"symbolizes" poems
Crying is not a sign of weakness.
It’s a sign of strength.
It’s a sign of letting yourself go
and not holding yourself back.
It’s a form of expression
a silent expression
an emotional expression
a vulnerable expression
a brave and strong expression
letting everyone know that you can’t
take it anymore.
Small drops of water
coming from your visual peripherals
come tumbling down
the sides of your face
like an overflowing waterfall
From eye to chin
each watery teardrop
represents and symbolizes
you breaking free
from the pain you experienced
in the past.
No matter what pain
you’ve gone through,
every time you cry
you let your past
stay in the past.
You don’t let it go to the present
nor to the future.
You let it stay in the past.
What I’m trying to say
that it’s OK
to let it go.
It’s OK to
break free
and be free.
It’s OK to come alive.
It’s OK to create
your own personal
overflowing waterfall
all over your beautiful face.
It’s OK to cry.
Don’t listen to other people
that tell you that you’re
weak, a baby, or a crybaby
for that matter.
Don’t listen to other people
that tell you that you’re
hopeless, worthless,
or that you are
not good enough
for them.
Don’t listen to other people
that tell you that you’re
never going to make it
through life
no matter how hard
or how many times
you try.
Instead, show them.
Show them that you’re
just a regular
human being
and prove
to them that
regular
human beings
have real
emotional feelings.
Show them that you’re
never afraid to
show off and
let go of your
vulnerable feelings
that you’re
hiding inside.
Show them that
they too can
let go of
their own
emotional and
vulnerable feelings
that they’re
hiding inside.
If they can’t
let go of
their powerful
and moving
feelings,
they will have
cold, frozen hearts.
Bottom line,
we all need
to shed some
beautiful and
powerful tears
every so often
in our lifetime.
We all need
to create our
own rivers,
lakes, streams,
creeks, ponds,
seas, and oceans
full of one of
the most moving
and powerful
human senses
that we shed
throughout our
lifetime.
And it all starts
with a overflowing
waterfall
coming from
the most important
visionary living organs.
Our eyes
are the window
to our emotional
and vulnerable
soul.
That soul is
willing to come out
from the visual
window
and it will do
whatever it takes
to do just that.
But it needs
your permission.
It’s time to let it go.
It’s OK to cry.
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 1:15 AM UTC
Today is the festival of colours.
We,Indians, sprinkle colours on friends
Nature is replete with beautiful colurs.
Life is a mixture of many emotions
We turn red when we are angry
and we become greenif we are jealous
Red stands for change and valour
White is symbolic of peace and purity
Green symbolizes harvest and prosperity
Yellow is considered good omen
Saffron means sacrifice
black is considered an evil
The leaves are green
The human blood is red
The Ripe fruits and corn are yellow
milk is white and the sky is blue
Nature and life are inseparable
Different colours tell different things
May the festival of colurs bring Happiness
and prosperity in this trouble torn world!
Mar 19, 2011
Mar 19, 2011 at 3:38 AM UTC
It was in a small town where I first felt love.
It was in our small town from nowhere where I first saw that smile;
that smile that could light up a room, or the whole world, even.
It was in that small town where we made a promise,
a promise that we'll both come back,
a promise we both failed to keep.
You see, darling, it was in that town where I had my very first heartbreak.
It was that town which saw my worst fears realized become a reality.
I was in that town when I received the news:
that you're never coming back.
In this town, I knew love but lost it too soon.
Yet this town will soon welcome a hero of the war, in a coffin enveloped by the country's emblem.
This town will welcome a son and shall soon engrave his legacy on a stone.
But I know I can't stay in this town for long, not when the signs speak of your name, not when the streets sing of your footsteps.
Darling, this town is not ours no more.
This old town speaks too much of our tragedy, of a love forever lost.
It is this town that symbolizes what we both had and what we'll never have.
And now I'm leaving this town to forget, to keep my sanity.
But as I leave this town, please know that I'm never leaving your memory.
For it is one thing to forget this town, but quite another to forget my world: you.
Apr 10, 2017
Apr 10, 2017 at 8:48 PM UTC
Scars, like yours, mine, and ours
The ones that bled, now you can never discard
Scars, time to relive the past
It just happened to be,
Within in my grasp
Scars, a reminder of will
Remembering a loss,
A void to be filled
Scars, I’ll never forget
A map of the journey
No pain filled regrets
Scars, a feeling contrived
A time in my past
Grateful; alive
Our creator, a leader of men
Scars are a reminder
That symbolizes the dead
Scars, one last debate
How am I supposed to feel
When we can’t relate?
I don’t want to hear it
I don’t want to know
Don’t keep me waiting
With no dial tone
Scars, like yours, mine, and ours
The ones that bled, now you can never discard
It’s a badge of honor
I survived death!
A merit of completion
Having been put to the test
Got me in a fight for land
Where men now lay dead
Bloodied and red
These scars on my body
The voice in my head
Telling me you are the enemy
No longer my friend
Scars, like yours, mine, and ours
The ones that bled now you can never discard
Scars, yours, mine, and ours
Scars on your leg, on your chest, on your head
Scars, when you decided on ink
Instead of lead
Taking a bullet, they pronounced you as dead.
Scars
May 8, 2019
May 8, 2019 at 7:43 AM UTC
"Have you any idea why a raven is like a writing desk?"
~Later, towards the end~
Alice asks, "Hatter, why is a raven like a writing desk?"
Mad Hatter: "I haven't the slightest idea."
Then Alice disappears back home.
So why is a raven like a writing desk?
Ravens symbolizes death and to me Writing symbolizes
freedom.
But when you think about it ravens fly-- come and go as they please. Writers feel like that when they write at a writing desk--
come and go as they please.
So maybe there's the answer...
Ravens are free, and a writing desk is a place to be free.
But maybe a raven is also like a writing desk because most good poems deal with some type of grief, or joy...Every good poet deals with issues with life and the grief that comes with death. Every great writer has troubles-- look at; Edger Allen Poe, Dylan Thomas, and Emily Dickerson, just to name a few. Edger often wrote of ravens and drank, Dylan also drank, and Emily was afraid to go outside. We all have troubles, but only a certain amount of people can write about them in poetry and make the words be so beautiful. So maybe in the movie there was no answer, but it all seems to random to have no answer. So here's my answer: Freedom and Troubles, Ravens have/deal with both as well as a writer at a writing desk.
Do you know why a raven is like a writing desk?
Jun 29, 2010
Jun 29, 2010 at 4:18 PM UTC
I wonder if fear even really goes away,
or if they just lose their power over us.
In some parts of the ancient world,
the hawk symbolizes the sun.
So if i always have a picture of a hawk on me,
i will always have the sun on me,
so i wouldn't be afraid of the dark.
I was afraid of the dark,
now it reminds me of the fear I've overcame.
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 7:57 PM UTC
To: Sarah Joyce Crimson 8th July 1943
A man in a gray suit has captured my heart, mother
Along with the tie, of course
Surrounding plants would've died
At his gaze and grace
Armored charm and wide toothed smile
His last name could've might as well been poise
I don't know what it is about him, mother
But his gentle crinkled eyes certainly isn't
His voice is as flattering as the lullaby you once sang
The tone itself symbolizes warmth and stability
Undiscovered treasure in the midst of all volumes
It is home I feel closest to when I catch a glimpse of it in my ear
I don't know whether to feel astonished or quivered
By all means, that'd be deemed as eerie
But you once said when a man one day turned my cheeks bright pink
It sure could only mean one thing
It is unreliably evident not to notice me blush
It is even more apparent not to notice his blunt stare
Sending chilly shivers down my spinal cords
Activating fondness I'd never in a million years imagine I'd sense
If only you were here to see for yourself
How proud I'd make you, indeed
You said one day I'll be able to marry, mother
Well, this day isn't as far planned as it once seemed
From: Christine Louise Crimson
Aug 21, 2016
Aug 21, 2016 at 3:07 PM UTC
All olive trees are pretty ,great,and Wonderful anywhere and everywhere ... We get green or black olives from that That blessed tree anytime ... That long-lived tree symbolizes peace And love ... Deep-rooted olive-tree describes itself By itself to us ... Any olive-tree holds tightly in the ground Just to be only ....
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 3:17 PM UTC
~
Creatively I died inside a butterfly’s wing
Buried in the womb of a bird’s song
Sing…
Elevation
Planted deep in a spiders imagination
Twisted, converted
Underneath a pyramid
Midriff monsoon
Against the red noon of the Moon’s
Lunar tunes
Nightmares growing from daydreams
Like weeds
Reflecting the soul as darkness gleams
Broken seeds
The eyes of the Owl see
As wisdom he reads
Turn green with greed
No longer wise as pride
Glides and rides
Across the deceit of his landslide
Crashing like a crystal avalanche
Crushing lives and habitats
See one choice can lead back to the beginning
Of the first inning of a sliver lining
That has become dull
Losing its shine and luster
Like a haunted hall
In a old mansion cobwebbed with fluster
Skeletons and ghost threaded in walls
Shredded inside papery calls
Peeling from the owners fall
I’ve died inside the butterfly’s wing
The wing carved on a wedding ring
Its circle symbolizes my cycle
A tilted infinity inside the curve of clarity
Of my fall
That became a papery call
While threaded in a skeleton wall
Cobwebbed with fluster
Like a haunted hall
That has lost its shine and luster
Which became dull
Like the first inning of the silver lining
This choice has led back to the beginning
Crushing lives and habitats
Like a crystal avalanche
Crashing across the deceit of this landslide
Which glides and rides
No longer wise as pride
Turns green with greed
As wisdom he reads
The eyes of the Owl see
Broken seeds
Reflecting the soul as darkness gleams
Like nightmare and weeds
Growing from daydreams
Lunar tunes of the Moon
Glowing against red noon midriff monsoon
Underneath a pyramid
Twisted, converted
Planted deep in a spiders imagination
Elevation
Buried in the womb of a bird’s song
Sing…
For I’ve creatively died inside the ink of a butterfly’s wing
Dripping from an alien’s pen-well
Melting like clear gel
Faded and blurred
Secretly grew in between each verb
Hid myself in sentences
Like parables in genesis
With glee…
I impregnated the meaning inside me
Then birthed surrealism
In a chaotic schism
Between the fifth and second chord
Of a poetic discord
~
Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 2:40 AM UTC
i want to peel the skin from my limbs
strip by strip
with broken glass making jagged incisions
then watch the blood drip
down my body
dark red is pretty.
i want to scratch my eyes out
i've seen too much now
they'd look better splattered on the floor
just like ***** blotched decor
i want to pluck my nails out from the beds of my fingers and toes
and with a torch burn it all, melt the cartilage off my ears and nose
its too much extra baggage
for when i jump off the ledge
i like to mutilate myself
i’m a ********* as well
i love slicing deep into my skin
or puncturing myself, with a needle or pin.
seeing my blood escape captivity
makes me feel more alive than if it was still inside me
even more so when i carve out an artery
it falls so gracefully down to my feet
i want to display my own bones in my home
and replace them in my body with metal poles
i think feeling pain is better than feeling nothing
and seeing a sharp razor to grate my skin is always enticing
i love how it stings.
blood is the liquid of life yet symbolizes death
i corrupted my soul, now an expired body is left
i want to reach inside my chest
and grab my heart
and squeeze so hard
it oozes like jello through my fingers
and stops beating forever.
Nov 20, 2022
Nov 20, 2022 at 7:54 PM UTC
Seasons change and life goes on,
my scenes switch off, times are gone with words
From CT, to New York, to Colorado, the world’s voice I’ve already heard.
But not everyone can see the world’s treasures in their face,
the beauties, people, lights and sounds across this finite space.
Or felt the stars in their souls, that’ll disperse one day
It’s not the case, so please sit down, and listen to what I say:
We’re all too busy honing in on things that shouldn’t stand out
Like why I speak the way I do, with etiquette and class
why I transcend the lines between specific roles
in what I say and how I act
I say:
Why question and judge the little things I do
in my life, which isn’t yours
to the point where you cut off ties and contact that never had been forged
Because your preformed images of a bisexual, black guy
warps your eyes and makes you blind, way that can’t be right, because
across time the blind eyes symbolizes truth
so these illusions in your way, blocking you in sooth,
serve no purpose, see the light and accept the natural proof.
My hair’s not ***** my behavior varies to where
it fits no norms. I’m beyond your views, don’t you see?
It’s the eye of the storm.
I say:
It doesn’t stop at me, no, no. It spreads beyond these walls
and affects those who are different, who break society’s “laws”
Wars and fights over basic things are all I ever hear,
beliefs, gender, color, orientation,
the common fight is fear
Fear to be seen as an abomination
to break or fall from grace
To stay hidden from their true potential
for their own safety’s sake
I say:
That’s no way to live a life of
chances, hope and purpose
to live in shadows, cold and alone under
a hidden surface
I’m here to say that there’s no shame
in being who you are
to break the norm and stand against those
who dare to change your ways, to those who can’t accept
that life’s about change.
Why do I say such things? Why do I speak?
Why do I stand as one?
Our fate’s o n a string, the strong and meek
we’re all united under one sun.
I say:
We’re all human, how hard is it to understand that we’re the pieces
of one heart, united in a common band.
If we don’t accept this, how far can we go?
Surely we won’t last, but if we rise above this fog,
the human spirit will ever last against whatever
time and space may throw, whatever darkness we may fear.
Open your eyes, your ears, your heart
Because I say this: It all starts here.
Jan 24, 2017
Jan 24, 2017 at 10:08 PM UTC
War of the worlds,
men bartering money
Dollar bills left abandoned,
blown to smithereens
Battling dusts of torment,
acceptance of surrender
Waging a money war,
business men flee
In the shadows rises,
a fallen angel
Akin to a phoenix,
from the ashes
She symbolizes a renewal,
dying in fires
Sparks burning a nest,
immortality supplying coffins
Diabolical legacies of past,
bow & arrow
Punctured wounding broken heart,
wings disallow flight
Stumbling a splintered hip,
reborn a chance
Of independent determined autonomy,
la Cuesta Encantada
Fallen at the gates,
an enchanted hill
San Simeon seeking redemption,
death awaits her
Carrying body & soul,
Santa María Maggiore
Of Roman baroque temples,
small cascading pools
Death releases her body,
the Neptune pool
She floats without dissension,
sinking in grace
In all her glory,
Hearst Castle will
Entomb body & soul,
memories of her
release release release
Absolution.
© Sia Jane
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 12:12 PM UTC
A man’s wedding ring
Symbolizes abstinence
At least when he’s home
Feb 27, 2011
Feb 27, 2011 at 2:01 AM UTC
Cheaply manufactured in India
Its fake marbled cover fakier than ever
But not as fakey as this assignment
“Grendl symbolizes existential…”
Cross out cross out crossoutcrossoutcrossout
“Grendl symbolizes…” my senior year
Nobody understands why I don’t want
To go to college, why I quit the band -
Grendl and I are both exiles, okay…?
Cross out cross out crossoutcrossoutcrossout
I love my fountain pen; its deep, dark lines
Just like me
Refuse to be MLA marginalized
“Grendl symbolizes…”
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 4:12 PM UTC
Where do thugs go?
Who do they run to?
Where do they call home?
Not a house that they go to, but a place where they feel belonged
How do they cope with the scarcity of love?
Thugs, not the kind that most women think they are attracted to; therefore, not the imposers
Not the kind who landed at the bottom of the hill, sliding from the top only to scrape off their rot
Not the ones who were born with all the right people in their corners, but boxed them off while trying to fight to be someone that they are not
Thugs, the ones who momma loves? Because he appreciates her worthiness, her works
She's the only real love he ever had since birth
Thugs; who can't really go places because trouble doubles
It multiplies whenever he is with his guys
Because they all know how it feel not to live under a roof
Neither one of them have anything to lose
His dudes are equal to himself cubed
They rely on one another like proofs
And they are radical from the roots
Living in a negative atmosphere trying to multiply it by itself
So that they can make it to where the grass is greener and the sun does shine
The other side of the number line
Where the gunfire and homicides are divided
And the dope is reduced
All their lives they have been thinking that they are enduring the truth
That they "cannot amount to nothing and cannot be put to use"
They are neck deep in the streets
And the authorities is at their throats like a crew
But nothing around them is cotton
So when their fingers symbolizes a "V" they are only representing the place where they have to be
And they are not weak, but sometimes they wishes that they can take off a week
Black cats can't chase yarn
Mexicans don't have a specific day for casual dressing
Asians don't get any waivers
Cubans can't take less hours for a semester of schooling
Haitians don't get vacations
The **** life is given
Difficult to make it
As it is to escape it
It's hard to deal
When all they know is reeling in deals
To people who are saltier than Dill's
While at the same time trying to act real... Kosher
Without a companion to share meals... How do they find closure?
Too busy being tyrannical
Never learned how to be grammatical
So **** just got "worser"
Interviewee for a job
Or being suave to a child's mom
Besides their eyes,
Their oration is just exposure
Not knowing their duration to exist on this surface
Thugs need love
It's hard to tell through his mean-mug
But he's hurting
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 11:18 PM UTC
As we finally concluded what our end is,
you grabbed me by the hand once more,
reminiscing the days where this used to be
a piece of me that symbolizes home
and it begged for you to not let go of it.
Lips that will never taste each other's love,
eyes locked but this gaze will now be last,
words full of emotions but will never say
the three words that molded us to speak of our forgotten tomorrows
Fingers touch but never held on
to a promise of forever and always
and paths will never cross again
as we both said "good bye"
Oct 16, 2022
Oct 16, 2022 at 8:32 AM UTC
Oh, to cast my eyes
On someone as elegant
As she must be
To touch
Something as angelic
As the fingers she dangles
So nonchalantly from the opening
Of the chariot
She rides
Oh sweet beauty
Would that you were mine to hold.
What I would do
For the chance to see that face
The one so many look over
And pass by
Every day
Simple fools they must be
To pass by
The face that must out-shine
Even the stars
On one of those
Lovely fingers
Resides a ring
It symbolizes eternity.
Who was the giver of this gift?
Oh, gods above,
Do not let someone else have stolen
The heart
Of this angel.
Have mercy on me
A peasant
Pining over
This woman.
You should be
The one with a crown
My darling
The one wearing jewels
And many lovely gowns
And yet
Alas
You were born a servant
Doomed
To be overlooked
Though you are more beautiful
Than the sun.
Be still my heart,
My soul
My darling, I beg of you to have me
For I can clearly see
Though your face be veiled
That you, indeed are glorious
In your beauty.
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 11:29 PM UTC
An empty chair
Stares back at me
An empty chair
Where my friend should be
An empty chair
Replaces her life
An empty chair
Symbolizes how she took her life
An empty chair
Fills my view
An empty chair
Is now blurred by my tears
An empty chair
Is being occupied by the teacher
An empty chair
Is being filled by ignorance
An empty chair
Its occupants ask the obvious
An empty chair
They ask "are you ok?"
An empty chair
Knows the answer
An empty chair
Knows the reason
An empty chair
Wishes to be filled again.
Mar 10, 2011
Mar 10, 2011 at 11:34 AM UTC
There once was a girl who fell in love
To a boy that flew as free as a dove
There once was a girl that wanted to be free
To hug to hold, to love relentlessly
There once was a boy who thought he knew it all
Heart as cold as ice he thought, but he would fall
In love with a girl who's heart he knew,
Would show him redemption, would make him new
There is tale told about two friends
From the same planet but two different ends
There's a tale told, that was once put on hold, about a king in a castle and a flag on a pole.
It symbolizes a prince and a princess,
In a universe of soul, and stars and space,
A special place, created in their hearts
Oct 11, 2016
Oct 11, 2016 at 2:42 AM UTC
This astonishingly smart work
by an enterprising bunch
of greedy caterpillars on this tree,
symbolizes sweet success itself
(only to them, not for others
I'll have to grudgingly accept)
Look how they devour with a vengeance,
every bit of the gentle greatness, one felt
in presence of the exhilarating fine green crown,
of the lovely tree that stood head held high,
smiling in scorching sun, storm and rain,
and made me stand awe struck,
for a while the first time I passed
through the path under her thick canopy.
Success has avariciously eaten up glory
a fine creation of many seasons,
without any concern for those
who die for greatness, nothing else!
All that remains to see is this:
whether fragile winged butterflies,
charm personified in vivid colors,
would come out,of this greed?
Though they being a creatures of transience
makes it a bad bad bargain.
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 12:05 PM UTC
What others might see it as a Mexican game,
In my eyes it means so much more.
It symbolizes the unity and bond between family
Each loteria card reminds me of someond
Like la valiente reprents my mother,
Strong and brave
It also reminds me of how life works.
Sometimes it may look like you are winning
But end up losing. Or vise versa.
When you you thougth you have lose it all,
A sudden turn happens and win.
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 3:57 PM UTC
Blue symbolizes calmness
Blue symbolizes loyalty
though I know Monday Blues
could get to you
but oh prithee just hear me.
Have you seen where the birds flew?
To the sky filled with blue
those birds soar free.
Have you seen how mad and calm
the ocean could be?
With King Neptune as the king
and his water feeders
flow free with the seven seas.
Your eyes may not be blue,
your heart may have tiny dots of green,
But hear me,
Your soul is crystal clear,
Your hands dance in a way
I could never understand
Your head may still be empty
But as a whole,you're blue
and I still love you like;
I love the colour blue
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 6:36 AM UTC
I heard the flutter of a thousand feathers above me,
black birds convened at tomorrow’s end
I saw a ****** of crows encircling the sky
rushing downward into a vortex
Clattering straight for my skull
aiming for divvy morsels that fell off my body.
There’s not much left of me,
their blunt bills perforated most of my skin
Unveiling the skeleton inside this closet,
Unraveling the secrets this mouth can’t
In hoping to shut my heavy eyes to rest
and dig me a bed six feet under
so I can tumble to eternal slumber.
The tears running down my eyes diluted
the colors of my blood stained hands
as I wipe them away
Raindrops, tears, and blood
doesn’t differ much from each other
For they’re all just liquid substances that symbolizes pain.
I sight these black birds
sitting by the branches of a dead oak tree,
their claws clenched against the aged wood
Bathing in the ashes that fell like snow.
But I’m just lying perfectly still,
my back flat on solid ground
Facing the bleak sun
remaining numb and frozen
This is how I picture death
like sketching a mausoleum.
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 9:39 AM UTC