"posess" poems
My generations at a hold up
Force fed lies by society
We're never gonna grow up
Preoccupied with what we need
We subconsciously become devoured by greed
Insecurity is at the bottom of consumption
"You need ____ to succeed"
We're the last of a dying breed
Materialistic makeup
Our genetics have mutated
We're no longer able to wake up
From the nightmare we've created
Identification has taken a new definition
You are what you posess
Unaware the latest trend is only repetition
Sheltered by our ignorant need
Progress is our main goal
Yet we're unsure of how to proceed
So instead we proclaim our need for change
While spending the last of our common sense
On a fee to enter this stage
Which acts as our cage
Locking us into society's game
It's the final act
Our last chance to fame
Apr 19, 2011
Apr 19, 2011 at 9:53 PM UTC
They follow you inside
Searching for a favour
You offer, mindlessly
They accept, gratefully
You hand it over and
They posess great thanks
To the extent of expressing
Their words in a poem
They produce a journal
Which prods you to smile
You took them for an artist
But never for a poet
Your face lights up
As they tell you more
Life touches you like that
Until next drunken time
Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 9:24 AM UTC
The night before I killed myself I tried to sleep but couldn't. The mantle clock sounded second ticks long-handed. Loud, long ticks.
I climbed up on the roof. Sat on shingles layered in leaves I'd promised but never got around to blowing off. The neighbor's cat stared at me across the way. A look as empty and weightless as I felt. She meowed one plangent note before she left me there.
Dark mistletoe hung unused from lintels long ago. You and I we stood there not sure of what to do.
The night before I killed myself I built a fire. Fed it the notes you wrote.
Declerations of love turned to ash without protest. Your pleas were next, their ashes floating up in black and white.
Columns of supplication falling cold and grey.
You never want to see me again; I saved that one for last, just as you did.
The night before I killed myself I searched my contacts. Only a few remained and still it felt crowded, filled with intimate strangers who'd stopped calling long ago. I tried to count the people who might care, but I came up empty handed.
The night before I killed myself the moonlight spilled on lawns manicured through quiet dedication only suburbs can posess. I enjoyed it once. Now the silent solitude I sought ran screaming, chased by racing thoughts and guilt I could no longer place.
That night I tried to tell myself to live, while the last lights flickered in my eyes. Ash is what's left when the fire dies.
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 9:27 PM UTC
Should have seen the signs
Didn't posess the ability to read
between the lines.
You shrunk inside yourself and
forgot to ask for help.
Now the fault is mine
I must watch you waste and pine
and promise myself that I will never again
fail to see the signs.
Dec 26, 2011
Dec 26, 2011 at 2:24 PM UTC
My generation is swarming
With new kinds of witches.
Some will be obvious,
Lurking and spitting, throwing
Daggers from the corners of every room.
But on occasion, one will be covert,
With sweet dresses and
Beautiful hair cascading down her shoulders.
Greeting those around her
With a charming smile and wide, bright eyes.
But she weaves a web of deciet and triffling words,
And as she speaks, she clouds your mind, speaking
In foreign tongues which are not
Of this true world, until you
Are caught unaware, for her spell has been cast.
You blink, confused, and look down at your hands,
Trying to ignore the impending sensation of insects
Creeping up your arms
Until you realize.
You realize that her spells are not those of darkness and horror,
They do not come in forms such as toads, dark clouds, or anguish.
Her power, her only power
Is that of one way time travel.
And when she casts her spell, her words take you back
To when you were simple, childish,
12 years of age.
Her words come out in flames,
Painful, cruel flames that scortch your heart,
You fight back, begging her to stop
And realize the pain she is inflicting,
Until you suddenly notice that the words are meaningless.
Words, painful words,
But from a child's mouth.
And you stare at her in horror when your past self
Flees your being while her's remains.
Her words, still shooting from her mouth, now
Small, plastic bullets from
A child's gun.
They sting your skin, but no longer scortch your heart.
She then flies away, charming smile back in place,
Leaving you swaying in utter shock, praying
That her next victim will posess your same
Awareness, and sense the truth behind the flames.
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 12:16 AM UTC
your tunic pupils
extractions from the sky
encircle all that which lays in your deepest masculine eyelashes
Im enthralled with your profile
meager looks of
hearts dispelled
onto something greater than life in its most simplest form
you represent everything natural
extracted from the very womb of earth
I am lost in my own thoughts
of my responsibilites
as a woman of culture and as an artist
will I forgive myself
for touching your wounds
maybe not
your judgment passes me
as a frail child looks upon his guardian
no I am not that
I cant be
yes
yes
I need these little things that make us move
with what you say
love
love
I do agree
I nod my head in acceptence
awfully
to these things I can never posess
I will speak to you in these matters harshly
you see
sometimes I come off as too intense
too ******
at times I will make you forget
that I contain any kind of beauty
I have a holocaust in my heart
somewhere in its driven corners
and a black plague forfiting casting spells
to hearts somewhere in my eyes
I have sold many goodbyes
ignored many whys
and kept many standbys
black I watched these skies
turn
red I watched these thighs
burn
and just as quickly turn
pale
with an execution that very well
lasts a year sometimes
I want to be yours
but the sun and the moon
cannot live side by side
and neither could our two seperate cores
the ****** and the sores
sleeping somewhere under the beds of these bookstores
you see
I want to be yours
but Im afraid I have been burnt single
due to my wars
Nov 30, 2010
Nov 30, 2010 at 8:08 PM UTC
I think it really comes down to what you expect of someone.
That you want all these needs filled from artificial people who have never seen the checklist of your heart.
People that want nothing more to see a smile on your face.
A smile they can't purchase because they don't posess the currency.
I am my own country. I govern my laws. I am the one to control the happiness between my borders.
I shall not be dependent upon another being.
I shall only be held up by the same expectations that has kept this country strong and bold over past decades.
I will stand my fortitude.
Proud.
Allowing visitors all the while.
I will never turn down a caring heart.
Although I will turn down yours.
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 12:09 PM UTC
i am the start of wrath
because of me we hate
i am who push you to hate
because of me you won't agree
i am the profession of envy
people will want what fortune you have
but will have the misfurtone they had
we envy because of me
beause of me sloth was born
for i know i have rights that i dont work
not because you toled me
but because i told myself
lust is committed through me
being told about my hunger for flesh
being doubt of what passion i can give
lust will live by flesh and ******
i am the outcome of greed
because i compete with my riches
i hunger for more riches in the world
because of what power i can posess through it
i am the out put of gluttony
because of me you are envy, and hate
because of them you eat
food is wasted but hunger is not satisfied
i am the start of all as you may know
i am pride the person dignity
step on me and war shall begun
war will begin because i envy you
i envy you because i am greedy
i greed not just for money, power, but also lust
lust shall provide me the flesh
gluttony shall provide my undying hunger
after everything i shall rest like the sloth
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 12:25 AM UTC
I like Stephen King
Not for his plot twists of horror
But for how he notices the very real
Human tics
And ideosyncrasies that every posess
Making us unique
Just like everyone else
He would notice
Let's say, something like;
The bored housewife
Sitting at her kitchen table
Drinking coffee with one hand
And hitting on a joint with the other
Like she's reciting rosary
To E.L.O.'s "Bruce, don't bring me down, Bruce, don't bring me down,Bruce, don't bring me down, Bruce, don't bring me down, Bruce, Don't bring me down, , no. no. no. no. no. no. no. no. no. no.
Nooo-oooooh-oh
(I tell you once more before I get off the floor don't bring me down)
Bruce...
His next sentence jolts us
The bored housewife's ceiling
Would then fall down
Crashing down
On top of her
Smashing her skull
Buried under drywall and brick
Gotta love the details
But afterwards
Will the once bored housewife
(As well as you and I and Stephen King?)
Be given a test?
What Did You See?
What Did You Learn?
What Did You Do?
Did You Get It??
Will we need to sharpen number two pencils?
A mortalist?
We live here but once
Stephen King
Bored housewives
You and me
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 11:40 AM UTC
Eyes of golden fields,
And hair of flaming sun,
Beauty of Aphrodite,
Voice of a siren.
Her sad gaze
Grasps you soul
And rasps your breath.
She's an unknowing temptress
Claiming lonesomeness
And strength of solidarity.
Dramatics fill her life
While tears penetrate her ducts
Only to be wiped dry
By her smooth white digits.
The opinions she illuminates
Are half always harsh
Half always right.
Yet in the gloom
She watches the man
She bows her song
And swallows the shine
Of that which she gazes upon.
She drinks softly
Falls to the cotton
Falls into self realization.
Her karma awaits
Sticking to her endo
Like fresh golden cream,
****** from the hive of greed.
She puts the unwanted to obscurity
And places her dreams in a bottle
To be carried from safety.
Her pain goes unnoticed
As she presses the glass
And downs its purity
To reach her haven.
I truly wish to save her,
For her beauty astounds me
And her love is secretive
Hidden to all those who seek it.
If only a door existed
For the key I posess.
Mar 10, 2010
Mar 10, 2010 at 9:17 AM UTC
I love the pen and pad
But I don't think I can use it
It really makes me quite sad
That I can't seem to work it
You see, it's my confession to make
That I love to write
But it's sort of fake
What I really feel
Doesn't rhyme
So I change it's form
So it can fit the time
The pen and pad
So beautiful it feels
The sign of an intellect
Of a writer to be feared
J can't explain the reverance
For the pen and pad I posess
But surely it isn't natural
To find a workman's tool
My mind's only nest
I have found that there is a problem
The dilemma is this:
I can't really use these tools
Even though they're my mind's nest
I can't truly navigate them
With the words great writers heft
I can't form them
Into works of art
Like all the artists I envy
With words nor picture
Not short nor lengthy
You see, it's quite clear
The pen and pad
The paper and ink
They work so well together
It makes my heart sink
They inspire joy
From my hollowed throat
They are too beautiful
For words to provoke
But still I try my hand
At writing with paper and ink
Because all I can do
Is think
But all I write
Feels fake
Feb 2, 2012
Feb 2, 2012 at 8:19 PM UTC
Ursula-my friend,
My quiet, distant, rarely seen friend
From days of yore.
How calm you are.
how you glide through your days
Keeping your private thoughts to yourself.
How the urgencies and anxieties
That plague every life
- are so well contained in yours.
And in your soft green eyes
I feel a happy acceptance, born of time.
Born in my brotherhood of your Sam.
My very European friend,
Made in the turmoil of youth
And so warmly regarded then, now and beyond.
Ursula my lady, always a lady,
You posess a tender spot of pleasantness
In the corner of my mind.
With affection
Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
5 February 2011
Feb 4, 2011
Feb 4, 2011 at 8:20 AM UTC
I close my eyes
as you take my hands
into your own,
and the warmth of your skin
sends chills down my arms
while our fingers interlock.
I have nothing left
to fight my tears with
and so I let them fall
ungracefully.
You tell me again
how everything will be alright,
but this is where my trust
falls short. Where I
fall short.
Close your eyes, baby,
don't look at me
or rather, who I've become
because of you.
I'm weaker than I've ever been
Weak in my knees
weak in my stomach
I'm falling apart.
Oh, I'm weak in my heart.
You make me crazy
darling. I don't know how
You manage to manipulate
every feeling I posess.
I am left
with hollow memories
as fear takes hold of me
while I wait
for that inevitable moment
when you will turn away,
walk away, run away,
from me.
Close your eyes, baby,
you don't need to see
the way I am falling apart
in your arms tonight,
the way I have fallen apart
in your heart tonight.
Release my hand now,
but gently,
for I cannot stand on my own.
Let me go now,
but slowly,
because I'm bound to break.
Say your goodbyes now,
but sweetly,
for I wish to remember you.
Close your eyes now,
quickly,
and this will all
be over.
Nov 10, 2011
Nov 10, 2011 at 11:38 PM UTC
The Intelligence you posess
Is the beauty beyond all that Ive ever known
I am intrigued yet delicatley intimidated
My heart floats
You are the emphasis of everything that is right
for everytime Im lost,
There You are - Holding me comfortable
And ever so tight
Jul 25, 2010
Jul 25, 2010 at 12:34 AM UTC
I know you. I know you put the words on paper that you can't find the strength to say out loud. I know things would be completely different right now if you had looked him in the eyes, over the shinning water and had let him do the talking. I know you feel like you made a mistake, but you didn't. I know it was hard, and I know it was painful... but you are no stranger to the desires of your heart.
It's in the moment of complete misery that you realize those love movies aren't reality. You're on your own in this world. You're off trying to find yourself, but the problem is you think you already know who you are. Hate to break it to you, but you are a 17 year-old girl and you have a long way to go. You live each day pretending like you know what you're doing; everyone is. But the truth is, the world is just moving and we are standing dumbfounded in the midst of it all.
You are inspired by the talents of other people, but you so often forget the talents you posess yourself. You will always hate him for being patient and understanding how to deal with all this "heartbreak" **** before you did, but it isn't your fault. You fell in love too quickly, and the thing about love...it's tricky. You say "I love you" and then a month later you break his heart and he breaks yours. Is it more of a feeling? Or are they really just words? Whatever it is, it left you with scars and you feel the pain all over again when you see his stupid smile. But you're happy, better even! You will find someone new. As sad as it may seem, it all becomes a memory. A simple blurred dream.
And each night eventually turns into day and everything stays the same, but I'm not who I was a year ago, and I have him to thank for that. So pick yourself up and carry on. Things get better, trust me, I know. I know it's hard standing back up after falling so far, but it isn't impossible.
A few years ago I was 15 and in love, now I'm 17 and the thought of it scares me away. Choose you're words wisely and don't waste them on the wrong people. Don't fall in love with the idea of falling in love, fall in love with someone who loves you back. It's going to get hard, but it's also going to get really easy. If you sit around worrying about everything that's going wrong, you are going to miss something beautiful. You get one chance. Do things that will make great stories and laugh until you can't breath. Go on that drive, listening to that song and think about how life couldn't get much better than this.
~pw
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 10:39 AM UTC
Love me
Like a sudden death
Like a first breath
With sulphur and sparks
Attack me with your love
Bite me, maul me, smother me
Like a dangerous starving bear
Leave your love on my skin
Like the rain does to island cliffs
I am a woman lost to the world
Lonely and tired
So be one with me
And let me posess your heart
Like carvings on a stone
May 13, 2023
May 13, 2023 at 3:41 AM UTC
Like the calm waves of the ocean,
The gentle moonlight from above.
Like the waterfalls on a clear day,
Like the birds that sing their song in May.
Like the fog in the forest,
Like the rainbow after rain.
Like the snow near a lake,
The hills that nature made.
Like the feeling of nostalgia,
Like the smell of the summer.
Like the dream that brings you rest,
That's the beauty you possess.
Dec 7, 2024
Dec 7, 2024 at 9:30 AM UTC
A feeling in the wrong place
Can only corrupt and erode
Like a meandering stream,
That leaves a scar.
Our lives do not flow so easy
There is cleavage,
But there is also fracture
Eradict and unpredictable.
We are not all prized gems
We are impure and complicated
Not so easily identified by the eye.
Closer to quartz and feldspar than diamonds,
Yet we long to posess
a promise of value
and so we pull this image close
We reach out for order,
Hardness and grace
But it was not the stream alone that carved the canyons
There was a grand collapse,
And the stream was left to carry that debri away.
Oct 27, 2018
Oct 27, 2018 at 4:22 AM UTC
"Pull over, let's help him"
"Mum please!"
Plead two children
The mother continues
Driving an illogical speed for the city
Shaking her head
"We can't, we're late"
"And we have nothing to give"
Lies to her children
If she has nothing
Yet drives that car
Takes her children home,
to that house
Then what about the man
What does he posess
If money is nothing
Then what is something?
Happiness?
Does he look happy?
Hungry, tired, alone
Shivering in the cold
She carries on
So does he
Through ceaseless streets
And the pattern of life
Wakeup, look out
Help
Jun 21, 2010
Jun 21, 2010 at 10:41 AM UTC
In my mind, way back I am waiting for my fears to nock me off this track. Slowly I hurt, inside, Already I am looking for a safe haven to go and hide.
In my heart, deep down, There is a patient giving love that can not be ever found.
The soul is aging, in time, has known opening up to exist as an unnoticed crime. So now is here, demanding, while pain in me recieves help to keep expanding. No history lives, without, any affection having been taken away, to leave this doubt.
All I give truely, I posess, having little to endear, leaves my emotions a constant mess.
Others encourage, others, I have never seen any couples still happy to be lovers.
On my face, I cry, over and again my heart will believe the devils evil lie.
In my hands, dirt rest, where this life's love served me it's very best.
SDPope
Jan 23, 2010
Jan 23, 2010 at 6:46 PM UTC
i long to feel the ******* of love in my hands
to encompass the soul with my heart and show
what these hands what this mind is capable of doing
to allow the one of my dreams to join my soul and wonder off
Her body is like a temple and is apart of everything
like an acceint goddess I yearn to conquer her'
Too merge two clumsy souls into but one lover
locked in together at the hips and engaged in the magic of touch
oh how i yearn to flow into her mystical being
to infiltrate her body and become her to know her mind
to learn her weakness and her strengths and make them my own
and to work together like a well oiled machine for eternity
The movment of hands clasped and exploring new worlds on hot skin
A kiss moves through all caverns of mystery melding to my will
A bond so scared that our every being is rejoicing in a comsic dance
Moaning our voices in estacy leaving no refrain nor surprise just now
and we surge together with confidence and pride into this abyss
this unescabable curse we live in and our strived by
we live by this desire to please ourself with the touch of our forefingers
we want this delicacy that the rich and poor posess
The tension fuses into one fluid action no thought left in the world
only the abilty to do not to make dreams or false hope but to experience
feel touch taste and sound form a song so sweet its like a birds singing
Sizzling with unwitting compassion but burning inside true feeling
Jan 2, 2016
Jan 2, 2016 at 2:27 AM UTC
Is it... Irony?
My life is language
and I have no words for you.
Erasing each little quip
before it reaches my lip
only echoes
A thousand lines for you.
The precedent muse,
and you won't see them
even if written
you won't see them
deleted.
I feel defeated
By myself and my hands
by my words
with which the short line spans
I feel deleted
Concieted
As if it's my defeat to posess.
As if the story is in reference to me.
But it was ours
and now it's not.
You won't see it.
The words won't rhyme,
because it's not our song anymore.
It's a memory
Fading into the background
Frequencies slowly dying out
against the scenery
as our ears get too old to hear them.
We'll remember differently every time
we think of it again.
Until it's different again.
Over and over,
until the echoes are a whole new chorus.
A different memory.
And the spark will be dead again.
In another new way.
I'll always be sorry.
Then I'll remember it
and type it, and delete it.
And we'll forget it, but we won't.
We'll hear the echoes
and won't have the words.
Deleted.
Sep 22, 2019
Sep 22, 2019 at 10:33 PM UTC
There's a word in Finnish
To describe an intetion
That could be translated
Only by using a combination
Of several English words.
"Sisu" means to endure,
To presevere, to be dauntless
And infernally stubborn.
As I sit in this modern train
Feeling the rails below me,
I watch the snow
That gives everything around me
A softly curving silhouette.
The cold bites in to my lips
Yet it is compassionate
In its dryness
And never cuts me to the bone.
I listen to the language
That gave my mouth
It's sharp edges
And it's gentle caress.
As I stroll around
These streets that were build
By the bare broken hands
Of our suppressed forefathers,
I come to sense
It's deepest truth of who they were.
Our fathers build houses of wood
And cut railways in to solid granite.
These men and women
Build homes that could go up in flames
And infrastructures that could last generations.
We have always worked for the future.
I think of my brother's words...
didn't you memorize the land marks?
I did... and I realise
That in this country we survive
On our memory of how to get back home.
If you lose your way, you die.
If you get cold, you die.
But maybe what these
Children that were born and raised
Under the watchful eye of Sisu
Need to come to understand
That we are no longer
Fighting to survive...
We are fighting to allow
The warmth of our hearts
Come out through our lips
And become visible
Even to those who no longer believe
That we posess such heat.
Feb 7, 2017
Feb 7, 2017 at 3:42 PM UTC
creativity is sometimes hard to find
but the only way to find creativity
is to be not creative in the first place
if you are already creative
then how can you find the creativity you already posess
discovering creativity
is one of the most rewarding feelings
so let the world be filled with uncreative minds
and let those minds
have the opportunity
to find the creativity
that was hiding
in the depths of their minds.
Nov 26, 2011
Nov 26, 2011 at 5:29 PM UTC
If Light had a face it would be homely
a great, cracked, bulbous, wrinkled thing
not smooth like fair Darkness
and not half as cold
If Light had a hand it wouldn't be slender
Light would not posess piano hands
Darkness is the one with hands of silver
stretched and ready to play
If Light had a past it would be harrowed
for only goodness can come from such a trial
and if Darkness was an age it would be ancient
and Light would be seven times twice as old
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 2:13 PM UTC