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Harry J Baxter Jan 2014
It’s funny how despite different tastes
we all have a taste for music
my life has never felt complete
with a soundtrack. A beat
as a kid I was told not to fidget
told to just sit still
but my person was anything but chill
I have always had a thing for rhythm
I felt it in the way people speak
the way a husband sneaks around
keeping his wife trapped and meak
whether it is weak or strong
I could always hear that drumming song
It started with a rap song I heard
Hi My Name Is by eminem
but then again it had always been with me
it’s the reason time scares me
because in the beating tick of those two drum sticks
I could see the sound of life wasted
and it made me want to get wasted
black out drunk at fatal altitudes
when I was in middle school
we were angry
and disrespectfully spiteful
so we rocked long socks and listened to punk rock
then It was about being a bad guy
a real force not to be reckoned with
so we wore black Tshirts depicting violent scenes
and joined the screaming heavy metal mosh pit
a place to fit for all the kids who didn’t anywhere else
as I got older I put the heavy metal on the shelf
if I’m being honest it was all just a little silly
angsty teens with lofty dreams which they told us
were unattainable so we went out looking for cheap thrills
rather than develop any marketable skills
The first time I felt marketable
it gave me chills
The National in Richmond Virginia
an old theatre
converted into a sanctuary for the sanctimonious masses
to forget everything they learned in their classes
a place where kicked *****
wasn’t always a bad thing
I remember I was there
in the tenth grade
to see the Atmosphere show
because the lead singer - Slug
was my hero
his words enveloped me in a bear hug
which said you’re doing just fine kid
and in that crowd of tattoos and hipsters
and the ghetto kids wearing chips on their shoulders
I was high
but not on drugs
I was high on expressionism and the loftiness of ideas
The men behind the microphone
wearing a costume of stage lighting and swaggering egos
made me feel at home
for the first time in a while
they said things like God Loves Ugly
and Every Day Can’t be the Best Day
and the DJ’s worked the turntables
like a good lover brings their partner to ******
I didn’t know anybody else at the show
but don’t think for a minute that I was alone
we were all connected as brothers by bond and spilled blood
of our heros who were cut short before they could say the things
which we all needed to hear
We respect the story tellers
because it is how we come to terms with tougher aspects of life
and I was flying high on the dreams of kids just like me
saluting the scarred, worn, souls who had made it
who were making the path that we would one day walk
with the cut of their jive and the strength of their talk
***** of the walk
chalked outlines of the end of loneliness
They called us hop heads
and we’d reply
you’re ******* right we are
hip hop didn’t save my life
it just stopped me from taking me
for granted
I already wrote a poem about this night, but that was almost a year ago back when I really had no idea what I was doing with this poetry stuff. I love hip hop, It is a huge part of who I am today. "As a child Hip Hop made me read books, and Hip Hop made me wanna be a crook" - Slug of Atmosphere. If It wasn't for Hip Hop I would have never grown up to have confidence in what I say and how I say it. I know I have wrote a lot of poetry today and probably clogged your feed up (Thank you Adderall) but I really wanted to post this one. It is important to me and I hope you guys can at least relate. Probably won't be posting here for the rest of the day. Keep on scribbling guys
Harry J, Baxter
Thomas Esparza Oct 2015
I hide my face from the world I know.
I wear a mask, a mask to hide.
A mask to hide who I really am.
The mask that hides the face .
The face of a depressed man all alone.
My mask keeps all my insecurities hidden.
Behind my mask I am everyones friend.
By masking my emotions no one gets hurt.

If I were to not wear my mask.
Would people accept me, for me.
Lonely and meak
Or would they only feel sorry for me.
If only I had the courage to take off my mask.
Show everyone who I am.

My mask keeps things at peace.
Keeps the inner me.
From ruining  the outter me
If I was to take off this mask who would I be.
Would you know me. Would you like to get to know me.
Let me take off my mask.
We shall see.
dont be so certain with me
you are always free to change
today a thirty year old said 20 till now
was too short
where did it all go i asked
the good times never seem to last
she said stretching the truth, my age, and my suit
i laughed and we had nothing more to talk about
she was stuck
not her life, no it was she
blocked behind the past that was playing before her mind

i wished i could be there
kiss her for the first time
when it wouldn't have been a matter of age
thanked her for the first random act of kindness she embarked on
held her during her first harsh break up
i couldn't
so i walked away
saying a common courtesy over my shoulder

its always the summer
where i chose to spend my time

its always the summer
in the darkest ***** of the winter

----------------
ads flood in like balloons
release with fireworks above
my chinese isn't that good
i just need to eat
wheres your nearest hostel
preferably one next to a mcdonalds
no excuse for comfort food?
right this way!, my profit

paralyzed
synchronized ceilings
thought it was my mothers
no mine
my room
my memories
touching
touching you
inside
its not as warm
as the Dead give away
im fading
dancing above this bed
collection of the
fading

i drew you once
blood we used to be friends
what happened
blood you were almost inside of me
what happened
blood music drifting in the windows
what windows
this room is windowless
when in doubt

comfort in voices hidden in my mind
i used to love you
ya you knew that
before you died
what happened
blood didn't need to be so cold

happenstance
ill ******* **** you
happenstance you cunning fool
happenstance, is my worst enemy folks
are you ready for the execution?

awake again. i can't remember
did i sleep
is this real
is there a light on
is that a tv

heart rate
skips

-----------------
here the sound of music drifting down the halls
the sound of prozac aloe vera the sound of smell
drifting all the same

man next to me can't tell his laughs from fears
tears separate the faint from the lack of faith
in front of his family of three  , jump in front of a moving train

no one is going down here no one is going up
this is the sound of everything you never wanted to hear
waiting for the day they let you feel

soul gaze and scream more
sending faint taps of morse code
my neighbors one of the wonders of the world


plumper , and no one cares
quieter , and no one can tell
no one care , no one can tell

-------
one of my favorite numbers
for who, i can't tell
but it means something
for when will they agree?

man fighting in the form of words
how stupid is he, to fight with spells
witchcraft the checkmate, one step bellow divinity?
without the divine, sorcery snaps the spine

here i am, with my horns showing again
they step around me on the streets,
when they used to rub against me
did they rub off?
my uncle used to file them down to less than stubs
400 bucks
no one will tell

here i am , yelling at you again
you said i was going to burn
thats a compliment
Dantes first levels freeze the weak

-----------

eagerly meak
give me a more simple smile please
let me know youre human

equally bleak
your words scattered across this page
lets get you out of your clothes

gravity takes over
so
you are with child i heard
does that mean we dont need timing
my stomach no longer turns
thinking of the pulling burn
pulling and pulling till it hurt

sometimes i want him back
we gave away such a fighter
how many times did we drink him away?
how many eyelids did we keep awake

i swear the whole apartment knew of our lust.

-------------------

crying me a river

no thanks
or apologies

-------------------

the bathrooms here smell like a hotel
did we mistake them for cleanliness?
latino hands and the beds tight as guillotines

side tracked minute of phone called wasted
are they still listening
sorry for the last time
what was it that i called you?
oh yeah-- the past

morose only word i know
for this - this woah that is - is me

stumble while kissing you
like i do when i lie the lie
that is
i love you

-----------------------
remember that night before our lips met?
sorry i mean the one in the cemetery
the night you lost your strength
was that all an act? you know
the self esteem?
no , not the way i kissed you
that was real
i mean the way that you really feel
about yourself , on this serpents wheel

send me away
please
stamps
boxes
peanuts
everything
send me away
iwannastiIIIive

------------------------

they say my phone privileges are switched with an extra shrink

eat me
drink me

--------------------

the last telegraph was explanation enough
I'm writing you again
sorry i haven't learned french

i dont know any of these instruments playing anymore
but i think they kinda sound like you
thanks so much for listening along
to the symphonies i make in my head


what would we do with each other he asked me



i answered by cutting him out of  my life







---------------------------

6 years later

--- the liar


-----------------------



i decided to stop telling the truth
and it worked
they let me out and off the meds
the good times never seem to last

they let me step off of the stage
easier than it was to get played
i tried the capsule and i tried the tablet
but i found the best thing was lighting money up
in smoke
the rain keeps reminding me of the times you would come
in the rain, i would feel closer to you again
when in the rain, i remember your funeral
and before that when i told you off
i never think of the space in-between
of when you could of thought of me

did you, dont answer
dont do anything but hug me
For Nathan Flint, Our Red Robin, and the for the most manic of the mankind.
Gregory Bowman Sep 2012
how can we know where lovers go
or when they take the notion
to stop the flow and try to slow
the rhythm of the ocean.

we cannot seek to reach this peak
or lift above that sea,
we are too weak to mug the meak
of their sincerity.

we are alone, together and free.




and here's some stream of thought (that just so happens to rhyme, kinda)...

loopy arousal.
lofty appraisals.
disabled and taken for granted.
in the eyes of the dead,
instead of the usual red,
we decided on green
to dress the scene.
the sound man listened.
the light man leered.
the chef was cooked.
i'm hooked.
heaved on to me like voyeurism
and sought like publishers.
distasteful? yes.
useful. yes.
knowledgeable? sometimes.
lurid trysts and poltergeists
expounding.
multiplication escapes me.
pen and paper **** me.
Elizabeth Burns Mar 2016
You know what I'm going to miss most...
Are those short chats in Afrikaans class
That share sly secrets and hearts are opened freely
No pretence and no doubt in mind
And I come to realise
It is my last year to do so

It's the sound of the bell
That leads me along each day
That structure every day of my life
Calling me to its whims
To the places I should go
Next year I will be alone.

It's those short walks to each class
Where you get in those last bits of a conversation
You utter words of encouragement to those who are in need
To your fellow girls in green
And for the first time, I wonder if I'll ever see them again...

I've been surrounded by these radiant faces
Each day of my life
For the past five years,
Some twelve
I've walked these corridors with them
I've heard about pieces of their extraordinary lives
We've shared laughs as a class
And inside jokes...
That time when someone was given something in art that made her insane and declare "the tree bit me", again and again
The hazy day in grade eight when we were so delighted by our teachers absence, we caused such a raucous and when she came... That class captain shouted "SHE'S COMING!"
And all was back to normality...
I remember my first cultural day...
Singing to the entire school at the top of my lungs...

I remember my first day of grade 8,
A mousy timid being not sure of where she should go
To a phoenix screaming her name on the stage...
Ready to fly into the skies
And stare down at meak faces
And eyes filled with fascination

You see,
There are things in my school I love dearly
The radiant faces beside me each day, the ones that have always stayed and never strayed away...
The sound of the bell as it structures my day
And those conversations in Afrikaans class...
That keep me sane...
I ponder of what my life will become
And if I will always hold these memories
So close to my whimpering heart...
Death-throws Jul 2016
Do you write poetry to get it all out
Or to hide it?
Do you  write because  you  want to scream
And shout, or because you cant hide it?

I write when  im lonely
When the demons inside me get roudy
When the drugs  come a'howlin
And my familys looking over  me,
Frowning

I write  when the slits on my wrists  look like the telephone  lines i should be calling
But instead of screaming i just end up scrawling
All my pathetic  overstated  woes
Right here

So  facilitate  me, you strangers
Love this post.  Even though i hate it
Youve no idea the dangers im in
Trying to stay  away from that whole bottle of gin
In the corner

Facilitate  my anxieties
Show me your  all just sheep
Flocking  to  litterature like the  bowls of soup attract the meak

Im not a person here.
None of you really care
Are you even self aware
Do you know That even though its poetry
Theres a person  there?
Why do i even write none of you are even aware of my existance im not an artist
I need help
and all this site does  is facilitate  my resistance
Brandi R Lowry Mar 2015
I lost myself
Temporarily

Somewhere along the way

Between daydreaming
And self-discovery
My thoughts did go astray.

Spiritual compass compromised
And mentally so weak

My heart remained steady
My thoughts,
Discreet.

I seemed to be spiraling
Out of control

Treading on the depths of insanity

Desperately
I clung to faith

Only in silence
Did I weep.

Wearing the mask of courage
Yet feeling frail and meak

I tried to fill
The void in my soul
But failed so miserably

Still I carried onward
Attempting to mask the pain

I no longer had a place

My grace gone
Replaced with shame

Mind like molten lava
Body tattered and bruised

My heart heavy
My soul lost.

I lie alone

Naked
Scared
Confused
Diana Richter Dec 2013
Laying close to death.
Taking your last breath,
eyes closing to shaded black.
Pills in your system, ready to attack.
Rush of sirens all you hear,
all ending in your thirteenth year.
You lay there with a heart rate that is slowing,
you're dying, and your family is knowing.
On the edge of the hospital bed,
where you may as well lay there dead.
Your moms eyes fill with tears, and her heart with guilt,
as she tells you everything, when you're heart wasn't spilt.
You father, your biggest hero never leaves your side.
His ****** expressions blank, but he's crying inside.
The nurse comes in, worry on her face.
Telling you, you need to go to a bigger place.
To far to go by ambluance, so they take you by flight.
By the time you arive, it's deep late at night.
Crew and the nurses talking back and fourth but it's blured.
You know their speaking clearly but their words seem slured.
You wake, and it's finally bright outside.
You look back and forth, see your family never left your side.
The doctor comes in, and explains my condition.
They go over questions, for your admission.
Guilt and remorse is all you can feel,
everything feels like a nightmare, but it's all to real.
Theirs no way to make things right,
you can't even remember what happened last night.
IV's in your arms, you ask the doctor what came about,
the night before, He says  attempted suicide without a doubt.
As memories flood back into your head,
you think I really wanted to be dead....
The doctor asks if I remember what happened the night before,
when your dad asked you what happened, not noticing the pill bottle on the floor.
After three long days, the cops come to take you to a crisis center,
handcuffs on wrists, where scars lay from before. Door opened up, you must enter.
Long ride to think of everything, looking behind you you see your parents car.
Tears run down your face, they're so close, yet so far.
As you pull up to where you'll spend your weak.
You try and talk, but the words are meak.
Your get entered into the system, then you're parents must leave.
The tears come again, but you wipe them with your sleave.
You go to your room, and close the door.
Not wanting nothing more, then someone in your arms, you fall to the floor.
After you wake, your parents are there to visit but it's not expected.
Taking you to a different area, your tears are being collected.
After six days you're ready to go home,
new areas that you're ready to roam.
You run as your dad enters the door,
you run to him and jump to give him a hug almost knocking him to the floor.
You collect your things and say good bye to all the kids there,
never wanting to go back, suicide you'd never dare.
When you get home, you've never felt more joy
Talking to your bestfriend, playing with your favorite toy.
It's so nice to finally be home in your own bed,
Now I realize "I really wanted to be dead"
humble man with traits one cannot fatham,
he walks with his head high,
his legs and back stright and strong,
body with muscles as meak as a millionares pocket,
mind is open but controlled,
assigned with a number as his brothers,
the extent he will go is an infinaite plethera,
for his country without even really wanting to.....
Banker 2010
Ravenous Jul 2012
First page is but the flesh for my thought.
In verse of the forbidden .
Creeps from the depths the nightmare not real so the lamb is taught.

Hello welcome to the tour agony is my name and I'll be your guide.
Certanly you may beg.
She screams but hope is a distant dream so in this void may you confide.

Lets take it to the point were pain is truth  and logic has no chance.
Flesh from bone strip the nerve apon severed legs the
twisted thoughts dance.

**** for fun .
Take time in your craft.
Now your lifeless lips embrace mine may I ask was it good for
you ***?

Reaper of the weak.
Basment  collection  cherish the nightmare and destroy the meak.
I need no introduction for im one of many.
Hail the killing floor.
Burn it down if one is left thats one to many.

The ankle bracelet isnt as sweet as your new toe tag.
Love the scent as wind does give a  hint of decay.
Tricks desserve treats lets see what I have in the bag.


I preffer black in white to the glossy production.
I linger in chaos a nightmare from which none may awake.
A monster truely needs no introduction.
Sydney Victoria Jan 2013
Do I Dare To Breathe? Do I Dare To Speak?
If I Open My Mouth Will It Be Closed?
If Words Decide To Come Will They Be Meak?
You Doubt This "Rough" Life Waiting To Erode

Am I Not Fit To Love? Am I An Error?
All My Questions Are Going Unanswered,
Yet I'm Pretending I Do Not Care,
Life Throws Me Out And Reads Me The Hansard

May I Be Free As The Gull's Lofted Wing?
Am I Not Worthy In Fate's Glassy Eyes?
Songs Play--But Do I Listen To The Strings?
What Am I Missing In Life, I Ask, "Why?"

The Moon Holds Me, A Heart Soft As Cotton,
Stars Smile To Keep From Being Rotton
I Guess This Is Technically Not A Sonnet Because I Feel It Jumps Some Topics--Oh Well I Guess It Can Still Be Called A Sonnet
Vera's quietude was
her highest weapon.
At least she thought
she was living a life.
A stubborn, meak slave
of her suppressed needs.
Sacrificing her dignity,
and denying ignorance;
she drank up wrathed
amaranthine liquid in one
long sip from the exquisite
crystal chalice. Dreaming
about her gentle femininity
to flourish again. For sure
there will rise one special
bright morning for her. She
walked through the effervescent
garden surrounding their vaccation
villa. Love's true reciprocity vaguely
reminisced and echoed within this
little woman's romantic soul. She
became a shadow of her self,
hating the marble empty halls, lonely
pages in vintage volumes at night,
lying crowds, smiling as statues
stare; without emotions, numb
and notably beautiful. People.
Imagined by
Impeccable Space
Poetic Poetess
~~~~~~~~~~
Death-throws Apr 2015
warm heart,
once brave and strong
                      

                                                               ­                   now foreboding and weak

poor brave heart
the heart that once beat so strong



                                                       ­                            now bleats so meak


sorrowful little heart
to small to carry the load on your masters shoulders


                                                     ­                                   now a slave to insanity

irrefutably damaged heart
to weak to continue
to shallow to pump blood
to cold to warm my skin



  *
poor little heart**
                                                           


                                             how long untill you stop beating
Jay Cee Shay Jan 2014
Here I sat on my bed
With a mouth full of empty words and an empty head.
I feel like I just lost a friend
I feel as if nothing matters in the end.

Here I ponder, looking for the things I long for
Unhappy as I seem to be
I don't really know what to hope for
I think Im just sitting here for nothing at all.

Tiring day, yes it is.
Nothing bad has happened yet gone was the ecstacy
I can't force myself to be happy
Or atleast, smile a bit whenever they're staring at me

Here at my blanket contemplating to sleep
Here at my bed looking like a meak
Writing a poem like a real geek
Figuring how to shove away the sadness that creeps

The body got burned out.
The mind got drained.
The soul got thirsty.

I guess I don't know where this is going
I don't have any idea of what I was doing
I'm just sitting here doing nothing
I guess I will be sitting here until morning
Evan Crow Dec 2016
False sense and even more hopless logic.
The meak bleed the dream and the truth exists for the chosen .

Weaknes is a sin and in the darkness he awaits to embrace .
Shunned like you my child why seek exceptance when the cruel torment
And the so called wicked remain silent inspite there action's?

Part of my soul is never anothers to consume i made these steps alone dont give credit to none that have aided your efforts .

Embrace your desires burn in the flames of want and be truthful while others exist within there lies .

The wind holds more truths for it breathes life were hope only lends to help the weak remain.

Never seek acceptance .
The embrace awaits those not blind within heart.

Do not follow and you will never be led astray.
Truth is always the first victim to fear .

Bleed only for your own existance .
I bare no message to the ignorant .
Just a simple slap to the face harder than you may give to me.

Right your own rules before you become a fool for anothers .


Whispers in shadows .
Alexis K Sep 2017
Poetry.
Don't worry if you don't have the time
Because it doesn't need a beat.
It doesn't need a rhythm.
It doesn't even need to rhyme.

                               So if your rap is weak
               Or your voice a little too meak
                                 You could try poetry
                               Come on, take a peek.

Poetry doesn't need story.
No, don't worry, it won't be boring.

                       All you need is a message.
                    Something as simple as "Hi"
                         Or as deep as "Goodbye."

The true beauty of being a poet,
           Is if you know how to to write.
                         Then you already own it.
                              Just take a chance.
                 Look through my eyes.
It's ****** but it's true. Poetry is not just to rhyme things or create a story, but to share your own, share a message and speak to others when maybe speaking itself is just too hard.
Tyrel Kriger Jan 2017
A moment is all it takes for you to
Walk away from it
Looking away, you wander
towards the busy street
Knowingly getting closer
Dismally walking with smile

Blissfully leaving behind that unkown
That burden of duty
That somhow kept it all from turning to ****
Holding it up and all togeather
As the bricks fell on your head
Knowing others walk by
Only from the sound of them spitting
behind your back

You could just walk away
And wander into rest
Half way there for oh so long
The deserts waiting to swallow you in sand
And besides, it could all fall apart anyways.

You want to leave
So you can dry out, and recover
Scorch your skin as you lounge
Lips pealing, eyes rolled back in bliss
On a decreped pool chair
Sunglasses so no one can see

Although eyes are only one of the dead give aways
Of a consciously dead human
Silently inviting others to join in
"I love that person, they're so care free"
Unburdened

only one who walks on shifting sands
And lets them ***** the fire of ones soul knows
what they see when they look inside.

Dust and bone
Insects and parasites wraped up like
cold, injured loved ones
Coddled and well fed on your dwindling substance,
Your time and attention
Your non renewable resources

They become you
Now a part, a collective
Then the desert throws you onto
An open scorched tarmac
No vehicles, no lines, just black, hot and sticky
Full of people pretending they're not thirsty
The myth of water
rattling their dry twine vocal chords
with laughter and belitlment
All crooked looks and beady eyes

They drag their boney blistered feet
Smiles painted on thier suffering faces
By some rogue hand connected only
To a voice they all hear
"keep walking"
"you can't die if your already dead"

Hotter and hotter as the miles drag
Slower and slower nobody collapses
Their skin now gloves for a hand to wear
Alive only inside
some want to turn back
Some want to stop and think
Some want to die
But the hand keeps them moving

You come, bones and skin
Rotten and stinking, finnaly
Alone,
To some shift
The hand leaves you
The sun is blocked by swirling clouds

You walk up to a mirage on the plain
not comprehending
The fog clouds all but this,
odd bouncing of light
You see a slumped figure tattered in rags
Grey and drooping
And you feel him
Staring back hollow
You stand vapidly gapeing
as a rain drop hits you
Looking at where the road stops to meet a..

The fog seeps back conciously
A very clear line on the ground
Where the tarmac stops
and this smooth plain stands
A surface the color of the receding fog
"Lift your gaze'
It says one more time
Strings cut and hand withdrawn you abide
You place your hand on the cool smooth surface
It starts to rain, washing your meak body

Your mind sharp and keen
for the first time since..
You look up
And you see a person
Holding up some structure
He Cannot look up or his strength will fail him
But he must hold this up
Should his attention turn elsewhere
Whatever it is will surely fall
He cant explain this need
This light, this warmth,
somhow sustained by the strain of his muscles and the exercise of his will
Against odds and favor
He is blind because he is focused
He is dumb because he believes
He is weak because he uses his strength only where needed

He cannot see what he is straining to uphold
But now the reflection peers back with such broad scope.
It is a Beacon blazing out
The warmth is here and the water runs ever on
It falls from the sky onto fertile ground
Those who have not rolled Thier eyes,
those with fire and warmth still inside,
Come, and make a world of it.
Come and be awake

It is a mirror
That is you
And that is what you have left
To walk in company
To be empty and smiling
To not care
Now you must suffer
In the knowledge of your new vantage

Your hand is in the mirror
The coldest cold you've ever felt
is pulling you in
All you can do is look into the reflection
or choose to step in
But one way or another, in you shall go
Into the motionless space
Where the rest you left to find waits.
Hooray for insomnia caused by mental trauma. It took me 4 hours to write this I hope somebody reads the whole thing lol.
Alice Baker Dec 2013
Light to the touch, weary and meak
Stumbling over words
That come in heaps rather than syllables.

Bent over and hunched, crumbling
Struggling to breathe in
The air is drenched with regret.
Broken winds,
Sailing through the grass.
Endless it sees all.
Every broken promise,
Every spoken word,
It carries on it's sails.

Taking prisoner all that is meant.
The meak and the unloved,
It wraps around them,
Comforts as no human can.

I sit here,
The wind blowing my hair,
Lonely I listen to the words it speaks,
As it plays through the weeds.
It tells me of the secrets it knows,
Of the great things that it has seen.

I sit and wonder,
If I will ever see them too.
I sit and ponder for my future,
And gently I whisper it my legacy,
To someday come back to me.
Daniel Coleman Mar 2011
Come with me
My child, come and see
the world of glory
I offer thee.
A world of riches and power
An empire in the worlds greatest hour.

Your gestures are grand,
But at what price do you offer?
A reign greater than a king,
But what good can come
From the gift that evils bring?

The man who can do
The greatest evil
Can also do
the greatest good.
When Judas betrayed Jesus,
he did it for God to forgive us.
It was his dive into infamy
That forgave Adam's misery.

You would have me be
Your Judas,
Your ******,
Your Stalin?
I will not be your fallen,
I will not answer your calling.
The good intentions of misguided men
Are the evils that destroy them.

To you, my child
I will not lie.
It is evil that
Brings men together
And only evil
Will unite men forever.
There is an equal evil
To that which you speak.
It is the indifference of men
Who have the ability then
To defend their weak.

It is not my indifference,
That makes your offer bleak
Instead it is my preference
To remain humble and meak.
I'll tell you now,
I'd rather till and plow
To feed the poor.
I'd rather till and plow,
To stay out of lore.
Id rather sweat and bleed
On my own accord,
Than have you as my Lord.
So leave me be,
Your power is not for me.

Oh dear son,
You are a fool,
Since you will not be the one,
I'll find another tool.
I gave you a chance
To be a part of my dance;
Instead you say
You'd rather be
"Humble and meek."
To me, that sounds like
You'd rather be
Unknown and weak.
Oh dear son,
My will WILL be done.
Don't think that you're
More special than any other *****.

Be that as it may,
From my path,
I will not stray.
As I said before,
Your power is not for me.
No, I will not do your chore.
I will not be your man,
I will I will not be ******.
I bequeath you again,
Leave me be.
Fish The Pig May 2014
She breathes fire
from the depths of her soul,
She shouts victory
from lungs black as coal,
Her nostrils flare
and her eyes, a chilling stare.
She breaths fire,
for all those who admire.

She cracks her wings
and snaps her tail
to the awe of kings
always without fail.

her stomach rumbles
low and deep
making theirs
humble and meak.

Her heart burns like embers
her bones like sturdy trees,
a name no one remembers
that once made armies flee

Fire comes out like a spout
from her mouth
from her throat
from her heart and soul,
fire comes out
and without a doubt
fire will take its toll.

She breathes in smoke,
and kindles the flame,
body dragging low
head to the ground
but eyes to the sky,

She breathes fire to the earth,
and lets the ashes fall to heaven.
Lunar Luvnotes Dec 2014
When I feel weak,
when all I want is
your voice on the line,
I pick myself up.
Refusing to be meak,
I roar in my mind's eye,
I know what I hold inside.
As I roll my hips and
rah tah tah,
I am whole, and full..
of love, of brilliance.
Like you told me once,
and I shall never forget,
I am not weak,
I just have moments of weakness.
I am strong,
with untold amounts of gold glitter,
shimmering in my veins.
I am resilient,
Thrive is my middle name.
"Moonchild" series. That's not really my middle name..
Jolene Perron Sep 2010
Here we are,
new year again.
Sitting at a table,
surrounded by friends.

I'm standing in a group,
listening to them speak.
I feel like if I spoke,
my voice would be only meak.

You and me,
we grew apart.
Him over there,
he broke my heart.

I'm trying to work through,
to keep a smile up.
But it's only for so long,
before your heart's had enough.

I make small talk,
hangout with friends.
But it's not too long,
before my conversation ends.

I'm staring at a window,
from the outside in.
I'm speaking, I'm screaming,
but I can not win.

The window pane white,
the glass so thick.
The sorrow around me,
is making me sick.

I'm tapping on the window,
I'm screaming so loud.
At the top of my lungs,
I'm begining to pound.

The outside looking in,
I see what's going on.
The happiness, smiles,
and things that are wrong.

But enough is enough,
I wanna tear it away.
Let's break down this window,
even if it takes days.
Too thin
Too fat
Too caring
Too much hate
Too small
Too tall
Too bright
Too dull
Too smart
Too dumb
Too stupid
Too young
Too new
Too old
Too meak
Too strong

All lies I tell myself everyday
But I know their lies
Then how do I stop a cycle of self hate?
Karl Warren Mar 2015
Lying here in pain, alone.
My mind has gone.
I want to be free,
Do you see a stonger person to be made of me?
There is nothing to gain,
So I'll hide behind the pillow to hide from the pain.
Because there is nothing to say,
I have long lost my way.
I was born meak and so I shall stay.
There is no way out,
From under this pain and doubt,
if I lay here I know,
There is nowhere to go but I will lay here and breathe to the rythem of the falling snow.
For the heart I once had and to the child forever dead,
I wish you eternal joy,
Even if it is just a personal ploy,
Time to get myself up to face another day.
I wrote this when I was really depressed and I felt as if the person I used to be was dying, whether or not this is so remains to be seen.
Fah Jul 2013
strength is found in

places

faces

and it graces

haphazardly the weak

and meak

in their hour of need,

not to be mistaken for greed.
Daisy C Oct 2015
October 8th the worse day.
I'm counting down the minutes.
I'm counting down the hours.
Reminding myself of the worse day of my life.
It's the anniversary.
It's hard to move on and just let go.
People tell me I'm torchuring myself,
when in reality I'm just facing the real world.
Whats happened to me does not define me.
But what I have gone through I know has changed me.
Is that a good thing or a bad thing?
I have all these hopes and dreams.
I'm scared you won't be apart of them.
Or she will **** up.
Or dad will end up going crazy, once more.
All over a date.
A date that'll remain in my life forever.
A date I wish to let go but know I can never,
because I've learned and I've lost. This day is a day where the chapter is new and the print is bold. Not meak.
No more dwelling.
Natasha Meyer Jul 2014
Quietly a whisper in the evening breez
What is this that no one sees?
Could it be your heart is weak
Like a lamb soft and meak.

A cold hard wall You’ve build for yourself
Keeps you save from pain itself
This castle too you’ve build for you
So no one could ever love you true

I roam around the cold stone wall
Trying to find a hidden door
But to my distress there is none at all
What else could I do more?

I turn away not showing the pain
The compassion I have is all in vain
Life was to hard and cruel to you
There is no way you will let me love you true
Carson Campbell Mar 2019
I go through the day,
I go through the motions,
I go though my life,
faking these emotions.

What does it mean,
this world in which we dwell?
Could it be heaven,
could it be hell?

I don't remember
why I'm doing this.
Is there even meaning  
in my meak existance?

Is my fate predestined,
or is someone pulling a string?
Am I mearly human,
or am I realy nothing?

Some day I'll learn
the reason I exist.
Untill then,
I'll decide to be an optimist.
Mary Gay Kearns Apr 2018
Forty years felt this land
Green
But how the  carrions caress
Its shores, pollution stains
In all the halls
Where hang the priveledged
Like bats in the light.
Without vision or right.

With cupped hands the meak
Hold out the remains of the
Saint's words, crying why?
And the challis falls until
Failing retribution they, too,
Break hour for the truth
For carelessness is unbearable
Sorrow.

Love Mary x
Zachery Oct 2018
They say I'm weak
But I'm just not at my peak
I'm small and meak.
But just don't **** with me.
Cause deep inside.
In an interior as poisonous as cyanide
Lurks a demon black and red,
Waiting patiently for you to be dead

— The End —