Hello Poetry is a poetry community that raises money by advertising to passing readers like yourself.

If you're into poetry and meeting other poets, join us to remove ads and share your poetry. It's totally free.
Jordan Rowan Jan 2016
I'm a lying, cheating loser
With a gun pointed at my head
I still remember everything you said
Maybe I'll be worth more to you when I'm dead

There's a summer sunset I haven't seen
And it's haunting my dreams
The daylight breathes and blows away
The scent of you and everything you'll say

I can still hear the words
But I'm still unsure
If you really meant them
And why I resent them

Daylight, dead of night, any time
The thoughts don't stop in my mind
I think and talk about it too much
Everyone around me has heard enough
A horror movie scene as the heroine escapes.
Everything is still besides her convalescing breaths and the distant, chasing wind.
Not a noise is heard, except the fall leave's rattle and the birch wood's moaning bark in the moonlight.
Her body slouches into the protection of a shed and shrouds itself in the aroma of cut grass.
A tense brow relieves and tired eyes close, able to accept a momentary peace.

A possible misstep now turns this peace on end with the sharpness of broken leaves. The once relieved brow beckons their wild eyes towards an opaque barricade.
Sly pieces of garden equipment leash her weathered jacket in place as she attempts to stand.
A cackle is heard, a shriek undone.
To spite the brittle wood, that formulaic jump-scare-skeleton-hand bursts through the shed's solicitous walls, set to declare the last of a weary soul as his own.
The wind catches up and spearheads any hole it can find.
It begins whistling around the dim room like a tornado elated to havoc behind a castle's walls.
The tree bark howls, the leaves, now delight.
We learn there is no reprieve for a begging champion.
The camera backs out of the splintered hole and pans over a sated forest to face the waning moon.
The hero succumbs with muted screams to a gore far below and out of frame.
The only closure, a black screen, with bright white letters, slowly scrolling up.


The end.
Just something I had fun writing, figured not posting it would be a waste despite it not being "poetry", just an experiment I guess. I feel like it would be good, in like, a high-school, short story competition. *****.
Once we were on fire
Young    rebeliouse   free
We stormed the castles and took to the skies we flew we dreamed
We were ablaze our light setting raging screaming fire to the world around us
When our thoughts could not sit in silence any longer
When the kids were engulfed by a wave of fury of the injustice done by this world before we were even here
We screamed and demanded
OUR VOICES WOULD BE HEARD
But now it rains
Now the cold heavy water blankets the restless
The fire has been drenched in worry and stress
The brutal downpour has distracted all with false life or death
The blaze once 100 feet high now nothing but a charred soul

And all the ones put out by the rain
to tired to fight again,
pray on the generation next
That their fire is enough to best the storm
sara 4d
I see writing on the walls,
etched up across old toilet stalls,
from people clinging to it all
to people too afraid to fall.

What they don’t know will never hurt them;
it’s clear that love has never burned them.
Heard of lessons; never learned them.
Though, pain apparent; no one heard them.
etchings into trees and toilet walls are only an attempt to cling on to what we are afraid of losing forever


back in the uk, wish that I wasn’t

Sorry about the punctuation, it’s been a long night
Shofi Ahmed May 2017
It streams down eye to the eye
from the unseen but the one is all seeing.

Far from the Mars far from the Neptune
skipping all the planets hanging in space
but on the cheek of earth, a drop of tear fell.

Every angel in the heavens' shore
has heard of this lore.
It’s spot on, mesmerising beautiful.
Far from the blue harbour sky
hunky dory is delighting to the eyes
the stunner is made to measure.

As if like a tear in the corner of the eye
diagonally weighed down
with the 360-degree open looking sky.
As close as within a fingertip comes the Moon
still, a sea is ahead forever untouchable!
Eric Babsy Oct 1
He stalks like a cat.
Then he roars aloud to scare out their attempts.
He is bringing swinging claws.
Swinging from his metal paws.

He only wants the human his master thinks.
To rip apart their work stink.
His brothers rumble the ground.
They also fly from the sky circling around.

Remembering the sounds of cries of the past.
Just like his brothers to sneak a midnight snack.
Not only that but the pesky insects that feed.
As they try to fight to end a world of greed.

Roaring once more at the parasites host.
Only one can save them to grow.
He throws another roar to the wind.
To be, feed, his fill of skin.

Not to be hated but always feared by his foes.
He will go wherever his scent will go.
Try another round of joe.
What he thinks no one will ever know.

Right now we have all we need.
After the far cry is heard he is swift at the deed.
Try again and again to ravage the pain.
What he finds out might make you go insane.
English Jam Jul 18
My little friend is now gone
My tragic life must go on; despite that
His evil eyes and his cheeky smile still burn in my mind
He no longer exists but
For my memory of him
And I rejoiced
When I heard the news
Still I can recall how I sobbed
When he gave me his evil eye me for the first time
When he hurled glass and other projectiles at me when he was hungry
When he spent hours upon hours pondering the fabric of society
I hated him
I wished
For his death
I was depressed
It was like paint peeling off a wall
It was like finding a dead leprechaun at the end of a rainbow
I was expecting some sort of remorse when he left
Funny how heartbreak works

Now read this in reverse
Because sometimes all you need
Is a little change of perspective
To truly understand someone
Dedicated to the goldfish I had when I was little who accidentally died. This is for you sweet fish <3.

By the way, while this is a sad poem, it's also written about dead goldfish who was a ****, so please - don't take it too seriously.
Jordan Rowan Dec 2015
I'm not good at taking it slow
But I hope you know
Waiting isn't something I do well
But I'll wait for you, Annabelle

So many years since the day
I heard you say
"It's not time for us just yet"
And never did I once forget
That you were out there as well
As I waited for you, Annabelle

Time goes on and so it did
Just like you said
"It's not now or never"
But I said I'd wait forever
In all the time between heaven and ****
I'll wait for you, Annabelle

It's not easy for me to stand
As he takes your hand
But as long as he treats you well
I'll wait for you, Annabelle
Alyssa Underwood Jul 2016
It is out of the heart’s cavernous longing and furious search
for love, significance, acceptance, approval, identity, security,
freedom, belonging, innocence, intimacy and transcendence—
out of its primordial memory of what was lost to us in the Garden—
that we begin to ***** idols for ourselves.

Unconsciously we hope they might restore to us a taste of paradise,
taking away our fear and shame and isolation.
We yearn to go back but, alas, we cannot get in from there.
We ache to connect to beauty, to be desired by it as much as we desire it,
and Jesus is the only door by which we may enter.
He is the Beauty, and all the rest are simply there like pealing bells
to arouse our hearts to Him and tell us that He is coming for us.

Still, as if we haven’t quite yet heard and believed the message, we keep
aimlessly trying to forge a false righteousness through our false gods.
When they are lost or the dreams of them unrealized we are devastated,
for the shadows, echoes and reflections we had supposed would finally
make us feel good about ourselves have been exposed as frauds,
and once again we are left to feel ***** but without fig leaves to cover us.

It is at these precise moments, when the bottom of our false hope falls out,
that we are best prepared to encounter Christ in His intimate
fullness and most apt to recognize at last that He alone is
everything we have been so desperately wanting.
It is our boiling point, where the unbearable weight
of failed expectation so crashes in on us that we are finally
begging *** to lift our idols off of us and deliver us from them,
pleading with Him to come and capture us,
crying out to Him to possess us fully.
***
Arry Oct 4
You heard about that girl who's dating four guys right now,
Instead of being mature and wise, your reaction was a big wow!
You heard about that lunatic kid who lives on the streets,
But you never noticed his demeanor and the way how he greets.
You heard about that skinny man who comes back late at night,
Did you know that the work load has been killing his appetite.
You heard about someone called ***, whom you have never met,
Yet he's the one who gets the credit for everything you get.
You hear about a lot of **** which you always tend to believe,
And lose the most valuable fellows who can never be retrieved.
These fatal cells of lies...start developing like a tumor,
You hear a lot of it everyday and commonly call it RUMOUR!
Next page