"horder" poems
A Heart that Parts away from the chambers,That pump lies thru the veins with pain.A love that was crucified and died, sacrificed, and does behind a disguise.A mask.
That mask the past scars, the torn skin, truth ripped from the flesh left hollow and echos sorrow,
Faint in the distance, youth in the mirror,
Not in the eyes,tired of lies , eyes cry seeing human bein their nature.
Soo cruel the pool of liquor im bathin my pours soakin the reality to of depression wastin every ounce of time blazin to relieve the stress of being puzzled in a maze,
Forsaken and disturbed to see the same face awaken shaking like the floor of order.
The door of opportunity leads to another border.
Truth itself holds no water,Takin so much in becoming a mental horder,
nothing new but the struggle, and only lived a quater.
When is there change ? im in need of aspoiler,or vent.
Like im exhaust, im exhausted from many losses, im lost and losed many calls from God.
Stop stallin God hear my repent im callin, so answer.
Thats all im askin ,
im tired of being bent, broke from bein spent,
sick of the cancer, sick of abuse.
I want peace of mind, can hell call a truce? living on the edge, Im hangin, danglin , souless as a manikin, lost in the sky walkin,
High like aniken.
Im havin epiphanies, deliberately givin up my own liberty,
honestly my honesty is now nothing no one acknowledge my poverty. My truth was rich, outta this world cosmically possibly the realist to ever grace reason modestly.
BY: Emmanuel jv Hernandez
1/16/14
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 12:39 PM UTC
These are my favorite things,
taken to the pawn shop,
These are my favorite movies, books, and trinkets,
thrown in the dump,
and my favorite memories,
framed in plaques of wood and plastic,
Mary goes round merrily, making its way
round to take me to the moon,
and a Monday no longer mundane,
and the imperfections of my reflections,
worn around my mane
bejeweled
Dec 1, 2018
Dec 1, 2018 at 3:52 PM UTC
I get told I run from my problems
I have 99 of em but I never solve em
Doin what I do to get paid
Maken more then most make in a month in one day
Income like this has me goin state to state
Passport in my bag traveling across the American border
Runnin from my problems cause their stuck in my mind
I guess When it comes holding on to thought I always been a horder
I thought things would get easier as I got older
It's crazy how I'm so bummed out
I got everything now
Everything but love I guess
John Lennon told me ever since I was a shorty love was all I needed
I get it I get I just don't get why when I look I never see it
It's hard I trust women of my generation
It's all good I'm ona plane right now
Just hit the city I can see the lights from the window
Comen home to everything I ran from knowing bull ***** only continue
I'll just leave this with a to be continued
I'll probably bring part 2 up whenever I decide to grow up
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 8:23 PM UTC
it is the little things
that consume me...
the daily minutea
that others miss...
or deem discardable.
it is these.....
small moments
i am drawn to..
that.. i focus on......
as the big picture sails by
piccolo thoughts
and lilliputian dreams...
.... engage me.
encouraging me to ..
flights of fancy....
expansive in expression...
....snatches of conversation
half finished gestures.....
are bread and butter
.... sustaining me.
...tiny bits of tree twiglet,
when they grow...
what stories could they tell.
a christmas stamp stuck to the
cement pavement...
i would hate to pay
the postage on sending that package.
always...and always
in the back of my mind....
the sea....
full of teeming....
tiny floaty things for me...
to inadeaquately... describe
and love... i write love well....
then there are....
.... the familys forgotten moments
...gathered by my quill
we..... as poets... are life's truest horder's .....inscribing life on sky and tree.....
we see and hold....
....and feel and scry.
the minikens... of all .....mankind
with little.. splot, spotches..? of inkspots ..joined to form a line.
of words to open hearts...
..and free encumbered mind
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 4:23 PM UTC
Why do nice people end in life’s rat race, last?
A thrown out contents into the cold soul’s dump?
Hence, becoming a forgotten and recycled soul
In which those who cast such out, did not remember of the light In them, until the cost has been cast?
Why is a bright future so much of a Horder’s dream in which they can corrupt and or steal such soul’s energies, for their greed?
Take such a warning.
You , the hoarder shall drown in despair’s ocean ,once your guilt has never been needed.
Drown if you must, in such intoxications.
For your end will always be the cost of the lust for the brighter.
Their legends shall live , forever, as fighters.
For ,as the much stronger and brighter beings ,shall laugh at your new infatuation.
We learn, ever so quickly, those false actors of “the nice.”
As our cold and knowing states, of how you took our Conrad’s in the greedful , shall never get a listen. As our ears-closed, when they were living and bright, as our eyes glare shall freeze your fuel and sick soul’s to solid,freezing ice.
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 10:18 PM UTC
If it doesn't grab me
Then I can not commit
If it doesn't obsess me
Take me hostage in a consuming Stockholm breathless gasp
Then I can not posses it
Make it my own
Intergrate it like some sick horder grasping at straws
Hoping to breath under the weight of her convictions
As if born again
Anew and anew under some binded faith
That this new me this better upgraded me will be worthy
More adapted
No suited
To be loved in a world that is increasingly lonely.
Nov 3, 2018
Nov 3, 2018 at 10:50 PM UTC