"lence" poems - Hello Poetry

Well., It's another mundane assignment as I feel I'm being trapped In In the Asylum Cause everyday, I feel I'm on an I -- land and I'm drift'n With nothing but consciousness on my mind Seeing many visions now many a times A thousand times? Yeah, the feeling is Time -- less But then again? I thought it was just another case of my mind just being mind - less ( Smh ) How thoughtless As I feel I'm getting reacquainted with the darkness that's trapped under my Eye - lids For all I've ever seen under the skies is in disguises and nothing but vio - lence While still sitting still in the stillness inside as I sigh in si -- lence I'm left with the question of Who am I? Undecided but No Suicide Cause on the other side of you and I is nothing but illness and a stag - Nation that's.. Still divided and too stationary Vision blurry.. in a hurry But.. No worries Cause I'm already invested Battle tested Here In my latter - Days And even though I can't see that clearly the paths or the plans laid before me My plate is empty and my stomach is rumbling while feeling kinda hungry which is kinda annoying But at the same time? Re- a-ssuring As the tempters continue to Tempt me

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Dec 10, 2021

Dec 10, 2021 at 3:46 AM UTC

Erik_Trell_Blazer

The Asylum

Well., It's another mundane assignment as I feel I'm being trapped In In the Asylum Cause everyday, I feel I'm on an I -- land and I'm drift'n With nothing but consciousness on my mind Seeing many visions now many a times A thousand times? Yeah, the feeling is Time -- less But then again? I thought it was just another case of my mind just being mind - less ( Smh ) How thoughtless As I feel I'm getting reacquainted with the darkness that's trapped under my Eye - lids For all I've ever seen under the skies is in disguises and nothing but vio - lence While still sitting still in the stillness inside as I sigh in si -- lence I'm left with the question of Who am I? Undecided but No Suicide Cause on the other side of you and I is nothing but illness and a stag - Nation that's.. Still divided and too stationary Vision blurry.. in a hurry But.. No worries Cause I'm already invested Battle tested Here In my latter - Days And even though I can't see that clearly the paths or the plans laid before me My plate is empty and my stomach is rumbling while feeling kinda hungry which is kinda annoying But at the same time? Re- a-ssuring As the tempters continue to Tempt me

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Recto: One of those days. The snow is falling soundless out of a grey and uneventful sky. A day for calling friends from times gone by?— each one I try stays hidden in the boundless wilderness of restless Sunday si- lence. Floods, a sinking pound, less job provision— the usual run of news on televison— groundless reasons for concern or high time for despairing? Or decision! Reach an arm out, you can fly, your spring is wound! Less imprecision! Let the word resound! Less fun, short-term, maybe, but clearer vision. Verso: One of those days. The snow is falling soundless out of a grey and un- eventful sky. A day for calling friends from times gone by?—each one I try stays hidden in the boundless wilderness of restless Sun- day silence. Floods, a sinking pound, less job provision—the usual run of news on televison—groundless reasons for concern or high time for despairing? Or decision! Reach an arm out, you can fly, your spring is wound! Less imprecision! Let the word resound! Less fun, short-term, maybe, but clearer vision.

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Jan 3, 2012

Jan 3, 2012 at 1:14 AM UTC

peter-oram

AMBIGRAM X

Recto: One of those days. The snow is falling soundless out of a grey and uneventful sky. A day for calling friends from times gone by?— each one I try stays hidden in the boundless wilderness of restless Sunday si- lence. Floods, a sinking pound, less job provision— the usual run of news on televison— groundless reasons for concern or high time for despairing? Or decision! Reach an arm out, you can fly, your spring is wound! Less imprecision! Let the word resound! Less fun, short-term, maybe, but clearer vision. Verso: One of those days. The snow is falling soundless out of a grey and un- eventful sky. A day for calling friends from times gone by?—each one I try stays hidden in the boundless wilderness of restless Sun- day silence. Floods, a sinking pound, less job provision—the usual run of news on televison—groundless reasons for concern or high time for despairing? Or decision! Reach an arm out, you can fly, your spring is wound! Less imprecision! Let the word resound! Less fun, short-term, maybe, but clearer vision.

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Despair in the sanitarium! All lies escape the insane are awake Beyond the locked doors the echoes bounce across the checkerboard floors Sigh-lence, day dreaming, stay screaming Slay on words, motion madness In jest, cyanide suicide happy faces. Hisses of those bearing bloodshot eyes, venomous guise Bystanders walk by, cross the line I stand firm above it, ne'er beyond the bonding I'm bound to the ground crystal, looks back at me in the mirror.

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Dec 2, 2009

Dec 2, 2009 at 11:16 AM UTC

bassam

This White Line of Cloak

Despair in the sanitarium! All lies escape the insane are awake Beyond the locked doors the echoes bounce across the checkerboard floors Sigh-lence, day dreaming, stay screaming Slay on words, motion madness In jest, cyanide suicide happy faces. Hisses of those bearing bloodshot eyes, venomous guise Bystanders walk by, cross the line I stand firm above it, ne'er beyond the bonding I'm bound to the ground crystal, looks back at me in the mirror.

10

Beneath the garden shed, her bones bleed Without much notice of decay. Smells of rotten garbage Permeated the building Of her demise Without much notice of isolation. Souless, lifeless carcass Becomes her as she loses Unconsciousness beneath the Rotting soil. And the malevolence Took over.

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Sep 29, 2020

Sep 29, 2020 at 10:25 PM UTC

EmotionallyDamagedGirl

ma·lev·o·lence

Beneath the garden shed, her bones bleed Without much notice of decay. Smells of rotten garbage Permeated the building Of her demise Without much notice of isolation. Souless, lifeless carcass Becomes her as she loses Unconsciousness beneath the Rotting soil. And the malevolence Took over.

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I guess I de Serve it. Split open my chest rip out what's left//left//left/right//left... left to wonder/obsessed Hanging ~Tangled in the words~ torture Give me cursing/screams/mock me to ...tears. But please.dear.god. the smothering solitude of... [ ]

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Oct 17, 2015

Oct 17, 2015 at 3:53 PM UTC

TreadingWater

si(gh)lence

I guess I de Serve it. Split open my chest rip out what's left//left//left/right//left... left to wonder/obsessed Hanging ~Tangled in the words~ torture Give me cursing/screams/mock me to ...tears. But please.dear.god. the smothering solitude of... [ ]

13

Far FAR from the world.... WORLD... whorled my world HERE condensed here con CON con-densed dying densed a ho-HOme mmmme-me hewn in stone Prison for prison pri pri pri sonnnn here a drop of silence echoes si lence sisisilensilensilense pins pins pins dropped, trickling distant water trick-ling in the pud-dle a mud-dle cal-led li-fe a cave home, far away from home, is this a noise of thoughts, rushing past a gorge of silence. how it was meant to be? consuming homes in deluge, after the rains, trickle silences, replaying lives, screened all around in silken mists lightning bolts prising open recesses dark.

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Mar 27, 2015

Mar 27, 2015 at 5:54 PM UTC

prabhu-iyer

Cave woman | The Hermit

Far FAR from the world.... WORLD... whorled my world HERE condensed here con CON con-densed dying densed a ho-HOme mmmme-me hewn in stone Prison for prison pri pri pri sonnnn here a drop of silence echoes si lence sisisilensilensilense pins pins pins dropped, trickling distant water trick-ling in the pud-dle a mud-dle cal-led li-fe a cave home, far away from home, is this a noise of thoughts, rushing past a gorge of silence. how it was meant to be? consuming homes in deluge, after the rains, trickle silences, replaying lives, screened all around in silken mists lightning bolts prising open recesses dark.

19

Oh! How I wish I could silence these demons in my head! These demons pray on violence- & I think they wish to see me dead! (Oh!) No!

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Apr 7, 2016

Apr 7, 2016 at 11:45 PM UTC

HideousAegidiusOCrowley

Si(gh)lence

Oh! How I wish I could silence these demons in my head! These demons pray on violence- & I think they wish to see me dead! (Oh!) No!

7

Let my silence be a lesson To be careful what you choose You dropped what you assumed would always be there Now you covet the thing you lose Your life is absent of my sincere words And you miss the way they sound Yet you took my voice for granted All the time it was around What you did not bother to say Was what my spoken thoughts meant to you I expressed my love for you every day But you couldn't tell me too

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Nov 13, 2020

Nov 13, 2020 at 6:57 AM UTC

AmandaKayBurke

Sigh-lence

Let my silence be a lesson To be careful what you choose You dropped what you assumed would always be there Now you covet the thing you lose Your life is absent of my sincere words And you miss the way they sound Yet you took my voice for granted All the time it was around What you did not bother to say Was what my spoken thoughts meant to you I expressed my love for you every day But you couldn't tell me too

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do·mes·tic vi·o·lence noun violent or aggressive behavior within the home, typically involving the violent abuse of a spouse or partner. po·et ˈpōət/Submit noun a person who writes poems. synonyms: writer of poetry, versifier, rhymester, rhymer, sonneteer, lyricist, lyrist; More a person possessing special powers of imagination or expression. paint·er1 ˈpān(t)ər/Submit noun 1.an artist who paints pictures."a German landscape painter" 2.a person who paints buildings, walls, ceilings, and woodwork, especially as a job. Are you seeing my body as a portrait, With painted fields of flowers and streams? Not a picture of a one night stand and a text forgetting my name? “I won't regret this” his husky voice kisses my ear. He paints with purples and blues across my thighs, And around my neck. I was always told to never fall for a painter because Once they finish their masterpiece They are on to the next, tossing away the last one. I became a sculpture, with bodies as my canvas And my nails as my tools. He was painting my body, as i was carving into his. Leaving marks and naming my territory. Soon i discovered i was made to be a poet, Striking people with my words, No longer using my fingers to leave messages but my voice. I learned to hurt people in the best ways. But in worse ways he left me. ~a.u November 26, 2:13 PM When I had first wrote this, I was in the back of a friends car. Thinking about the future. We never really know what all could happen. At first, my poem was about a intimate relationship between partners, but towards the end, it shows an abusive relationship. After reading many books, seeing posts we get into relationships with people we do not know until it is too late. In awareness of those who had suffered from Domestic violence, abuse, **** here is my poem, Painter.

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Jun 26, 2018

Jun 26, 2018 at 10:36 PM UTC

Aubs120

painter

do·mes·tic vi·o·lence noun violent or aggressive behavior within the home, typically involving the violent abuse of a spouse or partner. po·et ˈpōət/Submit noun a person who writes poems. synonyms: writer of poetry, versifier, rhymester, rhymer, sonneteer, lyricist, lyrist; More a person possessing special powers of imagination or expression. paint·er1 ˈpān(t)ər/Submit noun 1.an artist who paints pictures."a German landscape painter" 2.a person who paints buildings, walls, ceilings, and woodwork, especially as a job. Are you seeing my body as a portrait, With painted fields of flowers and streams? Not a picture of a one night stand and a text forgetting my name? “I won't regret this” his husky voice kisses my ear. He paints with purples and blues across my thighs, And around my neck. I was always told to never fall for a painter because Once they finish their masterpiece They are on to the next, tossing away the last one. I became a sculpture, with bodies as my canvas And my nails as my tools. He was painting my body, as i was carving into his. Leaving marks and naming my territory. Soon i discovered i was made to be a poet, Striking people with my words, No longer using my fingers to leave messages but my voice. I learned to hurt people in the best ways. But in worse ways he left me. ~a.u November 26, 2:13 PM When I had first wrote this, I was in the back of a friends car. Thinking about the future. We never really know what all could happen. At first, my poem was about a intimate relationship between partners, but towards the end, it shows an abusive relationship. After reading many books, seeing posts we get into relationships with people we do not know until it is too late. In awareness of those who had suffered from Domestic violence, abuse, **** here is my poem, Painter.

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