"promptness" poems - Hello Poetry

Between your poisonous smiles, Your heartless jokes and your Razorblade Smile, I fell for the Person I thought I saw: The One The cuts made, still hurt They haven't closed up yet Just flesh wounds but they, They sting. They burn. It's Been a day and that thin red Line, the mark of your possession Is still on me, marking me for The world to see. You're my Obsession, the world's Pariah But they all bow before you Wouldn't dare say a word in Your presence, except to beg At your feet for your cruel Double-edged mercy. A day more You reward them. Throughout Eternity, you taunt them. The Price is so heavy, yet they pay up They can hardly resist. The price Of Humanity, of Greed is fatal indeed. The unchanging constant wherever I may go. The Universe itself is Undefined, except for you and your Kin: Change. Time wasn't ever as Constant as you; its fickle nature Is as legendary as your promptness Change was never as evident as you; Its subtlety as infamous as the Pungent, dark Air you leave behind In the lives of humans and animals alike.

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Oct 16, 2012

Oct 16, 2012 at 1:22 AM UTC

the-anonymous-joker

Courting Death

Between your poisonous smiles, Your heartless jokes and your Razorblade Smile, I fell for the Person I thought I saw: The One The cuts made, still hurt They haven't closed up yet Just flesh wounds but they, They sting. They burn. It's Been a day and that thin red Line, the mark of your possession Is still on me, marking me for The world to see. You're my Obsession, the world's Pariah But they all bow before you Wouldn't dare say a word in Your presence, except to beg At your feet for your cruel Double-edged mercy. A day more You reward them. Throughout Eternity, you taunt them. The Price is so heavy, yet they pay up They can hardly resist. The price Of Humanity, of Greed is fatal indeed. The unchanging constant wherever I may go. The Universe itself is Undefined, except for you and your Kin: Change. Time wasn't ever as Constant as you; its fickle nature Is as legendary as your promptness Change was never as evident as you; Its subtlety as infamous as the Pungent, dark Air you leave behind In the lives of humans and animals alike.

35

1773 The Summer that we did not prize, Her treasures were so easy Instructs us by departing now And recognition lazy— Bestirs itself—puts on its Coat, And scans with fatal promptness For Trains that moment out of sight, Unconscious of his smartness.

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2.4k

Emily Dickinson

The Summer that we did not prize

1773 The Summer that we did not prize, Her treasures were so easy Instructs us by departing now And recognition lazy— Bestirs itself—puts on its Coat, And scans with fatal promptness For Trains that moment out of sight, Unconscious of his smartness.

9

There is a whisper in the air that seems to yell only at me. It come in gusts of wind gentle enough to tousle the most well kept hair. I've know this pitch before. Even in new places I find myself feeling old. I haven't lived enough, and there isn't comfort or encouragement in knowing that. I've held fast to road signs and tree stumps as friends, kissed their coolness and their groves. Both these structures can be moved by cars, probably the wind too. I use to hold hands as if they held me up. Not a single hand, but a few whose voices prompted closeness. Most people want promptness. No one has lived enough, why would you say no? Sometimes my feet ache when sitting, or when I walk down flights of stairs. I think I am afraid of falling. This ache tingles, I both fear it and like it. At one point hands reassured safety, like their very structure prevented tumbles. I've felt this wind before, you see. Dear girl you were the wind. From far away you've reached me here and at some point I will tumble over. I know there aren't hands structured for safety, you know that too. We just use to pretend we weren't the one knocking one another down. I never got it until now. You're hair was never well kept dear Brittany, never well kept at all. The change in color was artificial, and your constant flux much the same. I use to see you as an exotic bird with all those colors. I use to believe in your flight patterns. The wind does not favor the birds Brittany. The wind does not favor you.

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Jan 24, 2012

Jan 24, 2012 at 5:12 PM UTC

carnival-ophelia

Untitled

There is a whisper in the air that seems to yell only at me. It come in gusts of wind gentle enough to tousle the most well kept hair. I've know this pitch before. Even in new places I find myself feeling old. I haven't lived enough, and there isn't comfort or encouragement in knowing that. I've held fast to road signs and tree stumps as friends, kissed their coolness and their groves. Both these structures can be moved by cars, probably the wind too. I use to hold hands as if they held me up. Not a single hand, but a few whose voices prompted closeness. Most people want promptness. No one has lived enough, why would you say no? Sometimes my feet ache when sitting, or when I walk down flights of stairs. I think I am afraid of falling. This ache tingles, I both fear it and like it. At one point hands reassured safety, like their very structure prevented tumbles. I've felt this wind before, you see. Dear girl you were the wind. From far away you've reached me here and at some point I will tumble over. I know there aren't hands structured for safety, you know that too. We just use to pretend we weren't the one knocking one another down. I never got it until now. You're hair was never well kept dear Brittany, never well kept at all. The change in color was artificial, and your constant flux much the same. I use to see you as an exotic bird with all those colors. I use to believe in your flight patterns. The wind does not favor the birds Brittany. The wind does not favor you.

29

It took an abstract realization, something that I had never noticed ever before. Where there was a semblance of monotony there existed the essence of change the actuality of reality even to the smallest degree, such as the subtlety of how fast, or slow, my locks grew, in centimeters. Oh! The informative nature of such a nuance amplified my rage! Teenage angst was somehow removed with its perpetual sway it crawled slowly constantly prompting our celestial commander to descend solar illumination abated nocturne shielded its rhythmic gait in a way the presence of this frame cordoned off at 15 years that made its movement seem a hasty thing in its grip, initially, I was a child now, I am a man I lavishly lament the awkward promptness of anything I have gained. All in due… Was I due to manage it? Over moons, many a pressured slumber I rest still my education my locks that grew subtle that pace wisdom I have gained that familiar melody of change the alpha that arose until omega was due to settle the earth hands, arms, that consistently illustrate the change – “tick, tick, tick” oh, that familiar tune it plays. Being older, my eyes can detect its forceful ways unsubtle however, I can manage it I force it to behave. Although, it still has me bound tightly within its clutch forever yet, still, I have synchronized our pace the older I become it grips my hand tighter together we are trekking my lifeline now, I comprehend it. Now I have time. Jonah Singleton 2024

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Dec 27, 2024

Dec 27, 2024 at 3:58 PM UTC

Patriarchoba661

It took, time

It took an abstract realization, something that I had never noticed ever before. Where there was a semblance of monotony there existed the essence of change the actuality of reality even to the smallest degree, such as the subtlety of how fast, or slow, my locks grew, in centimeters. Oh! The informative nature of such a nuance amplified my rage! Teenage angst was somehow removed with its perpetual sway it crawled slowly constantly prompting our celestial commander to descend solar illumination abated nocturne shielded its rhythmic gait in a way the presence of this frame cordoned off at 15 years that made its movement seem a hasty thing in its grip, initially, I was a child now, I am a man I lavishly lament the awkward promptness of anything I have gained. All in due… Was I due to manage it? Over moons, many a pressured slumber I rest still my education my locks that grew subtle that pace wisdom I have gained that familiar melody of change the alpha that arose until omega was due to settle the earth hands, arms, that consistently illustrate the change – “tick, tick, tick” oh, that familiar tune it plays. Being older, my eyes can detect its forceful ways unsubtle however, I can manage it I force it to behave. Although, it still has me bound tightly within its clutch forever yet, still, I have synchronized our pace the older I become it grips my hand tighter together we are trekking my lifeline now, I comprehend it. Now I have time. Jonah Singleton 2024

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