"remorsefully" poems
Blunt,
your words and knives.
Rounded, as
you carve out my heart
with your painful prose.
While you enter my soul
through your impiety,
I greet you remorsefully.
I greet you impossibly.
Regretfully.
Painfully.
At the gates of my humdrum heart.
Sep 30, 2012
Sep 30, 2012 at 11:35 PM UTC
Thou wander'st desperately
Carrying thy frozen heart
in shaking, worrisome hands
Lack of love breaks thee
A beg of good fate- remains an unheard plea
Thy life an endless winter
without even a measly 'camp fire'
Thou art cold, unwillingly, remorsefully cold
Craving warmth for thy *forsaken *****
An ***** that has never been played
A thing thou carriest
An instrument called thy heart.
An ***** that has never played- the music of love.
9:28 am- Tuesday, 3rd, March, 2015
Doubt anyone would get this..
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 8:33 AM UTC
It never made a difference what I did or didn’t say to you.
You didn’t listen to me either way.
I could have told you the truth all along and maybe
then it would have made a difference. But I’m too lazy,
and I’m too tired, and it’s about time I gave up for once.
You gave up on me straight away and I thought I could pull you back up.
I guess I’m not always right.
I guess I’m only trapped in what boundaries you give me.
You make me so angry, but its worthless pounding on the door of a sound-proof room. I did anyway, and it only made my knuckles raw.
You hurt me. Does that mean anything to you?
I found myself screaming.
I found myself losing it.
I found myself in the middle of nowhere, with no one, and nothing to say,
wordlessly livid.
Every thought inside if me no longer made sense.
It felt like I’d lost control of my own life,
all because I lost control of you.
I was simply a flea on a tick on a dog on a hill on an island in the ocean of the world, which is barely a speck in the universe.
I was a moment that no one heard—especially not you—
a tree that fell silently in an empty forest,
a lie that was told to a dreaming deaf mute,
a ransom held for 12:03 P.M. that no one can pay, that no one even understands.
I was a thought removed from a frontal lobe
(“Pass the scalpel,” whispered remorsefully from behind a doctor’s mask).
I was trapped in a memory you’d forgotten,
and it was all I can do not to be completely erased.
Remember me! I wanted to shout, for waiting was no longer hoping. In my own sharp memory, I was surrounded by ice. It was fierce, yet completely withdrawn into the open window of your soul. All I could see was debris and packed boxes, stacked upon each other in the clotted, fatal shape of a skyscraper. The darkness of your fond shape wrapped me within myself, when I thought I was wrapped into you. You led me down a path that you knew I would be lost on, and you left me there without a word.
I’m still stuck in this desolate world that we created,
and as soon as you think of me, as soon as you return, I will greet you:
“Welcome to every second in despair, every moment lost, every
minute growing angrier; welcome to the storm is coming, to running
from the monsters that aren’t even there, to burning fevers; welcome
to dead but alive, to quivering and empty, to uncomfortably full,” I
will say.
“Welcome to loneliness.”
Sep 15, 2010
Sep 15, 2010 at 9:39 PM UTC
Lonesome, with sustenance impaired,
whispers undeclared, echoed and ensnared,
overlooked and unprepared,
caught off guard, and truly scared.
Considered gone, inanimate,
benevolence, inadequate,
I self-destruct, in abandonment,
my ego, my own antagonist.
Recreant, my feet retreat,
unable to admit defeat,
somber skies, distant concrete,
starlight shows abyssal streets.
Breezes flurry overhead,
strands are stirring 'round my head,
my mind’s museful heed misread,
wet streams down cheeks of words unsaid.
My legs are fixed in place eternally,
as sunrise paints the sky so fervently.
The night's dark thoughts, an absurdity,
as I embrace life, remorsefully free.
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 6:33 PM UTC
Sometimes I talk to you the best when you're nowhere around. Like there are things I can't address with an audible sound or an eloquent progression of adjectives and nouns when I feel the weight of eyes running across my face.
It's just the space in which I reside, communication commits suicide and I'll slide out something sly or a bad joke and try my best to let it go, because I know you don't hold it against me.
It's not that you make me nervous, I just render myself wordless. My vocal chords are worthless when the sensations are so heavy. Concepts seem obscure and on the tip of my tongue, but too scared to take the plunge. They turn back and run and my silence seems dumb, distant or despondent.
Sometimes I have too much to say, so I'll stutter to articulate a notion that would take me all day to actually feel like what I wanted to convey was done justice, or worse, I'll reflectively reiterate and ramble redundancies, rearranging rhetorical rumblings, remorsefully reaching to recite a redeeming rendering, like an OCD patient switching her light on and off endlessly because it didn't "feel" the way it should have in her mind the first time, the tenth time, the hundredth...
Though when I'm alone, it's a completely different scenario. Someday I hope you hear me speaking through the speakers of your stereo, and my words will flow and show concise precision of a vision with intention and you'll know, I sat there for hours to bring you that message.
I'm either speechless or I bleed an abstract sequence, the in-between is when I sing to apparitions or rewrite things I've written just to interpret my own cognition. There are no translators or subtitles for my kind, whose vanquished language is transmuted into music, tunes, or incoherently scribbled lines. Though I guess I should confess, sometimes I feel like you decode me nonetheless. I'm blessed to have a friend that knows the truth about my essence, beyond flesh, beyond silence, beyond expression. It's not like my thoughts are oh-so-profound or some ground-shaking revelation too complex to pronounce. But it's something about myself that I've found. I speak to people best when they're nowhere around.
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 8:44 AM UTC
My reclusive muse, realized her fault,
seeing me unkempt and miserable, remorsefully, she melts:
" kept you desolate, my love, it hurts my heart,
you have been sincere, it's my fault"
she kisses with pizzazz, filling me with blazing fire.
Sep 8, 2012
Sep 8, 2012 at 11:38 AM UTC
A fist clenched around the pulsating pains.
Alone in my mind, no wins, no gains.
Too much time in my cold but sweating hands.
Wonder when the misery ends.
"Won't you come and save me"
I scream constantly in my head while the presence of others pass by.
But they flee.
No time, no cares, no worries.
That's what selfishness brings. Greed is always in hurries.
So I put glass to my lips and **** in the healing thoughts.
Hoping the research isn't true and I don't smoke until my brain rots.
She seems to be my only friend.
When I seem to be stuck at a dead end.
I can pick her up and she'll love me even if it's forcefully.
But sometimes I put her down remorsefully.
The clenching fist starts breaking my wrist.
Holding me down.
So I drown in my lonely depiction of my life.
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 8:16 PM UTC
In the Valley of Death, I roam
Infinite Sins I must atone.
Battle-scarred and heaving,
Shadows behind me, creeping
For all is lost, but not forgotten.
A humanity that was once begotten.
Sadly, empty now; a mere shell.
A war rages inside that reeks of Hell.
Remorsefully, I cull the meek
to find that which I do so seek.
A kiss from those ruby rose lips.
pupils brighten, bearing an eclipse.
Confidently, I shall reclaim my throne
as I feel my heart becoming sewn,
but I must last through the night.
Hope conceived amongst stars shine bright.
Impossible which I once thought,
I have found what I have sought.
Content with my endeavors,
Shall we step into our forever?
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 11:13 PM UTC
She whispered the hymn,
In chorus,
As she's supposed to,
As she's told to.
The writing's on the wall,
The holy wall.
The only wall.
The new world didn't believe in boundaries,
In division.
The world was one, but the people two.
The educated and the broods.
She belonged to the unquestionables,
The holy few.
The god among men,
Who kept the world true.
She read the words again,
Silently. Remorsefully.
She didn't quite get the meaning.
She wasn't supposed to.
But to the world,
The holy world,
The brave new world,
She knew it all.
That's what they told her.
The ****** girl,
The daughter to love.
Meant only for him,
The god, the King.
For that's what it's said,
On the Holy wall,
That's what they told her,
She guessed she read it wrong.
"The game was over,
And they never met.
The friend and the lover,
A match never meant."
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 12:14 PM UTC
Before I rest my eyes,
Slipping into those dreams,
I yearn to hear those screams,
Of pain and discomfort,
In every magnitude,
Not practical but quite crude,
This rudimentary knowledge,
Will cease to help,
As I remorsefully yelp,
Crying from the pain,
The tortured soul,
That lacks control,
In this self claimed reality,
Merely a lost mind,
If only life were kind,
Filled words and hugs,
Most just delinquent,
Like past and future statement,
Relinquishing that hold,
Before everyone grabs on,
Then weighing a ton,
The weight shouldn't be,
Place upon anyone,
This burden upon none,
Its why there's dreams,
I can never complete,
My smile will suffer defeat,
After my eyes have rest,
Awakening to see,
I still don't like me,
For who I want to be,
A person in love
Aug 3, 2010
Aug 3, 2010 at 1:57 AM UTC
Strength ...
Strength is pain
Strength is fears
Strength gives you the courage to wipe those tears
Because even when life seems at the rear
And your **** near at the end
You have ah friend
Strength
See strength is like ah snake
It looks weak but **** dat ***** is strong
It holds on and grips so tight
Because strength is the intuition for you to fight
When you feel like youve done nothing right
I pick up the pencil n write
I lay these painful words down
Find a way to smile n be jolly like ah clown
But I decided that ah frown is my favorite
Im not Gon front like I'm not hurt
I wear it proudly I wear it remorsefully
But see that's strength
Because even wit pain comes pleasure
You have to look deep with in to find that gold treasure
Whether you believe it or not
You made me this way
You made ah monster
And now you can't lay
But see that's strength because I never questioned myself
Ihade to trust
That I am strength n the strength is me .
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 12:50 AM UTC
A swing slung low with weathered ropes
Worn, sun-beaten wood told tales of abuse
Once swung high - a vessel for the her hopes
Never once judged, even everyday a new bruise
It’d take her, accommodating her heart’s fancy
It’d carry her and cradle her fragility gentle
She’d forget her tears as she flew almost freely
Winds would whisper of a place far and simple
It’d scoop her up - made light of what seemed heavy
It’d drink up her laughter, release her captive innocence
It’d hold her aloft as it promised her safety
Together they’d immerse, in an intimate dalliance
Went on forever, as days turned into weeks
A girl and her swing, lost in their very own world
Alas the swing couldn’t offer the salvation she seeks
None could tell, what evil twist had brutally unfurled
•••
A swing hung limp, silent as it woefully wept
Its worn wood sang only songs of stifled cries
For once it knew a girl, whose painful secrets it kept
Now judges itself remorsefully, as she fades and dies
Sep 13, 2021
Sep 13, 2021 at 6:58 AM UTC
Time
Through the memories of space lies time...time that we never had....but that time never stopped.... nor attempted to freeze in with the winter cold...just continued...moved along without us...and us with out it grew old...Forgetting that each other we were meant hold... So the hour glass ran out...and we grab on to somebody else...Speeding up the progress...of this collapse...That fragile moment we shared...that felt like years...that passed us by...and continued to fly..away..goes the hand of youth..as we move into maturity...and time never stops for you and me...more distance...as we remorsefully grip the arm of the innocent...and use them to blockade that space...that should be filled each others face..those lines on our faces aren't wrinkles..but a time line of every thought we had..of one another...of every thought we had that we wished time stopped... So we could find a way to share another second...but it never did so we're left with these scars of time..Security behind the heart of the wrong thing...and Freedom in the eyes of that which wont wait...Time slow down..like you did once before..in the perfect moment when we had time to adore...each other..but now we just hide..not wanting to be caught by the innocent.. for if time never stopped the reaction...of our licentious actions..it would harm the hearts we hide behind.... and then they to would have to would be forced to blame time...
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 5:46 PM UTC
In a water filled room, there float air filled white balloons,
Highlighted by the stars and the illumination of the moon.
Calmly they move about, carrying other men’s delights;
Suspended in motion but animate with spoken history.
Do they belong to me? It’s hard to say,
Though with a breeze of force I can call them all back to me
Flipping through them like the reminiscent pages of old memories
Some dear, others unclear, but surely they taught me how to tranquilly be here.
The sentinel that is the ‘All Seeing Eye’ strolls lazily with a golden scepter in hand;
A magical Lotus ring serves at his command.
Claimed they are, trapped not in balloons and sealed jars.
Alerted by sudden ripples in the room, he hurries to the sound of an imminent gloom.
A well out of nowhere blooms, sprouting endless vines and thorns; dancing to haunting melodies and tunes.
A from in front of him appears, commanding and with a face that sneers
Hypnotized by the sound of the beautiful sadness, he feels himself surrender his scepter and Lotus.
Though remorsefully he weeps, for letting the fear seeps, and letting go of precious keeps.
Where to start, to retrieve what is lost?
Perhaps back to the beginning, towards white balloons that keeps spinning afloat,
Only then…maybe only then will I give in to the sweet surrender.
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 1:58 PM UTC
In the darkest hours of the night
The old house was filled with hush
Heavy rain splashed in moonlight
and a fox sheltered under a bush
Thunder clouds stalked overhead
Crashes and flashes of lightning
The old man sat upright in his bed
Each of his senses heightening
The wind groaned with mournful unrest
Thunder boomed like a kettle drum
Shadows loomed over the man so stressed
His eyes darting, his body numb
The brass door knocker rapped slowly
KNOCK ... KNOCK ... KNOCK
Fear suddenly gripped the old man wholly
Then rang the twelve chimes of the clock
As he began to chant "please leave me alone"
The door knocker rapped three more times
Electric shocks ran the length of his back bone
There was no escape from the clocks chimes
The portraits on the wall made their demand
He could not look into any of their eyes
Remorsefully he obeyed their command
Getting dressed to avoid his demise
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 5:25 PM UTC
There it lays,
my tear soaked
pillow case.
In clouds unseen
where they visit me
every night since thirteen
What am I to do
with no avenue to pursue
when they deny my inhibitions
and tell them they're forgiven?
I see what I can't change and
I can't change what I see
I want to want their vision
of tender, loving, harmony
but it feels like swallowing poison
treating my actions remorsefully.
I take each day
one at a time
unyielding to divulge
what comes to me as I lay
every night
on my tear soaked pillow case.
May 22, 2020
May 22, 2020 at 1:45 PM UTC
listless clouds clash
remorsefully bright
in contrast to the darkness
of the sky behind them
poised to invade
when the darkness has won,
evil stars
strike up in flames
overtaking our dreams
through which we witness
furrows creep and widen
across the solid earth
ingesting clusters of ****** souls,
their cadaverous shades perfumed
by the misery of hell
and undermining tall cathedrals
which plunge with torrents of masonry
into the abyss,
their unfastened bells clamoring
out of sync and out of key
through the acrid dusts of hell
trudge trolls who,
bored and longing for meaning,
pilfer the cathedrals' rugged remnants
lying in slanted piles
we come to realize
we are the ministers of dead nations
for which any hope of renewal
has finally been extinguished,
masterfully deceived and depleted
by an anarchic emperor
who caresses the strings
of a dismelodious lyre
his lyre invites
the clouds to return,
this time energized and organized
into desolate vortices
that twist without purpose,
where even infinity dies,
the same multitudes of nothingness
in which we're finally overtaken
as befoulment is woven between us
and we are choked into sleep,
vainly we ask,
"why?"
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 5:50 PM UTC
The day is cyclical
In subconscious routine
I bite my nails
Nails to nubs
And cry
About moments past
Out of reach, translucent
Like silvery ghosts
Frigid, festering, frosting
The blood running thin and contaminated
Through my veins
Lips stained
Recklessly, remorsefully, red
With the wine that impelled me
To allow you there again
Lips stained
Burgundy, begging, beckoning to you
"Come closer,"
They whispered, not I
The day is cyclical
In subconscious routine
I grind my teeth
Teeth to gums
And cry
About moments past
Fleeting, evanescent
Like fireflies at twilight
Flickering, flashing, flitting
Through my mind
I cringe at the thought of
Touching one
Sep 26, 2016
Sep 26, 2016 at 4:40 PM UTC
Engulfed in flames
I burned to ash
Then flew away into the blustery wind.
I am nothing.
Nothing but a speck of dust suspended by just the will of others.
I live because others want me to.
And it's ridiculous how I still feel the urge to please and fill the lives of others with joy,
Yet I feel numb.
The tears flow every night
And perhaps it's my own fault.
Funny, though.
Whenever I'm around you
All those thoughts of dropping dead
Or killing myself
Just vanish.
Even though you're the reason why I've gone suicidal,
I'm still deeply, truly, unconditionally in love with you.
It's toxicity courses through my veins.
I always thought I would die for you.
Now I'm remorsefully accepting that I will die,
Because of you.
****
Why do I keep loving you?
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 11:12 PM UTC
If Poetry was cornered,
and about to be scorched alive
he would stand still and strong
despite the quivering fear inside.
His murderers would begin to sneer,
watching Death dangle minutes away,
and torcher him before they'd say:
"Any last words, on your last day?"
He'd swiftly swing open,
his delicate pages aflutter
as their wretched smiles
start to crack and sputter,
in shock at the boldness
of being openly sighted
and so very vulnerable
to being instantly ignited
just to save the great works
of all the world's poets,
who poured out their hearts
so purposefully in pen.
They'd see pieces of Poe,
about to exist Nevermore.
The words of Angelou,
with emotion in store.
Frost and Untaken Roads
that now all lead to Death.
Wordsworth's wisest words,
soon to take a final breath.
Eliot and The Wasteland
will find one another soon.
Not even sad Shakespeare
is going to last till' noon.
As the observing evildoers watched,
Poetry paused on a piece prepared:
"Because I Could Not Stop for Death,"
to which they remorsefully stared.
What a shame it would be,
said proud Poetry,
to let these legacies die.
the spirits of every poet
will haunt you if you try!
The mob looked at one another,
and quickly fled the scene,
leaving the ending as happy as
A Midnight Summers Dream!
Mar 30, 2025
Mar 30, 2025 at 5:52 PM UTC
Before me you sat framed
infused hypnotic eyes
with your liquor of sorrows parched at your left.
Tracing your fingers as they clenched each card continuously -
as if your mind was programmed by your own demon.
As each one failed, you were stripped of your dignity
your worth. You would then seep further into that chair.
Still I would watch, incase you drowned.
Then again the cards would pile upon the dusted table
and you threw them so feebly, so hastily.
And I held your time in my hands
remorsefully as it poured out my own creases
like sand.
You told me you were hurting,
the sight of this ripping paper, shredded by your eyes
only reminded me of how you once tried me.
I didn’t lose it for you, nor did you win with me.
Apr 14, 2018
Apr 14, 2018 at 6:38 PM UTC
The motions of your lips as they wrap around the words you say. Respectively disrespecting every piece of fact as fiction that no one knows what to live in anxiety is like.
What it's like?
What is anger but the misguided targeting system of a fathers hand to his sons face.
What is denial but a sweet cherry with a pit you chew on remorsefully. The sadness you feel is a bitter memory of every memory you had standing next to me.
like confectioner sugar
like snow in the worst of storms.
You covered us up like a scandal for double homicide when in actuality you left wounded
I lay on the ground gripping my skull hoping it would end.
What was the point of all the sweet words you spoke,
when you left with a wet cheek and raw throat
Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 8:08 AM UTC
I always hear this word,
But they use it blindly,
As they project themselves downward,
In aspiral of chaos and confusion,
Leaving nothing but a meaningful weight,
That sends them to the feet of their hosts,
Like parasites that only know how to feed,
Sadly it is not in their capacity to realize,
That no harm and disgust is reflected onto their spirit,
But they continue to rot their own soul,
Excreting an immaterial gas,
Filled with toxins and emotions,
Feelings that make the insides of your stomach tumble,
Up and down then around the bounds,
Boundaries that they could never cross,
Because they are too young, maybe,
Too ignorant, slightly, remorsefully,
Going to schools and institutions,
Just to forget to ask, yourself that is,
And blissfully believing the facts that are handed down, like a vitamin pill,
A placebo that makes you smarter as it seems,
Beneath the soft exterior of a false personality,
Not fake, but inadequately you,
Not enough to be the own individual,
Living a lie handing down whatever the time dictates,
Never asking, why, because it is easy,
It is easy to fall away,
It is easy to hand out words,
That indefinitely hold meaning,
It is just a game of chance and luck,
In a head that refuses to ask,
It is so easy to make labels,
To project the self onto another who does not know,
To another that is seemingly ignorant,
But who is well aware,
But maybe decides to not give a care,
Never ceasing to wonder, why?
They are thousands of four letter words in the hundreds of languages,
And yet they choose to represent themselves in a word that they avert their ego.
Sep 1, 2016
Sep 1, 2016 at 11:03 AM UTC