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The man in the middle quietly weeps as the deafening crescendo grows on…

Hoping by chance he’ll soon join the dance but knowing deep down, somehow, he is wrong?

The people who lead have more than they need insisting on evermore -till it’s gone.

And at the end of the day they’ll cry merrily and ***;

“What happened t’was a wonderful song?”
In all ancient Greek and Roman cities there was an altar in the center named, "Pity," where food, clothes and wears were left for those who had nothing.
Miko May 2013
Handheld
and brain dead
looking for a job
written up on side speak
mouths pursed
poised to ****
remember their last sentence
lingering
judgements held high in the air
hanging more years to a life
keen on redemption
enclosed in a
wall space
that is producing the paralyzed
as pockets burst
with the reward
of amounts that would make you sick to your stomach
and
a familiar breath is all you need
You know, when you're homeless and all that
sara May 2014
you** are the sovereign tide
i- the feeble yacht you consume
i contort and conform to abide
by the rules from which you are excused

i am the pathetic attempt
the sun makes to escape from the clouds
whilst you are its radiant rays
that no darkness could ever beat down

i am the dust of the earth
and you are the Northern Lights
whilst I dwell on my lack of worth
you climb to unprecedented heights
feelin' kinda ******
Jo Barber Jul 2018
If the work breaks your back,
then laying down shall be all the sweeter.
And if the noise deafens your ears,
then listen for what cannot be said.
If your skin grows raw from the sun,
make all your touches light and gentle.
If the food tastes of filth,
find joy instead in the fullness of your belly.
If the air is polluted with cigarettes and gas,
plant a flower to fill your nose with sweetness.

If you find yourself alone,
just focus on finding yourself first.
If you are unable to live for yourself,
live for others.
Holly M Aug 2017
always the bridesmaid, never the bride
you have no idea how many times i cried
asking, "why me? why not me?"

well, for starters
i always oversleep
my eating habits are on repeat
i've worn the same clothes, same filth
for three days this week
i don't make an effort because i'm not going out
but no one asks me out because i don't make an effort
i write love poems i never send
i creepily covet people i consider friends
while my heart is stuck on the same old trend

hearts
yours and mine
your heart
pure and prone to breaking bones
my heart
crippled and casually crashing cars
the destruction duo
probably foreshadowing if i'm honest

i never get any rest
purple hues rise to the surface
furthermore, my life lacks any zest
and to top it all off
no matter how hard i've tried
i know i'll probably never be satisfied
so yeah
maybe that is why
Annie Oct 2017
You want a pity party but you're the one that slept with my best friend,
you did it again when you thought
might heart had mend
You gave your apologies
but not loud enough for me to comprehend
"I'm sorry." That singular phrase. I hate it, it makes me feel weak.
No one ever means it. They should give up and just not speak.
It's a habit of mine to say sorry for something I'm not sorry for.
I'm not sorry, not one bit. I hate that it is part of me, it's an eyesore.
Please stop my pity parties. I can't contain them, please help me.
I'm sorry I'm like this. I'm sorry I'm the one making an apology.
I can't stop saying sorry. It's an essential part of my internal code.
It seems that I'm sorry is the only phrase my brain wants to upload.
I'm incredibly sorry and I don't really know why?
Maybe I'm apologizing for something useless that I identify?
I have many questions for my sorry brain, why am I sorry? What for?
I see this as a negative quality that no one will ever adore.
I keep saying sorry, I don't know how to stop it, please help me
I can't stop, help me get rid of this depressing and pitiful apology
I hate myself for feeling this weak, I'm definitely not strong
I hate that my feeling of strength always feels wrong.
I can't stand this feeling of being unwanted wherever I go
My tears say I'm sorry and they fall like glistening snow
I'm sorry that each time I say it, I start crying uncontrollably
I'm sorry that you can't really help me, it will go on inconsolably.
I will always be sorry, there's no changing that fact
I always apologize to people only when I'm feeling attacked
You can't help me in any way possible, I'm forever broken
No one can hear me scream because I will always be outspoken.
I'm an extremely apologetic person, so this poem portrays what I think each time I say that I'm sorry.
Marla Apr 13
**** you all to hell and its fiery blaze
                              
                                  Blessed be thy name upon our earth,

cursed one left to roam with a heart of hurt,

                                  your demise shall be well met with haste,

**** me now and hope to end my days.

                                  save yourself and stay interred.
Tacopie5244 Feb 26
because your broken shards
only hurt everyone else
and sooner or later
theyre going to grow tired
of trying to piece you back together
Bryce Jun 2018
Hello Chicago
Flat carpet-town of corn meal
steel spears at the northern junction
of Cahokia and some unknown dream

No lillies grow here sir,
no tulip fields
though there are many Dutch
a little up north
Wisconsin, dontcha' know?

Family blood rains through the Chicago river
named of the blood of a slain tribal wonder
wanders
with the roaming buffalo

I sat at the top of Sears
(Willis)
Tower and peered into the foggy distance
and made out the shores of Michigan
through Indiana
the leftover rains of a continental freeze
churned the earth to butter and carved the arteries
and bowels
of today's earthly body

And when we drove in from O'Hare
in the late hours on incessant stoplight highways
counting down the streets
thinking maybe they'll go all the way to
Mississippi
just a long row of
Concrete

I saw the brick tower
of a decrepit Frito-lay plant
where they cooked their corn and potato
into succulent
can't eat just one
little snacks

for the whole of america
to enjoy in backyard barbecues
and convenience stores
and grocery outlets
All across the planet

Now with the trucks they come and go
up to and whizzing past Chicago
on to greener states with greater relief
with hills and lakes and winding streams

Different sections of the sculpture
Cities eroding into the pleasant coasts
quaking and breaking into tiny stones
a monumental David
cracked in the gallery
bird **** corroding the silicates
unpolished and immortal
words

Chicago!
oh you mighty city you
built from sod and sweat and dew
of new morning
I see your towers
you dreamer, you
But your towers are in Dubai,
and Shanghai
now

The world moved on
and forgot everything about
that magnificent mile
burned to make you earn
new toys and fancy things
from far beyond your winding river streams

But you didn't die
amazing, how much they tried
to rust you out
to bleed you dry

no,
Chicago,
you keep your ***** rivers flowing
all the way to the Mississippi
flanked by modern Roman concrete
all the way to the great green sea
out into the puddle that surronds
the Amerigo

Chicago
don't you give up that river dream
Asia Mar 13
Madness was his master
Regret a foreign name
He shone in depths of anger
and cursed in reefs of shame

Beware his twisted gestures
The smiles that leave one burnt
Behold the streets he walks down
Shadowed alleys of broken trust

Soon will he return home-bound,
Once bound to a home he is
He will not wait for guidance,
That which veers him from sweet bliss

Along a crooked path he wanders
With no destined place to reach
He will stop, pray by the alter
Where faith did once give speech

Give pity to those in bedlam,
The ones who live to die
May all their souls find comfort
Within the ground they lie

Be there no pity for the forsaken,
For the man who seeks no home
Let his reckless soul be fractured
By viscous morals set in stone
Wrote this when I was feeling more like an outsider than usual. The typical sad story of a person who doesn't feel like they belong to any specific place, whether it was where they were born or where they happen to live. The Nomads, forever wandering.
Hope you enjoy <3
Sam Fickling Dec 2018
Art
Art keeps us
Silent,
keeps us New:

a rich wall
in every room
that exists
for one's pleasure/
one's pain

The Artist
can pity

they know
you're not them.
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