"pitifully" poems
you were welcoming,
yet rejection clouded my action.
you were kind,
still fear was on my mind.
you wore a smile,
time never stayed a long while.
you left,
and I never formally introduced myself.
you were light shining so beautifully,
I watched from afar so pitifully.
Now you're gone,
and a friend in you I wished I'd known.
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 10:13 PM UTC
Alas!
They so bittersweetly croon in mine ear,
“Thou art as lovely as that morbid Queen Persephone!”
Have I been such a fool, cruel and extreme?
My hollow footsteps do fall here
Bringing forth wintry winds of death.
Alas!
They so eagerly whisper in thine ear,
“Thy lover art as lovely as that dreadful Queen Persephone!”
Hast thou been such a fool, sightless and mad?
Failed to listen for my light steps,
And forgot to feel winter’s dismal chill.
Alas!
They so desperately murmur in our ear,
“Thy love affair is as fair as that of the wraithlike Hades and Persephone!”
Have we been such fools, violent and severe?
Our footsteps resonate here forevermore,
The Lilies from our garden washed pitifully upon the Plutonian shore.
Apr 24, 2011
Apr 24, 2011 at 10:48 PM UTC
Society is plain
Society is black,
Society is what you forcefully swallow for a midnight snack
Society is blood that drips down your eyes
blinding you, keeping everything in disguise.
Society is a swollen throat trying to breathe.
It imprisons your mind when your mind tries to leave.
Society tells you:
“You can’t.”
“You won’t.”
“You never will.”
Society is the voice in your head
telling you life isn’t a thrill.
it kills, hurts and tries
to feed you lies as you pitifully cry.
Society tells you that smoking the green,
kills more brain cells then staring at the television screen.
Society takes the color out of the sky,
and lights up your twitter.
It is never shy and never ever a quitter.
Society is a spy that no government can catch
because society is the government, waiting with a watchful eye.
Society is also dead trees, wilted leafs
and smoggy factory smoke passing by.
But most importantly society is you
and I.
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 1:21 PM UTC
Destiny! ... Destiny!
"It is a daunting melody."
What an interesting mystery,
Being a light shining on thee.
Destiny! ... Destiny!
"It is a daunting melody."
Said the reaper moaning pitifully.
****** my soul and took the essence from me.
Destiny! ... Destiny!
"It is a daunting melody."
Please be the one to set me free.
I'll be dying for you at the dogwood tree.
Destiny! ... Destiny!
"It is a daunting melody."
Just let me be ... Let me be.
I still have pride and my dignity.
Destiny! ...Destiny!
"It is a daunting melody."
Dear friend, tell me what you clearly see.
Don't leave me alone painfully ending our final love story.
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 11:25 AM UTC
he had a third beer
before the hot platters came
he would have had another, had she not
stared, like she going to ask every question
he did not want to answer…
how did it feel to slap his first wife?
how did it feel to pull the trigger
and mow men down like so many weeds?
those were the questions in her eyes
and had he ever told anyone, what happened that night
when they came upon a village, where the young ones
slept with the dead, their ancestors
only a few feet away, watching, mute,
beyond the paddies where they planted the rice,
the narrow trails where they hunkered and spoke
the ancient tongue, not adulterated by the romance of the French
or the clumsy amalgam of shredded sounds from the new soldiers
the giants who ignored them in the steaming light of day
but came one night, bringing strange smells, oiled steel
muzzles pointed at their faces, shoved into their empty ears
grunting and groaning in an even more grotesque tongue
leaving tears and trembling in their wake,
the torn flesh, the wounded wombs, the silken vessels
meant to be there for the milky planting of tomorrow’s seeds
not the greedy groping of the interloper’s devilish deeds
was she asking about that night, the sounds he recalled
like puppies under heavy foot, or worse, like
the madding moaning of his own sister
when someone ripped her open
not in the distant killing fields
but in the back seat of her car
not two miles from where they sat
where he ordered more beer, and
she asked those questions with her silence,
with her eyes, the questions he would never answer
not after all the beer, in all the free world,
and he was pitifully glad
they served no sushi, in Kiki’s, though
the sharpened knives were there
ready for his confessional
and the raw slaughter of truth
Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 2:43 AM UTC
There is nothing I can give to you that is not past or future.
When my both selves fight, they throw insults at each other like an unhappy couple.
“You are already gone!” the one says,
“You are never here” says the other.
And I sing then. I never let any note slip away into silence. Songs in which I’m a magician,
right before the grand finale,
the last vanishing act.
I close my eyes and slowly slice away layers of skin,
so I can become less and less,
so I can sail away on the river without an end,
it’s flow imposing my soul with the authoritative demand to move forward.
There is no river.
I am pitifully human so there is no alchemy that transforms loss into beauty.
Ihe things I have built, I built myself. Like this house of memories
with it’s sole window. The moon shines through it every night.
What an unperfect image,
what my heart endures everytime I reach out only to feel
solance turning into a hell-flamed sky.
The darkness is gone like I will be gone
like everything has gone forever.
There is also no house.
Only the pale waves of a grey-winter sea,
dualism of being and not-being
a perfect symmetry,
a beautiful fragile balance.
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 5:38 PM UTC
His Spirit in smoke ascended to high heaven.
His father, by the cruelest way of pain,
Had bidden him to his ***** once again;
The awful sin remained still unforgiven.
All night a bright and solitary star
(Perchance the one that ever guided him,
Yet gave him up at last to Fate's wild whim)
Hung pitifully o'er the swinging char.
Day dawned, and soon the mixed crowds came to view
The ghastly body swaying in the sun
The women thronged to look, but never a one
Showed sorrow in her eyes of steely blue;
And little lads, lynchers that were to be,
Danced round the dreadful thing in fiendish glee.
2.4k
I’m the worst **** in the world
No one is worse than me.
For my next bride,
I shall marry the Queen of She
Ba (Academy presents her majesty.
Nominee gushes.
Audience applauds exhaustively.)
She will manhandle me,
Liquor on her breath,
Feathers framing ******
Inflamed blossoms drenching submissions
She told me to delete
The photographs,
Even though there were many
Caught her beauty in amazing graces.
She hated me
For putting up so little struggle,
Obliterating her splendor
Indifferently.
I wanted to prove
Deserving of her love.
she dilly-dallied, distracted.
I cried pitifully, “Where’s my girlfriend?”
Chain of events to nothingness
My desolate existence
One deficit after another
Honed to fragile cutting-edge.
I wanted her to pleasure me
With subtle painful tinge.
She brilliantly found fault
Every conceivable way to blame.
She accused, “you fiddle in noodle factory.”
She was the true artist,
Dissatisfied with the sound
Of my heart beating.
You want to play hardball with the big boys?
You better show up with bulging intelligent creativity.
You complain about
Every infinitesimal gargantuan thing.
Nothing makes you happy.
I will always love you no
Matter how impossible.
Looking back,
You were an impossible chance.
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 10:28 AM UTC
Nancy loved Bobby,
And Bobby loved Stacie,
And Stacie was confused since she loved both simultaneously.
What a strange shape we’ve built.
The angles weren’t adding up,
Bobby’s was way too much,
Since he loved Stacie more than she loved Nancy.
How pitifully confusing.
Lines drawn with guilt.
What is one man to do?
Trapped between two girls,
One who’s confused.
These feelings, so deceiving,
It seems like everyone’s destined to lose.
This obtuse love triangle,
Only spells doom.
Nancy found Bobby making out with Stacie,
And ran off crying in a hurry.
Stacie felt guilty, but Bobby was just too lovely.
The hypotenuse forgot the rules.
Nancy and Stacie both vented their heavy hearts.
They destroyed their friendship, and the words left nasty scars.
All the while, Bobby was standing not too far away.
He found Stacie crying because Nancy had called her a heinous name.
But what’s a girl to do,
When she’s emotionally confused?
On the one hand, she has a guy who’s cute,
On the other, a woman who could heal all her wounds.
These feelings, so fleeting,
It seems like everyone’s destined to lose…
Oh, this obtuse love triangle,
Only spells doom.
In the end, none of them remained friends,
They made a pact to never speak to each other again.
They figured it would be the best thing to do.
Bobby, Nancy, and Stacie,
Feeling so blue and so lonely.
I guess they’re lucky,
That there’s always more fish in the sea.
No use to spend all their love,
On someone who didn’t know what they wanted.
But what were they to do?
In the game of love, they were new.
They thought they knew,
Who their heart belonged to.
Fate demanded to be paid his dues,
It seemed they were destined to lose…
Oh, this obtuse love triangle,
Only spells doom…
Sep 20, 2025
Sep 20, 2025 at 11:17 PM UTC
Once more into my arid days like dew,
Like wind from an oasis, or the sound
Of cold sweet water bubbling underground,
A treacherous messenger, the thought of you
Comes to destroy me; once more I renew
Firm faith in your abundance, whom I found
Long since to be but just one other mound
Of sand, whereon no green thing ever grew.
And once again, and wiser in no wise,
I chase your colored phantom on the air,
And sob and curse and fall and weep and rise
And stumble pitifully on to where,
Miserable and lost, with stinging eyes,
Once more I clasp,—and there is nothing there.
1.9k
There was once a fox, a fox whose name had gone unknown, but nevertheless was in truth all on its own.
With a pelt of fire and auburn, and eyes deep and serious, it was no doubt why so many considered the fox "mysterious".
Yet, this tale is different, and I will tell you why, this fox was not like the rest, he sought to be like the wolves- twas' no lie.
He envied their beauty, their ability and strength, in fact his admiration went on to a fractured great length.
He would try to howl and change his stature- hell even his look, it was a matter of great indifference, but try as he might- no matter how long it took.
In time, after so much effort he took to the wolf, they welcomed him and never knew his story, pride and arrogance he was engulfed.
He followed and lived as one for the while he was deceived, but after all the time had past, disgust and mockery from all other animals was what he received.
It was only when the wolves outwitted him and made him a fool, that they chased him and slandered him, oh, the treatment had been cruel.
Now the fox understood why animals each held their own class and identity, when he realized then why he was meant to be.
A fox he was and would always stay, to the start of his life to the finish of his decay. Yet, he was reminded of why foxes were special, it was because they were no one else; it was stupid to compare, whether it be lion or mouse. He saw beauty in an idol of its own, he became so mesmerized and driven, that even his heart he disowned. He saw no beauty in himself, when really all others did, that now his respect and dignity was so pitifully dead.
Though he admired the wolves and tried to seek them without end, let it be known fame and popularity is a horrid trend. So there are others greater and have more to do, but have you ever considered they may wish to be you?
Like the fox who wanted to be a wolf, but in time fell too much in greed, be careful of the lies you choose to follow and take heed! Because not every beautiful face is as kind and free, be happy you are You and can declare "I am me."
❥
Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 11:11 PM UTC
A storm is raging on the frothy sea
Mountainous waves toss the vessel all around
The ravaging gales impale with a deafening blow
Raucous sheets of salty spray
soak and pelter to and fro
A bucket bails the raged sloop
She moans and groans as she’s flung about
A sailor sails ― A sailor endlessly bails
Engulfed alone in the perfect storm
Two oars are manned on the stormy seas
The halyard torn and ripped from mast
To row and bail is an impossible feat
It’s hard to tell when you've sprung a fateful leak
The captain mans the forlorn skiff
There'll be No white flag of surrender flown ;
" I will go down with my ship! "
A furious soul laments life’s toil
As violent waves crash the gunnels hold
He screamed out loud,
***" My time has come ! "
" My ship is sinking!!! "
" Her broken pieces ne'er to be found ..."***
The rampart boat, well fortified yet built to fail
Plummets from hills of oceans pitifully tall
Cracks are leaking where the lurid light gets in
But so does the briny water, will drowning soon begin?
Lost hope floats the helpless, fearless one man crew
His soul now guides the ether voyage ―
A vessel drifts lifeless on the empty calming sea
Nothing but it can be seen for miles of skies
The free board is deep the salty water high
Two apathetic oars lay silent, is a lost soul inside?
© Harlon Rivers
May 20, 2017
May 20, 2017 at 1:15 PM UTC
It's cold and it's empty, this
hollowed out feeling of pleasure...
I focus on the rush of desire -
desire for the sensations alone...
The sweet friction in my center,
the pounding force of what is
you, merely a tool for my cravings'
fulfillment; an object for nothing
but my physical satisfaction;
a satiating of my burning lust...
You're worthless to me outside
this externally needful task...
Not my heart, neither my soul,
have even the smallest holding
pocket, cradling some sort
of love or care for you...
Tell me, please, why we do
this to ourselves, over and
over, again and again...?
Are we honestly contented by
the passionless movements of
our graceless pieces and parts?
Is this animalistic ritual
the solution for what we so
desperately search for; that for
which we agonizingly struggle,
crawling down confused, tangled
paths, looking without knowing
exactly what we seek,
despairing, sickly, exhausted, and
so pathetic; so pitifully weak??
Are we satisfied with *******
Just ******* could that be
the answer to the question
that, from existence becoming,
the human being has been,
from the depths of the soul,
constantly, repetitively screaming?
I cannot bring myself to
believe such a notion could hold
a sand grain's worth of truth, but
you seem to have accepted
this joyless, hope-crushing idea,
and as for myself, I know
I'll only continue ignoring that
which my heart keeps urgently
speaking with a driving,
whispering voice, from my
inner-most recesses, and
continue on with the oblivious
dance of this pretending; this
charades game all the world
eagerly strives to play...
I will bottle the juices of
my self-deceiving, self-depriving
fruits, borne of my guilt, my
denial birthed shame...
Yes, of course! I'm absolutely
satisfied with the act of
mere ******* Feelings of
wholeness sweep and flutter,
butterflying the insides
of my body's unseen puzzle pieces,
and I'm simply overflowing
with this ever so peaceful calm...
Lies, fiction, deception, robed
by willfully grasped ignorance,
keeps us marching, two-by-two,
silently miserable husks, just
living until it's time to lay
in another void-like place, this
one our grave, lonely and cold...
And now it doesn't seem like
there's anything left, for
any one of us, to say...
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 7:52 AM UTC
My stomach cries to me, begs pitifully
gurgling like a drowning old crone
I don't give a ****
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 5:12 AM UTC
Where is the terror please in a blameless mind
Show me the pain and fears in a brimful loving heart
Find me the nightmares 'n demons in blessed slumber
Wish me the tears in pious gratitudes real and plenty
Produce a charge sheet of dark deeds and secrets hidden
Bring witnesses of a stained criminal past and stolen items
Front me a past lover with tales of **** or ****** misdeeds
Show me anybody truly implicating me in any foul deeds
Ask my betrothed of ever knowing me drunk and disabled
Dig out any associations of me with friends of ill-repute
Point a day I conducted myself disgracefully 'n disrespectfully
Stand out a neighbour I went begging and borrowing from
Twirling taunting is nowt but delusions of ****** fantasists
Nothing to do with one devoid of fears and guilt of the neurotics
Show us the happy contented one who gives time to mudslinging
Even the most basic of intelligence tells us this is an impossibility
There are nasties out there kicking a poor policewoman in the head
There are repugnant foreign Taxi-drivers prostituting teen girls about
There are hate filled Terrorist willing to **** innocents unflinching
While our deranged think school playground antics is all they're worth
These are the ones that salivate in front of computer screens
Unwashed Keyboard cowards parading malfunctioning brains
Attention and ambition lacking deficits sad subhumans waiting to be fed
How can wasted western fodders impact on my consciousness or even my subconscious
Those by their evident actions already show they lack rationality, intelligence or understanding
Inadequates whose only recourse is to showcase their inferiority in pained envy and jealousy by trying to bully
Insignificant runts who can't better themselves despite opportunities abound
Dr Livingstone come see what your children from your Great Empire has become
You told our forefathers you came from the very cradle of Civilisation
A land of freedom and great knowledge
How come now your childrens are pathetic ignorant irrational insecure deluded cowards
What to do with morons other than to pitifully toss them a morsel of our talents once a while and laugh as they feed hungrily
You gotta laugh!
Nov 24, 2018
Nov 24, 2018 at 10:36 PM UTC
Twas a ghost who wandered along the seaside
And each day she cried
With the rising of the tides.
A fitting metaphor
For her sorrows along the shore
Where she jumped to her death,
And exhaled her last breath.
She suffered alone in misery.
Drowning oh so pitifully,
Figuratively and literally.
She wasn't long for this world.
Even as a little girl,
She'd make herself hurl
And blame the Earth's twirl.
Her darkness wouldn't leave
So oh how she grieved
Over the reality she perceived,
Which was brighter than it seemed.
Her story haunted me
And her memory taunted me.
So I sought out the ghost
Who wanders along the coast.
I found her near the rocky cliffside
Where her physical being died.
With gray clouds in the sky
And sorrow within her eyes.
I had to ask her why,
Why'd she leave me behind?
In a world so bitter and unkind?
She kissed me on the cheek
Said, "Sorry lover of mine.
I did not belong to you,
Nor this time.
Instead I will wander for eternity,
Eternally a possession of the sea."
May 25, 2017
May 25, 2017 at 12:24 AM UTC
palms are masks
that cover nothing
fingers, frustrated fishermen
combing dark waters, searching
for the uninhabited isle.
the tree stump pitifully trying
to grow,
melody of the typewriter,
the letter opener's song,
withered daisy in a plastic display,
hidden bookworm art
carved into dusty paperbacks,
overgrown, abandoned houses:
sleeping animal,
dormant jungle.
wet asphalt puddles of fallen sky
dead butterfly
blind blue eyes;
tragic, difficult, poetic
you are
poetically
(unplayed piano furniture)
useless.
Jun 19, 2012
Jun 19, 2012 at 9:57 AM UTC
When I was a child I would wake in the summer to the songs of lions,
calling hotly for meat, blood, bone to fill their bellies.
How many little girls can say when they opened their eyes every morning the world reminded them:
"Take all from what you are given. Tear it apart in your teeth, your hands, your mouth and take nourishment from it.
"Eat. Live."
This morning my lions are
two black cats that weave pitifully between my bare feet
squeaking their discontent into a florescent sun.
I cannot even hear the sparrows.
Aug 17, 2010
Aug 17, 2010 at 11:53 PM UTC
The little buds
Soon to wither
Not wanting to die pitifully
On such a sunny day
Under the scorching heat
Prayed for some rain
And it began to rain
With the still bright day
Painted a beautiful picture
Drizzles tickled each of the bud
Teased to flaunt their beauty
It rained gently
Enough to water the land
Make the flowers bloom
To a magnanimous sight
Thought it was just a soft pour
For a brief moment
Of joy...
Of fulfillment...
So they prayed for the rain
To stay for a while more
And so the rain did stay
But then never leave
For a long time
Just like of a storm
Each of its drop
Now hurts the flowers
Heavy fall tears them apart
Every time the rain
Touches the land
Flowers got more drenched
Soon they will drown
And get washed away
Yet they smile
One by one
As they face their end
They glint a smile
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 3:23 PM UTC
I’m making love to you
As the candle light dances like a elegant ballerina
The sweetness of your body makes me tremble
As my feeble fingers touch your love
Like an angel spreading its wings
Your smell is sweet and warm
Skin so fragile and pitifully white
I will come for you tonight
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 2:43 PM UTC
And I still love him.
After all this time.
My heart still longs for him the way the ocean yearns for the shore.
Relentlessly, hopelessly, pitifully.
No matter how many times the ocean draws away,
it always finds itself crashing back into the arms of the cold, unstable shore.
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 2:50 PM UTC
She sits on the cold tile floor
Her life flashes before her eyes
4 am regrets.
The lack of sleep is just getting to her.
The shadows loom over the curtains
The pictures of her past start collapsing on the floor
Her head hits the back of the wooden bed panel
Could you wish for anything more unhanded?
The music from the neighbors flat echoes into the night
The barely visible drawings on the wall sneer at her
Its past her bedtime.
Who are you waiting up for anymore?
The ringing in her ears grow louder
The hours pass by slipping through the cracks of the drain.
Who are you crying to anymore?
There is no one to confess to.
The mirror overshadows the bed like church pews at midnight
She tells her that she never loved her.
She disappeared into the clouds that loom over the moon.
Her watch tells her to sleep.
She sighs and climbs back into bed
She remembers that she never loved her.
She remembers the scars that trail along her back.
Her life cannot help but flash before her eyes.
The ceiling morphs and twists
Her eyes flutter shut as her mind plays its tricks
She caresses the scars that itch at the roots of her hair.
Maybe its better this way for everyone.
She can no longer hear the heart beating slowly in the closet
Her mother told her that she is worthless
She begs for the sleep to take her.
Before her mind starts wandering to that point.
The darkness feels cool against her skin
The crooked mattress settling in its place
She sleeps on her side to avoid the bedroom mirror
The world grows still around her as it walks
on ********* eggshells.
The dawn permeates through the broken window sill
She never was a heavy sleeper.
She went missing out of nowhere
The ringing of her phone echoed in her ears
like Sunday bells.
And there was no more trace of the former shadows that pitifully gazed at her in the corners of her room.
-Kore
Mar 5, 2021
Mar 5, 2021 at 4:07 PM UTC
a refugee from wealth,
he and his Dartmouth degree found the spot
farthest from his New England roots, and the first roots
he saw there were those of a banyan tree, giant gray tentacles
piercing the Asian earth, imploring the black soil
for atonement, he thought
the natives said the tree was older than God
immortal, but cursed with some blight that bedeviled them
and that prudent pruning of ailing arms would be wise
the man had only a Swiss Army knife
with its minuscule saw, but soon he set about the task
of trimming the behemoth, one mad millimeter at a time,
and mad was all the natives saw
this white creature, high in the canopy,
often from dawn until the sun sank in the jungle behind him
sawing away, a half branch a day, treating the gargantuan arboreal
like a prize bonsai
villagers would come, hunker, watch in the shade of the tree
once in a great while, they would see a branch crash on the ground,
at which time they cheered the pitifully patient woodsman
many offered to help, some leaving bow saws,
axes at the banyans' base, but he would have none of that
over and over he received new red knives with their tiny saws
these parcels the only mail he got
even during monsoon rains,
the man's labors did not desist
though his audience waned
appearing to defy physics' uncertain laws
the tree was nearly felled, but the man disappeared
before his colossal task was done, the locals claiming he climbed
into the thinned canopy one day and never came down
not even a well worn blade was found
allowing the witnesses to aver he was yet high in the heavens
resting after love's labor had wearied his hands
but perchance healed his heart
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 2:46 PM UTC
ANGUISH,
a wicked, deafening drum
synced with the brutal,
monotonously thudding rhythm
of my own jaded,
bitter heart's sickly beat
each throb of my
pulse rips savagely
at my seams
the wretched sobbing
of a crumbling soul
trickles and weeps out from me
and darkly cloaked
within the furthest reaches
of my disassembling being
secrets spun into silky
spider web strands
ensnare any shreds of light
holding truth and hopes
captive until they can be
drained to lifeless husks
****** to infinite suffocation
struggling with an unconquerable battle
a war, the likes of which
no human has ever,
even just once,
managed to have won
there's no cure,
no remedy to mend
what's broken, breaking,
shattering all around
I'M CRYING and begging at
an unseen God to come
come to my rescue
pleading for an intangible,
omniescent being to
destroy the tower built by
my own sinful nature
my own deceit
praying to a Creator
whose very existence I
still can't help but to
question and sink in doubts
but for that miniscule chance
He's real and might
maybe help me...
because the very reality
of such mercy and grace
could bring this
otherwise undefeatable
curse crashing down,
down, down, down...
THE DRUMMING,
banging out its mad rhythm
of anguish
changing, changing now
changing its infuriating tune...
with the final
dying grains of
my imagination,
I'll shove aside my
terror; my unholy fear
of the relentless
force of disappointment
I'll indubitably feel when
I reach my finishing line
clutching onto a
hideous fail
such an asinine act,
this allowing of a bitsy
fragment of hope
to creep and crawl
inside the walls
of my mind
but I've nothing more
left beyond this
bleak black floor
sagging beneath my feet
and a hope,
regardless how quiet,
no matter how
pitifully dim,
could quite easily be
the absolute final
spark of light that
my eyes shall ever see...
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 3:53 PM UTC