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L B Jul 2018
The kind of neighborhood
where you can hear someone  
crack a beer
across the street
Behind, in wide open yards
fireworks and laughter light the sky
fireflies take to the under-story
Meanwhile allergy eyes
have turned the stars
to flying saucers

Crickets celebrate
getting lucky
and I am jealous as hell
At 95 degrees
the air is thick
with mosquitos, those little devils
Have found an ear
for their only-known musical composition

“Aggravation in Monotone”
ok okay Jul 2018
The lull of a restless night relieves my senses
It's monotone silence maintains my breath
The cold night breeze enters through an open window
It whispers soft tunes and attempts to put me to sleep
The humming of an exhausted laptop helps me decompress
It distracts me from overthinking and blocks out my stress
As the night goes on it starts to rain
It comforts my senses and cleanses my pain
This time-worn house cracks and creaks
It talks of troubled times and how it came to be
This place I call home proves i’m never alone
And it's always there to support me
3rd poem. Enjoy :)
Toast Ghost Jun 19
Love = addiction.
There is no such thing as real love. If someone says that they love you, they're lying. Please remember that they would always take you for granted, they'd always sacrifice you for someone or something else in just a second.
No one really loves anyone.
This trap that I'm in is eternal torture.
Please God in heaven, end this suffering!
Free me

                           ­      I.



If I could end this all or restart the earth and change just one small action in one small drop of time and death, alter this world that I have been trapped in, maby things wouldn't be like they are now.
Can emotions dissapear?
Can you please stop this fear?
Can heaven hear my tears?
Does love really last for years?
Emotions stay forever.
Even god can't end your fear.
Heaven hates your tears.
Love is fake.
Deal with it.
Welp, I've finally managed to rip my own heart out. If I die this week it's okay, I managed in the same situation, so can you.
sushii Oct 2018
everything was so mundane,
no sound,
no name.

the silence watched over us like a hawk,
resting it’s talons on the trees above.

there was no thud,
no beat,
no reverb.

the machines did not whir,
or click,
or crackle.

the strings never hummed,
the girl never sang,
and the child never played.

neurons following a set circuit,

the sun always set,
yet it had never risen.

hardwired to the equipment,
but the machine never worked,

because the processor was coated in a mundane molasses.

moving through gray honey,
black and white retinas perceive gray things
for our slow-moving hands to paint.

the words were the same,
the day never changed,

it was, and always will be
the same.
Vicki Kralapp Aug 2012
Shimmering light bouncing and playing on liquid beauty.
Undulating blue slips around me like skin.
A pulsing blanket envelopes and surrounds me with brilliance beyond comprehension.
Time is but a memory; this world encompasses all.

Celebrating the palette of color gliding through its hands ,
millions of tiny jewels bob and float as this life takes a breath.
Treasures hide away, unwrapped with a stir,
while teams of blue swarm and dance about in warmth.

Blue green teams with reflected light, glistening as it darts about.
Fans wave to the song of the tide singing with muted tongue.
Surreal and captivating this world of the deep, leaving me wanting more.
Isolated and apart, I return to my monotone world.
All poems are copy written and sole property of Vicki Kralapp.
alexa Aug 2018
i’ve always loved the rain.
but today was different.
today the rain wasn’t hydrating me,
the rain was drowning me.
so hard yet
i couldn’t get up,
just laid there under a smoky sky
a monotone grey
letting the raindrops hit me,
one by one a pinprick
a sting
of the cold water on my bare stomach.
i couldn’t speak, couldn’t move,
couldn’t breathe,
yet at least it reminded me
i am still alive.
can you guess how i’m feeling today??
Morgan Mercury Dec 2013
I do not love the touch of your skin.
It no longer feels like silk.

I don't want to lie to you.
I don't want to hurt you.
But I don't think I can longer love you.

Your voice is monotone.
I can no longer hear the summer warmth in it.

When I'm with you I feel lonely.
I don't want to hold your hand.
I don't want you to see me this way,
so why am I still with you?

I no longer look at you the way you still look at me.
I don't want to break your heart,
but I don't think I can longer love you.

You were once the light in my eyes,
but I always feel a sliver of ice keeping me cold.
You see I found this other
who makes me feel warm
even when I'm frozen to my very core.

You were kind and you are beautiful,
but you deserve someone who will call you lover
and every time greet you with a kiss.
A kiss that'll make your head spin,
but trust me, darling I am not that kiss.
Osiria Melody Aug 10
Our world is full of color
Yet, I'm monotone empty
Emotionally numb and lost
Trapped in my mind that's
been rerouting the labyrinth
of certainty, which yields
more dead-ends than escape
routes; why must agony, an
unremorseful beast taunt me?
Yet, I haven't succumbed to
death, which amazes me

Being emotionally resilient ain't easy, but please remember that you're not weak when you don't feel strong. It's okay to cry.
Anne J Dec 2018
Thy is not blind, thy is full of life
Yet it be thy eyes has lost all soul
Thy colors have fallen and brutally died
There’s no hope, to find them is no more

Black, grey, whenever and wherever you go
Never to reappear in this monochromatic world
All colors have gone as if they vanished into below
Get them quick; they’re in hold!

Children will hear, children will be told
Of the story of no colors around
Only black and white are left, as the rest are mold
Grey in the sky, grey on the ground, colorless all around

Yet, in my hands, in this little polychromatic portfolio
I am still able to see the colors that left so long ago
I made this poem for an English project for the first semester of my freshman year in high school. I can't believe that was 2016, and I'm already about to enter into 2019 as a junior...Time sure flies! I was looking in google drives and suddenly saw this, and I knew right away that I had to upload this.
As you can see, even when I was younger I had depressing ideas for poems ****. Looking over this, it's not only nice to see how much I've improved, but also strange how I typed out gray in the British form (grey) when I'm American lol. I left this poem without any edits to show my work view of mistakes. xD also more lol I rhymed around twice in the third stanza.
Final lol: there was 2 spaces between the 2nd and 3rd stanza instead of one like for the reason of spaces between he four stanzas. I left it there to show how much I've grown lol.
Elena Feb 3
My eyes are slits
As my reflection is not familiar
— with her
But she has my attention
She is smoking from her ears
Her voice trembles
Her lips are thin lines in dry chaps
And her tone is well—
Seriously monotone

Like nails on a chalky stone
It sent violent shivers of discomfort
Up my spine
down again
This body
A zombie

I snapped back to my face of wasted time
She is an escapee from her own death
Her tone crosses me
Like a knife on my bone
In solemn droning
To the girl with bloodshot eyes
Though not from tears
But from bursting inside.
Poetroyalee Dec 2016
Lost in her own reverie, she stared out the window
admiring nature's delivery and
remaining immobile like an alert black widow .
Even the infinitesimal of creations were deeply appreciated.
Unfortunately, her liberation has depreciated .
All forms of colour slowly fade to monochrome.
At first glance , trees and vast greens are luscious.
The sounds and mood of the earth are now monotone .
From the rambunctious days to contentious rules ablaze. 
My sneaking suspicions of a partner has only made me still appreciate monochrome.
For now , that is all I can do as I constantly wonder ..
red Aug 2018
as clear as ice, in night or day
reflecting faintly, a soulful reverie
reminding its presence subtly
dewdrops dripping rhythmically

standing in the way, an invisible wall
trying to reach the distant horizon
of which, birds appear and disappear
like speckles of black in orange canvas

eyes—blank and expressionless
mournfully staring in quietude
of the distant mountains and hills
and clouds floating idly

in monotone silence,
a hand reaches out only to be impeded by a cold caress
Terry O'Leary Oct 2014
The spider Queen, aloofly vain!
She rules a silent ruthless reign,
with black-bead eyes like pearls of rain
that damp the depths of her demesne.
A spider spins, with nimble feet,
a sticky web of grim deceit
that drapes the corners, dark, discreet,
in catacombs of her retreat.

Her jointed legs (in number, eight)
traverse the threads with stilted gait,
but often more she'll lie in wait
within the hub of her estate.

Shy spiders live their lives alone
ensconced within a silky throne;
unless a transient guest comes flown,
their lives bide empty, monotone.
Well, now and then, a sullen breeze
may twitch the toils, begin to tease –
yet nothing's caught and nothing pleas,
so patience's bid  at times like these.

But then again, when stars ignite,
may maunder by a gnat, by night,
be taught a dance, a writhing rite,
within a lace of death, wrapped tight.

Sometimes a spider's in the mood
and waits awhile, whilst being wooed –
and then, to later feed her brood,
the widow slays her mate for food.

In time a spider dies, 'tis true,
bequeathing but a residue
entwined, devoid of retinue,
in fibers decked in silver dew.
One asks "What purpose serves the GNAT –
to feed and make the spider fat?
Well, 'tis perchance just naught but that
within a mindless habitat.
"Yet, what's the aim?” you may inquire,
“at the heart of MAN's desire.
To which goals should WE aspire
reaching high and reaching higher?"

We've, through the ages, left the mire,
trundling wheels and taming fire,
doing deeds that must inspire,
nursing needy, calming crier, …

Such things as these, most may admire:
          - placid dove and war defier
            (some are bolder, some are shyer)
          - patience (mess-up mollifier);

          - humankind (Life's justifier)
          - charity (charmed self-denier)
          - tolerance (proud pacifier )
          - love of Life (folk unifier).

What more could we, as flesh, require?
Needless kneeling neath the spire?
Childish chanting in the choir?
Preaching hell's impending pyre?

No, Death's the only rectifier,
comes the instant we expire,
nothing after, sentience prior.

So, treasure Life and don't deny Her.
"if not the gnat,
the gnat is naught..."

Hmmm... wonder what that means...
red Aug 2018
raindrops slowly streaking sideways
of train cars splashing through wet train tracks
a blanket of black speckled with glimmers
and moonlit water puddles of the bleak winter rain

streetlights glide through in rhythmic monotone
the distant neon lights of the city by the horizon
desolate and hollowed souls no longer going back
during the soulless night of the cold winter rain

of the mourning dusk and gloomy daybreak
final chapters of a favorite book worn down over time
a kaleidoscope of times—old and new—relived
in the back of my mind during the winter rain

bright neon lights, now like stars in the distant sky
from the train running through the winter rain
Madeline Lune Dec 2018
It’s time to run
with our hands folded in each other’s threatening to separate because of the slipperiness caused by the sweat escaping our skin
our decisions are impulsive and exileraging,
how could I ever let you go?
you are the noise of my monotone life, the only pulse that gets my heart beating
I don’t know where we’ll go, but I’ll know it’s right where I’m meant to be.
we shall tell no one where we’re going
what we’re doing
they would never
will never
it is love that has made our vision blurry and our hearts beat faster
a decade separates our age, and for others it’s what should separate us completely
they don’t understand love exists in the darkest, lonliest places
love is *****, beautiful, **** and exciting
our love exists in imagination and hope
is all we have
all we need
so let’s go,
no one can interfere with our fate,
we will run to a small town and change our names
where no one can see us
no one can separate us
they will look for us in every corner that is broken
but what they will find
are two ghosts that have fallen
midnight poems after a cup of coffee and finishing a novel, please excuse my terrible writing I have no friends and so the result is talking to myself in my ****** poems.
MacKenzie Warren Oct 2018
my world hasn't stopped spinning since you left
diagnosed with vertigo
a constant whirl of hazel eyes
a monotone voice on replay
a skipping record in my head
unsure of which direction i'm going
one second i'm next to you in bed
wrapped in white sheets
your breath hot against the back of my neck
and the next
i'm surrounded by darkness
i turn for you and
i sink deeper into this empty bed
love becoming a word covered in dust
i am covered in dust
trapped in the memories of yesterday
trapped in my own head
constantly spinning
Outside Words Nov 2018
I'm onto all this.

My perspective is in alignment
I hear the trees and feel those
Who watch over us and whisper prose
That many fail to notice.

I live in a parallel netherworld
Filled with strange, glorious music
Where time and everything you see
Just ain't what it seems.

It's really very strange
Watching everyone pass by
In slow motion monotone
As I glide through the sky.

I guess enlightenment is for the unenlightened.
© Outside Words
Michael Hole Sep 10
The reason I don't like you,
let me put it into words.
You're a prat, a drain and a hypocrite,
a ****** characterless ****.

You talk,  you talk, you ******* talk
But you never say a thing.
You think that you give speeches
Like Dr. Martin Luther King.

But you don't because your boring,
You bore us all to tears.
Ruining every social event,
by banging on for years.

Bla bla ******* bla bla bla,
your monotone drones on.
You're in love with the sound of your own voice,
while we just want you gone.

So pack your **** up in your soapbox,
And turn your answer machine on.
Then ******* back to snoresville,
or wherever the *******'re from.
Kush Feb 13
Alas, here ends thy monotone passion
and as fiery tongues lash, so you ignite
trembling hands, eyes of crimson fashion
whipping across the land with monstrous might

Let them all clutch silence, gather around
marry their nightmares with its horrid call
for it gleefully saunters, the howling sound
and pounces perfervidly upon their thrall

Pain is as air, light and fleeting
a placid kiss to the farmer's yield
much unlike that whirlwind in one's bones-
that immutable suffering of journeys sealed
Isaac Godfrey Jan 24
The blistering cold freezes the ground we stand upon,
the mud we protect with our lives,
as we stand beside the front line as the monotone winds
pierce soulless faces like knives,
behind the mask, we soldiers are crying,
we fight with our lives because inside we're dying.
The death of myself shan't cause effect, nor stir,
come back a husk of the man you once were,
the slaughter of one is a tragedy, as Stalin said;
but the massacre of millions is just a few more dead.

We spend our last dying moments in a filthy hole,
knowing our efforts had no meaning,
maybe death isn't the absence of life but saying goodbye,
aware of the waste of the bleeding, and screaming,
the bullets that hit us, lose our blood,
but the bullets we send lose our minds,
we sacrifice our forgotten pride for the humility of the state,
the motive long left behind.
You shan't die from the pierce of lead,
for you die the moment you start fighting,
you bleed out and merely become a statistic,
counted with the costs and explosives ignited.
Do we Die the moment we start fighting?
"Every time you drop a bomb, you **** the God your Child has born"
~Serj Tankian, "Boom!"
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