"pertained" poems
In the midst of cotton fields,
the blood stained parched mud.
The footprints deeply imprinted,
did they walk with a future unheard,
A scene from a western entertainment.
The reality however frightened,
with thoughts of ancient past,
and you wonder how and why?!!
Why the instances of violent thrill?
To belittle the powerless under your control.
Why the question of untouchable and discontent?
The question to freedom pertained throughout,
by many great souls over a period of time?
The cheap skill all around,
once and forever for granted,
the then degradation of human mind,
continues to speed up phony mundanity.
In the lost time with unknown souls,
wishing for a priceless touch,
a brush with the everlasting feel,
of forgotten past,to play the note of enrichment,
With a love so pure found in a fantasy.
And there she walks away
with a whipped back into her glorious world reluctantly,
looking for a bright Sunday morning.
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 2:26 AM UTC
I never said forever,
Nor did I think that was the time frame
In which you'd leave my life.
I found losing you is such a shame.
I never said disappear
Completely, dissipate into thin air.
I didn't think you would honestly,
But it was no surprise, rather it was fair.
We suffer consequences from actions
Consistently, all the time,
And I just didn't realize
Losing you would be mine.
I never said that I'd miss you.
I never even really said good bye.
I never said I wish you the best,
I never said I'm sorry for orchestrating lies.
I never said my apologies for
Creating a web of false hope
That trapped you, and now that you're free
I don't really know how to cope.
I never said how much you meant
To me, or how much I really care.
I never said any of it and it'll remain so,
My lungs never made those thoughts into air.
I never said a lot that pertained
To how important you were
And maybe still are. I'm sorry,
Of only that I am sure.
Jun 8, 2013
Jun 8, 2013 at 6:26 PM UTC
In the hearth of all and none,
there stood two-
Who were as one
In the hearth of all and none
There stood two-
who too, where none
Both, like eyes, to a thought not yet thought
The two stood there and were-
And yet at the same time- were not
But one awoke, and in awaking bore thought
And from then on the thought of not,
Was there, and forevermore, all but naught
The other, angered by the thought
Stood and and found his brother awake
And from there the birth of twins
Of blindness and seeing, of knowing and sleeping
He was thought, life, existence and being
He was not, death, nonexistence, nonbeing
And the awoken named himself Palcion, meaning infinite
And from there he ran across the none and brought being
From here to there, he brought what, whos, hows, and wheres
And he named his brother Retisbon, which pertained to limit
And he followed his brother- picking up the things he made and left
All his whats, whos, hows, and wheres- stripping them of being
And then Palcion grew tired, and went to sleep on his brother’s lap,
Retisbon, still awake, guarded his brother in his slumber-
And in his slumber, he stripped all his creations of being
Upon Palcion awakening, Retisbon then grew tired, falling too on his lap
Palcion, then awake, guarded his brother in his slumber-
And in his slumber, he thought to continue to make and make
Retisbon awoke, across his brother now, who then was busy making-
In front of Palcion, all he made, which Retisbon thought of breaking-
He made, he broke- he gave being, and he stripped them of it-
And so the myth of Palcion the Infinite, and Retisbon of the Limits-
Being made into all, and all soon stripped of being- the first of all natures
And from this came time,
And from that came worlds,
And from there all that will ever be in it.
Jul 8, 2021
Jul 8, 2021 at 11:25 PM UTC
I’ve always believed in closure but not when it pertained to you. You were more concerned with the queen of hearts and having the upper hand (rather than holding the right heart in your hands). You always desired to see what was up the other player’s sleeve but never checked your own. Poker face was not a mask but rather a lifestyle— one you played too well and too often for yourself.
There was never a big picture or a great road ahead of you. Only pit stops for the wandering souls. Life became less of the destination and more of the journey (little did you know where you were headed). You grew to care more about instances and examples rather than purpose and decision. You lacked depth and I pitied you for the shallow grave you had begun to dig.
And perhaps during those finite moments of pity, I realized that closure never existed to you. You see, closure meant answers. And answers meant words. And words meant speech. But the only tenant you contained in your vocabulary was silence. Silence was your upper hand while I was just another player in one of your infinite card games.
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 5:27 PM UTC
There was once a boy
A boy that resembled a toy.
A boy who wore oversized shoes,
Baggy pants and unusual spectacles.
A short stub,
That lazed clumsily around the room,
A boy whose appearance was hardly noticeable,
And presence engulfed.
The poor boy was constantly annoyed,
Teased and bothered.
Thrown around the room
Like the rag he seemed to be.
There seemed no escape,
From terrifying bullies,
That roamed around the school,
Waiting patiently to crush him.
The helpless boy waited,
For the Bully to take him,
Grab him by the shoulders,
And smother his dreams in pain.
One day, however, the boy waited.
He waited patiently
For the bullies to take command,
But they never did, they just walked past.
The lonely boy discovered,
That he pertained an unknown power,
One that left him nameless,
And devoid of appearance.
He knew he was not vitreous,
See-through or transparent.
But he could roam through a room,
Unnoticed, overlooked.
He could run through a clear field,
And go unperceived.
He was able to devour a thousand meals,
And never be blamed.
Such abilities brought wonderful joys,
And grand pleasures,
However such leisure brought
Terrible solitude in return.
The assurance of his safety warmed him,
Knowing he’d be free of harm.
But the gawky boy was lonely,
Devoid of company or charm.
He roamed the halls alone,
He sat absently in his desk.
And slowly his loneliness
Began to consume him.
He was overcome
by the colorlessness of his pale skin,
The crookedness of his misshapen brow.
He slowly fainted, into a mirrored glass.
The boy had become,
That he had always been;
Another shadow,
Another gust of wind.
His pale skin disintegrated.
The oversized shoes sank.
His spectacles shattered.
The smirk evanesced.
The boy became,
That which cannot be named.
A light breeze,
A faint whisper.
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 11:16 PM UTC
I sought a healing sanctuary,
just to take a stroll.
And near this berm, I took a turn,
down a grassy knoll.
at its base, inscribed in white
a sign profoundly true.
With one quick read, I saw the creed
Pertained to me and you.
Didactic text from this Buddhist,
The 14th Dali Lama.
When you’re caused harm, don’t be alarmed
Internalize the trauma.
I left a heart-shaped rock as homage
To shed my heart of stone.
And to pay my debt not to forget
Took a picture with my phone.
Now I have this picture always
To begin the hard process
Of letting go, albeit slow
And no longer bear these crosses.
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 2:31 AM UTC
I held onto your nettle rope
that your hands fashioned
then we descended
the watch tower in Leith Hill,
elopimg through the
greensand way
so that we could by pass the silent pool
where no young maiden could
tbe waylaid
by errant Knights again.
By such means compassion blossomed
gallantry pertained to new days
Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 3:12 PM UTC
Questions unanswered ,
Blanks unfilled,
I had many
But somehow,
Society could fill them all.
Who destroyed me ? Why did they?
I never knew
The moments of unfathomable pain, i knew
When they smacked me,
Shredded me,
Devoured me.
But somehow ,
The society knew it all.
Judgemental I call them,
Skeptic the society prevailed.
For them, imbecile
My blanks pertained.
Obvious Consequences
Of hints I gave , they said.
Consequences of attire
And behavioral patterns, they said.
Whoa, Is our society for real?
Only one blank unfilled
For the society remained.
Section 228A was their complaint.
Such narrow-minded hounds, I exclaimed.
Justice tried to fill my blanks.
Could he ? I asked again
Shamefully , he took his eyes off.
Could my blanks ever be filled?
I asked again
Apr 10, 2020
Apr 10, 2020 at 10:21 AM UTC
How can you run when you know?
⁃Neil Young
America,
Our words won’t shake the world enough to grow flowers out of gunpowder, or bright red, blood-curdling screams.
But we can try
These kids were 14 when they closed their eyes for the last time
They were 14 when the stepped out their front doors for the last time,
Their fresh eyes were swallowed out the back of their necks
I look at them the way I look at a blank canvas
Opportunity cascading like waterfalls
I look at them as a museum that was waiting for art
Waiting for love
And America
I am waiting for love
I was 14 and I was stuck in my own head
Trying to find something to belong to but searching in all the wrong places.
I was 14 and I too thought more about ending my own life than I would like to admit
I was 14 and I never watched the news because it never pertained to me
You see,
I was selfish for thinking the news never pertained to me
I was selfish for staying so disengaged, desensitized
America, my home, my nightmare
Wake up
Blame the video games, blame mental illness
But America, look
You’re killing your children
Wake up,
Because I am sick of praying
I am so tired of feeling helpless
Maybe there’s something we can do
Let's make our voices heard
Let's turn our lost blood to ink
And scream to ******** artist himself,
I’m sorry, Mr. President
But, did you get more than you bargained for?
We’ve been patient Mr. President
And we’re ready for your response.
Wake up, Mr. President
How many lives must be lost?
You’re a ******** artist, Mr. President,
But you can’t worm your way out this time
Don’t choke now Mr. President
This problem is kinda huge.
This country is a divided wrist, Mr. President
And your stubborn orange skin makes it seem as if we’re going to lose.
Feb 21, 2018
Feb 21, 2018 at 6:57 PM UTC
It is when I remember your smile
That I remember to smile.
Not smiling outwardly,
But having that hope
Of days brighter,
Now that you have come my way.
I have come a long way from sad
To not-sad, only to be drifted here,
Seeing you,
Once,
And then not having to see you again,
But still end up happy,
And definitely
Wanting to be happier.
It is when your lips part and un-part;
It is when your eyes blink and un-blink,
That a man focuses
And be out-of-focus at the same time.
I have forgotten to pay my fare.
I have forgotten to get your number.
It is when a man writes this thing down
Right away, impulsive.
It is when a poem is not as beautiful
As to whom it is pertained to.
It is when a man writes something down
On a receipt.
I better keep a frown ready,
When I am down,
That I may be reminded
Of that gift you have.
And then I’d smile.
This is when a man makes you matter.
This is when a smile is both inside and out.
This is when you smile me out of lonely.
This is when you smile me in
To the very Word of God.
And now
This one smile
Has two smiles
To smile about.
Now I go,
Straightforward,
Saying:
You had…
…the sweetest smile.
© 2012 J.S.P.
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 10:16 AM UTC
I bleed like I need a transfusion, but blood's the illusion that life lingers on
when all hope of a quick death has gone.
A long time ago when I shone like a star and only entertained life in the death of one more bar in the bottom of a glass,
where E= Mass only pertained to a lass, who picked me up to dust me down,
I realised
that as a man I was a clown drowning in my oceans of failures and friendships unvetted and instantly regretted.
I bleed red, the colour of rage in my blood where the only good vessel I sailed on was in me and sank without trace.
Now I whirr in the midnight, a spinning top that's not quite right.
I break apart every other beat of my heart
to search for the thrill that will **** me
and still bleed like I need a transfusion.
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 7:06 AM UTC
You thought I was your dog,
bound by a leash, but even
though it was tight, I knew,
that time is an eventual release.
Pulling on me, etching of
fingerprints collect on a throat,
A painting of painful worded hued
like the leash was cutting deeper.
But even though I never bit back,
I was blighting that which kept us close.
Every time you pulled that leash,
always a moment further away released.
Your love wasn't what it pertained to be,
I was leached from our first kiss.
But now I bark louder as our vows are
scratched out as I walk out unleashed.
I wear the scars of your keeping,
but I don't hide them, I wear them
in pride of never been restrained by
another's need to control my life again
Mar 23, 2018
Mar 23, 2018 at 9:51 AM UTC
My daughter was shouting on me for a cause
She was correcting my flaw just clause by clause
I was just listening to her interpretation of laws
I thought I was collecting straws in flower vase
The matter pertained to my brother's widow
Who left us on the tricks of her father and family
And initiated a bogus case in the court to flow
To sail in her stream on our cost to be totally free
I was for her being sole inheritor of my brother
As the rules of army are clear and fair on subject
So why to keep her and ourselves on the altar
We should be love sparing not in contempt strict
Then idea got full support from my daughter
That will of God is supreme to take its own path
Hence we should be right not to be defaulter
We should aspire for mercy and not for the wrath
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2017 Golden Glow
Feb 23, 2017
Feb 23, 2017 at 9:26 AM UTC
On the surface of a glossy table,
sits a set of coffee rings.
Faded stains which incorporate
themselves to the table cling.
The brown bean’s bitter bite
Recounts an hour of pure delight.
Through site and mind has the taste transpired
to a longing time of invoking fire,
and shuttered blinds, and abating attire.
A cluttered mind that never tired.
As the grip acquit the coffee cup’s handle,
a stain pertained, on the mantle.
On the surface of a coffee table,
sits a broken glass of wine
Scattered shards across the hearth
now rest among the pine.
As drink dripped down the table leg,
memories clamped like a stubborn peg.
Delicate feelings that once were bottled
now freely flow, like the wine that toppled.
And made a plash upon the floor-
A drunken crash, a heavy pour.
All the wine- now gone to waste,
With no divine aftertaste.
On the surface of a broken table,
sits a series of regrets.
A shattered heart with sunken scars.
A drunken insomniac.
Jul 11, 2020
Jul 11, 2020 at 2:02 PM UTC
Toothpaste residue washes down the drain,
mouthwash follows.
I waste my time cleaning these bones inside my mouth,
to be opalescent with their crooked demeanor.
Wondering what others think of me,
thinking about how today has been endless
and tomorrow will follow suit.
Spending time gazing into the mirror,
trying to change.
& we'd prefer to be found
with alcohol in our blood,
laying somewhere cold in a snowbank.
A bullet inside the glass I'm drinking from,
I bite down as my brain erupts,
splatters the wall.
Ending my ****** writer's block...
the mortician left to inform the world,
of the irony in never including yourself as a character.
Everyone's face is shadowed and misplaced,
like a Picasso painting.
Those faces have haunting features,
an appearance that shouldn't matter,
it's the judgement within those eyes.
Why can't we peel off the skin and lies,
like an age old band aid?
Revealing the shredded bones
beneath the act of aging.
We're all so weak,
with conflicted truths,
signs of emotion are signs of weakness:
Still so many of us fortunate souls are lead to wonder why?
why? why?why?
The desire to be nothing
pertained to me,
trading smeared blue inked letters
written in my woes and goodbyes,
that were premature.
Oh, how the piano with its' keys have broken off,
means the musician lost his will to play,
drowning himself on a west coast beach-
A poet with her repressed memories,
have made themselves a home in her troubled mind.
And we all have;
so many words,
so many truths,
so many secrets,
and these words drown her so.
Oct 13, 2017
Oct 13, 2017 at 7:10 PM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
Give me all the joy in the world so I
Could crush it,
Got a lot of things on my mind but ain't no question,
This certainly isn't a blessing but welcome to
Another session of endless suffering inside
A young boys head that wishes he we're dead in
Spite of everything that has happened in his life
That pertained to worst problems to follow.
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 2:17 PM UTC
Depression falls like rain on the masses,
soaking in the discontent of fallen reflections.
Shattering in the thoughts that whisper
ever more with closed minds.
The flood gates vent a deluge of filth
saturating the skin in delusions of self.
Never again, again never pertained to
this time repeating like a B movie reject.
I look at the world were in now, and I feel
clouds over us, even though the sky has none.
Mar 5, 2017
Mar 5, 2017 at 10:51 AM UTC
The fire is gone but in its place is a pile of embers radiating a passionate heat more intense than the flames that once pertained them.
Apr 22, 2019
Apr 22, 2019 at 4:34 PM UTC