aren't said to anger you, but just to give me peace.
I truly hate to plague my mind when my property decease.
Whatever.
As a mistress I was driven to see you beneath my boot,
And as an equal you were never intellectually astute.
As a servant you were lacking in the class that I demand,
And as a pet you oft ignored the rule of the feeding hand.
Through it all--'tween rise and fall--there was the alpha-sin, you see,
Because, darling, though I love you so, you didn't bleed enough for me.
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 2:16 AM UTC
An angel flew down to Earth one night,
Falling into the affectionate embrace,
Of someone who she could call her own,
And became Daddy's little girl.
She and her Daddy,
Played on the seesaw, the slide and the swings.
Listened to every single song,
And savoured each and every movie.
She and her Daddy,
Laugh and sneeze together,
Snooze in an identical posture,
For all to acknowledge she is the chip of his block.
She and her Daddy,
Are partners in crime.
When Daddy creeps up to the fridge to have a snack or two,
She promises to keep it secret.
She and her Daddy,
Played Badminton for hours,
But he never let her win like other Daddys'
Because he knew it will it only make her better.
Hmm...
Her Daddy is so busy every day,
In the grueling race of life,
But never forgets to buy,
Her more gifts than he ever bought Mommy.
Her Daddy is her best friend and her guide,
Someone that she can count on,
To always,
Be on her side!
Jun 15, 2013
Jun 15, 2013 at 8:25 AM UTC
I work.
Everyday without fail
I work.
It is tough
Grueling
Painful
Arduous
Work.
But I do it
Not for Riches
For you...
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 5:21 PM UTC
Lights! camera! action!
Pretending that events are accidents
Appointed laughter
Framed gatherings
Steady buffing
Drawing
Smearing
Lathering
Turn your face into a masterpiece
And your fashion into a catastrophe
Then your catastrophe into outcasting
Take away normalcy then preach you blasphemy
Then wonder "why are they after me"
X then dotted line just says "that you're mine"
It says "sign neatly" and "read briefly"
And now that he's gone...your the repeat
And if you leave...they gotta 3 peat
*** will get you a check
And if you thirsty for a disbursement... Burp out controversy
And swallow grade A ********
You'll get applauded for being a first class fool
Who didn't graduate
But there's still fans who gravitate
While your old class mates are still someone else's class mates
The former students now have degrees
The ones you call to design your foreign furnished mansion
The ones sold you that million dollar car
The ones you pay to fly your private jet
The ones you pay to manage your career
The ones who indict you for your drug possession
The ones who over the counter prescribing you your addiction
The ones who will do the incision to try and maintain your drunk liver
Miss and mister
They demand their respect
Surviving grueling semesters
The newly alumnus
Will retire after they make a difference
A difference for our children
And by the time that your contract has ended all you talked about is killing
Rims spinning
Money getting
Blunt twisting
Liquor sickening
Girls stripping
Discharge sipping
Jewelry glistening
Superstition
Stomach itching
Teeth missing
Thread stitching
Eye twitching
Thirst quenching
I don't get it
Albums full of insignificance
...
But your not trippin'
Because you won't fall as long as you don't walk when your boss tell you to crawl
If you rock shows
Wear clothes that you never chose
If you pose to live a life that's another man's role
You'll soon believe that you're not from this globe
And you'll soon speak how satan stole your soul
Everything you value is so extraneous
And for that you're famous?
So it's only one recipe
If you wanna be a celebrity you must lose your integrity
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 6:36 AM UTC