"patern" poems
Amputated from man
Amputated by man
Implanted to the outside of a wall
A foreigner refused entry into the family
The patern is as such: evrey need I fill
Opens up another two in me
One morning I awoke an amputee
And so it continued the whole life through
"How sincerity made a mad man of you"
If I ever face the mirror that's what I would say to thee
But me and my reflection have gone our seperate ways you see
Half a coffin for the amputee
I know they blame me and say how it's all my fault
Just cos I don't have a hatred for others
Which clearly they have got
Selfish to the core...vanity pride and greed..
Trick a poor stranger for an extra penny
Charge an arm and a leg from an amputee
God has unlocked my heart
But not the padlock on his gate
Heaven may be within reach
But hell is on a plait
So shall I DIE now??..is that what it will take ?
To make happy those so called "near to me"
To beautifie the amputee.
Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 4:51 PM UTC
I'm a slave to the words
A marionette in the music
As I'm assuaged I've moved on
Muscle memory's proven
I can pick up the patern
Feel its reverberating sound
Emotions heightnened, rising action
Then I collapse to the ground
I hoped I wouldn't have to
Ever again play my part
But my name's in the playbill
I know the motions by heart
Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 10:40 AM UTC
Thoughs whirl.
They writhe and rest,
float and sink,
shout and whisper,
coalesce
and
dissolve.
The constant and deafening cacophony of thought,
deep and wide and long,
stretches to the horizon and beyond,
Seemingly endless.
I shudder at the thought of thought sometimes,
memories meeting ideas,
but I'm deafened by the constant white noise
of its gently frothing waves.
It's beyond me, as they should be.
This ocean is serene
and the parts indiscernible from the whole.
I can sit at the shore safely if I dont wade in.
I may simply view
whatever might float to the surface.
They lap at the edges of my consciousness,
Tingle against the anterior of my skull,
But,
Thankfully,
Remain incomprehensible in their awful entirety.
It is only when my ocean
of memories and ideas organize that I need be afraid,
for I can comprehend a patern.
It is only when the gentle lapping becomes a treacherous bombora,
crashing against white cliffs,
That I am struck with their crippling ripples of anxiety,
because I begin to understand their enormity.
When
thoughts
writhe,
float,
shout
and coalesce,
They slam into me,
Eroding my delicate posture.
I am
unzipped,
unbuttoned,
unlaced,
in ribbons strewn across the bed.
I become undone,
at my own mercy.
Another one makes it's way yo the surface.
Perhaps this will be a calming memory?
No,
it's my own
grasping
hand.
I grab my ankles as I flee
the oncoming tide,
and drag myself into the depths.
I sink,
clutching myself,
struggling
to escape myself.
I can feel myself begin to weaken and descend,
my cries muffled and my flesh diffusing in my own malefactory clutches as I gnaw at my spine visciously.
I pity me as I mercilessly tear into myself at my own digression.
Battering myself into submission
and eating away at my delicate chassis;
I leave a pitiful puddle to sink into my sheets.
Jun 5, 2019
Jun 5, 2019 at 8:20 AM UTC