"predicatably" poems
Every limerick follows a ratio
like, Alas, poor Yorick, Horatio
you've known them before
then after line four
they predicatably end with ********
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 10:43 PM UTC
I feel strength returning
The sun is gradually rising
The future slowly appearing
The future
Once so misty and hazy
Was always there
Not pre-destined
But available
To shape, to inhabit
Though black clouds may blind me
The future remains
There is always tomorrow
Tomorrow will never disappear
Even if I do
And there is always
Humanity and hope
So long as people survive
There will always be love
So long as children are born
There will always be education
So long as cultures endure
There will always be compassion
Though I may be driven to extremes
There is always my tomorrow
Not the tomorrow
Others may predict for me
But the one I create for myself
A vast ocean
Of possibilities
If I can just fight against
Delusion
In the distance
The sounds of gulls
Soars above the bash
Of foaming seas
The earth shows me my inner nature
Sometimes clear
Sometimes shrouded
But constant as the changing landscape
A novel of endlessly turning pages
Each chapter describing a different pattern
Like rotating seasons
Predicatably unpredictable
We go on
In this way
Towards
The future
Aug 7, 2016
Aug 7, 2016 at 12:28 PM UTC
Abound with darkness and overwhelming despair
Demons are conquering this battlefield in a war unfair
Silently suffering my inevitable defeat,
Attempting to reach God but He's predicatably out of reach
I cry out to Him to rid me of these struggles
Solemnly I plead to be released of these troubles,
But again to my dismay I'm left standing alone
To fight this journey and continue on this unsettling road
Defeated by darkness in a world gone array,
I'm fighting for answers as to why I should stay
Lost and confused and filled with no hope for change
My soul caves in to the darkness that it craves
It is no longer a question of what must be done
Wiping away tears I reach for my gun
My heart's beating louder with each bullet I load
It's time to pull the trigger and release my soul
My final thoughts rush and fill up my mind
What happens after death is an answer I can't seem to find
Slowly pulling the trigger, I take one last breath
And suddenly I'm released unto my untimely death
Where my soul has wandered no one quite seems to know, as I travel alone in a world unknown
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 5:48 PM UTC