"harbringer" poems
I feel broken inside.
I feel dead inside,
No that's not right,
I wish I felt dead inside.
Some nights I put a blade to my neck.
Wishing for the courage to do it.
It's not like taking my own life,
It's just the removal of my shocked 11 year old innocence.
All that would be left would be an empty shell.
A reminder of what used to be.
I get angry sometimes,
I believe the world deserves to feel the guilt,
The guilt of being the harbinger of yet another youth's innocence.
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 9:14 PM UTC
Alight, alight! That honeyed bow
Wends through sky, celestial arc
Imbued with bright and cosmic spark
Light about her dims as colour shows
Vivid, supreme, rainbow's girth
Envelops all the world and sky
As tender creatures go flitting by
Bow blooms in to view and lights all earth
To Rainbow's strength I have aspired
And for her fine beauty: who conspired?
Alight, alight! That hallowed sight
Swims in to mind, borne aloft
On lovely, gentle zephyr soft
Harbringer of eternal delight
Fierce the luscious hues and hot
The blazing fury of the bow
The spectrum of joy I, loving, know
A soothing sight above my cot
In distant deeps she manifests
For her touch, I feel blessed
Feb 3, 2017
Feb 3, 2017 at 10:01 AM UTC
i do not write in pencil
it's all written in real
no pattern, no stencil,
hand drawn hard feel
inhale exhale
whatever air is available
words need breaths to exist
yet breathless i persist
never been in a band
my words never heard
left to hold my own hand
trying to unthink my words
no eraser available
(though noe is erased & dull)
so i babble feeble
(though no words escape my skull)
eyes blink
to rid themselves of the red
but don't disguise a think
cuz the lids are hiding brain-dead
can you breathe underwater
believing she's oxygen for you
can you breathe when you want her
but she's allergic to you
soft socks should soothe a soul
on a cold night in a Shannon cuddle
and be the only thing worn on the morning
where we have each other waking for moaning
i thought She Loved me deeply
NEEDED me
(butt found there were cracks in our foundation)
i believed we were US forever
walked the waking dream of our Love Affair
(butt learned she could lose the fascination)
i was in LOVE
She was dating
i found The One
She was just dating
February 3rd came & went
harbringer of the death of clint
March 8th was the final ****
of the last of my living will
been in a haze of agony
where my own jester hates me
i wake daily in a daze of disbelief
to a nightmare real with no relief
my tears don't fall
they flow
strong & steady
acidic yet empty
and their side-show-bob
is the echo of my sobs
i keep writing poem after poem
of pain
PAIN
when the only poem i've ever wanted to write
is the one She wants to re-read every night
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 1:13 AM UTC
If you fear God or Bhagwaan (Bhagwaan in Hindu dharma||God in Christianity),
You have your concepts all mixed up,
Love the power which created the big bang and has been in dormancy ever since.
Just love it, become friends with it and you'll be victorious - all will be victorious.
Victorious doesn't necessarily mean successful, this is something much bigger and lies beyond the scope of the constriction which money is a harbringer of.
Feb 3, 2013
Feb 3, 2013 at 12:35 AM UTC
She kept her heart encased in glass
Or elegantly displayed
On a moldy old canvass
For callers by of gilded
Or passing note
Wrinkled skirt crumpled in the
corner of the hardwood floor
poised to take the stand
and testify about the madness
and the lines of demarcation,
The hollow harrowing haunting
harbringer of the haughtiness
that once served her so well;
I thought I spotted her reflection
in a magazine,
soot stained pages outlining
the continental shifts in her veracity
and the keloid cracks
running along the base of her foundation
a wrinkled old romance novel
in today’s latest fashion,
pretension the wayward child of passion
Oct 4, 2020
Oct 4, 2020 at 10:49 PM UTC
Tick tock tick tock passing away
these invaluable moments don’t forever stay
Seconds become minutes and minutes hours
Man loses his treasure this fine way
Time is but an ephemeral possession
a blessing for some, curse for many
the harbringer of prosperity & that of regression
which causes agreement & often contention
Men measure what is an immeasurable entity
In months of days and years of months
Time passes away unrelenting
leaving the unwise anxious & regretting
The eternal stream flows on
its demeanor indifferent
moving & moving waiting for none
easily lost but never won
The men of sagacity use it to their benefit
the foolish keep on ranting not today but tomorrow
but what is today may not be tomorrow
it might bring fulfillment or just sorrow
Use your time wisely, waste it never
humans die but time lives forever
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 1:18 PM UTC