"treck" poems
I want to pack up my life and put it on hold
whilst a new adventure I do take hold
I want to run free
by the sea,
if that is a possibility
I want to climb the highest mountian
Dance naked in a fountain
Treck through the Amazon
All before my life is too far gone
Alas, its not to be,
Especially when you have a kid and responsibility
** hum, back to the Doldrum
Of a boring life I have to run
Maybe next year
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 5:37 AM UTC
i
I'm stuck inside her panaginip lip's, she's ****** me all in
She cast a spell, of amour' swell, chain's of cabochon to her hips;
Oh mine giliw, thine finger's art sweated, locking mine own
We'll treck thine mountain's, and rule the slopes, then back home
ii
We shalt Kench the white puffies, floating above ourn observation, making elephant's and giraffe's with touched finger,
Two strange unknown attainer's, strapped with starry wit
We shalt never forget another, always to be closer as lovers, bliss
iii
As Beowulf, I shalt slayeth the dragon's, and pain-seekers of hate
For plentiness shalt be by bucket's, as gold dust falls as ourn date;
An Iniibig kita from thou, a Lagi kitang iniisip from mineself
An Gusto kitang tawagan from thou when I'm gone, Pahalik!!!!
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Pilipino rosas/ あある じぇえん
Aug 6, 2015
Aug 6, 2015 at 9:58 PM UTC
A waking moment, when eyes first open.
Like a newborn experiencing sight for the first time.
Blinding curiosity illuminating a fight for understanding.
Pure at first, as each new sensation overwhelms the senses.
As each new day comes and goes,
turning into weeks,
months,
and years;
shaping our perspectives.
We slowly lose that sight we once had,
a forceful forging becomes of us.
Is who we are simply what we've seen?
It seems as each clip of life is impressed upon us,
we become less individual in the since of freewill,
and moreso as a carbon copy of impulses and reactions.
Lessons of life are gained after rigorous testing of wills, fates and virtues.
Mistakes as high as moutian peeks can be reached in moments,
Whilst the treck down seem to never end.
Lost deep in a forest that repeats itself,
over and over leading back to that peak.
Within these trials of heartache, triumphs, and shame.
When does redemption come to save our souls?
An awaking moment, when eyes first open.
Like a newborn experiencing sight for the first time.
Blinding curiosity illuminating a fight for understanding.
An understanding beyond the senses,
beyond what can be seen and felt thru this battle life creates.
A struggle for redemption for what has been seen and done,
in the moments before these eyes had true vision.
A redemption that is dreamt with open eyes under sunny skies,
and soundly under starlight; but it seems sometimes as tho,
no matter the destination desired for that clean slate in life,
I find myself fixed, like a switch on the wall.
As tho we can be empowered, only to be turned off.
Is the desire for redemption caused by switching on,
and rewarded by flipping back off with oblivious eyes?
Jan 21, 2012
Jan 21, 2012 at 12:06 AM UTC
Tonight there's nothing
Look left look right
Nothing left in sight.
My eyes so open very wide.
But everything,everyone is left to hide.
Cause from inside I found.
It's the punches we take pound for pound.
That eventually leave us bruised and down.
But now there's no one left to frown.
Nothingness an emotional wreck.
As far as the eyes could see as far as your legs could treck.
Now what went wrong along the way
Found someone else yesterday.
Now all I am, all I was is left behind.
Nothingness down roads we wind.
But what we don't see.
Is nothingness is to be free.
Believe in me
now is what I see
to make a change
Completely rearrange
Now I see.
That this nothingness is a beginning to a new me....
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 9:45 PM UTC
Miles and Miles to go,
that's how far I must treck
through rain, hail, sun, and snow
still yet I have
Miles and Miles to go.
Miles and Miles to go,
where I will stop,
when will I end,
it's not like anybody will know,
when I've yet to travel
Miles and Miles,
Miles to go.
Down this beaten path,
or broken road,
over the hill-tops and mountains,
through yon valleys so deep,
it's the precious little memories of each
of all the people and places
I keep.
Yet I know I'll have more,
with life keeping the better parts in store,
but there's only one way to know for sure,
when I've yet to simply endure,
Miles and Miles To Go.
Trek along, the weary way,
with no place of my own,
not a warm place to stay,
I endure the hardships of the weather,
hoping one day
it'll all be better,
but better land is so far away,
and I've got me mind still sharp and together,
and come the troubles, and come as they may,
I know I'm never alone,
when I travel the road by day.
Miles and Miles to go,
my feet has toughened
harder than boots,
I'm finally going,
the land of my roots.
There's no more place that I'd rather go,
than to the place,
the place I call my home.
To finally feel the warm ground beneath my feet,
to finally feel the comfort,
of the sun's blanketing heat.
To feel the wind as it washes through my hair,
to feel the raindrops on my skin,
like I didn't care.
To smell the dew, in the early morn,
to finally taste, some of that home grown corn.
And yet...
I've a long way to go,
before I finally head home,
still I must travel,
still
I must roam.
For the work is not done,
nor will it ever be,
there's a race to be run,
and I'm not the only one,
with Miles
And Miles
To Go.
Miles And Miles To Go.
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 9:53 PM UTC
THE TRECK
Step-
step-
step
Walking through
orange mountains--
a journey toward
the blue hole,
like shamans through a desert--
except we have beer.
never loosing our sight
of the sea,
I swear, every step
makes the water glow a more magificent blue
as the wind travels through every rock.
Step-
step-
step
One of the electric men
from the rocks whispers
through a gust
to trust the path ahead of me.
I take a swig of beer.
Step-
step-
step
ARRIVAL and RELAXING
Subdued
Subtle
Serene duet
between Nephthys and Nuit lulls us
to rest after a feast of honey tahina
in a hut with the words "Peace City"
painted over the kitchen.
Silent
Soothing
Solace
wondering
if Moses was really lost
in a place many might consider paradise.
Saline
Saphire
Soul blood pours from mother's veins--
Dahab/Sinai is a major artery
of civilization creation, a sacred
space for those seeking to unplug.
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 6:49 AM UTC
You could be miles away
an untameable distance
impossible to reach
tomorrow or today
yet you sit two feet that way
Your could be slipping
falling of a cliff
into a darkness i can not follow
one hand dangling on the edge that is ripping
yet you stand firmly on the ground without tripping
You could be blinded
Sight blocked out by an unpenetrable veil
hiding me from you, unable to see the present,
memories forgotten as you go unreminded
yet your eyes shine, filled with confidence, decisions decided
Perhaps it is me
an impossible treck away
Perhaps it is me
slipping from the edge today
Perhaps it is me
blind folded, hidden from you
Perhaps it is me,
a small candle, wishing to burn anew,
yet I battle for every breath to pass
as the oxygen is taken by your inferno
my speck of light, shining through miles of darkness
your blazing fire, through clear glass
snuffs out my flame, turning it to gas
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 11:04 PM UTC
I force myself
To endoure the treck to my past,
The source of why
I don't leave
My vacant cave at night.
Every now and then,
I scavenge this place
We called our playground
Looking, searching
For last batch of complements
To motivate my ego
To treck these tragic events
That partook in this place.
Every streetlight
That pierces the night
Reminds me of the new fashion trend
I picked up called loneliness.
I wish I could take
This coat of depression off of me.
No how many times
I can't shake the feeling
It sticks on me like the Elmers glue
That I stuck to my hands in preschool.
I wish this conflict would subside
Through the silence.
All I can do now
Is climb this familiar path,
Draped over the clouds
Where I can't see my future for
Miles, miles,miles.
Just being stuck in the crevice
That wispers in the wind,
"I'm not as magnificent
As you thought I was"
Sep 1, 2015
Sep 1, 2015 at 1:28 PM UTC
Misery is the mother of invention
because in my life happiness doesn't even get a mention
but sometimes I fake smile just to break the tension
I feel like my ******* heart is bent in
like I wish you never went in
You're like the epitome of satan
because you kept me hangin' and waitin'
and I thought eventually we'd end up datin'
I was wrong
Now I'm just a wreck
I want to take a long treck
we kissed but it was just a peck
but now I'm so ****** I want to stab my neck
or my heart
oh wait you already did that part
Cupid shot me with his love dart, arrow
the line I walk is narrow
I feel like the opposite of a pharoh
a peasant
When I saw you it used to be pleasant
but now I don't even want your presence
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 3:21 AM UTC
I don't want to flick the light out,
the blazing marble strung up in the night sky casting shadows over and under and between solitary and vacant feelings.
Eventually being mixed into a whirl wind of havoc all the while the moon rolls behind the naked tree limbs and the boiling gold sphere peaks over the adjacent hills.
Slouching in piercing silence, nails stiffen because they're afraid of clinking to the ground. Ripping off all that you treck with.
Transform to the torn sole of your shoe, breath in the sights.
Shove away from the wall and burst through windows, seeming unsinkable.
Still slouching in piercing silence.
Shadows seem to evade the clear, illuminated streets.
Toss your hat across the river, soaring like a dagger.
Gently gliding like a heron to crouch inside a thicket of your brain.
Trapping those thoughts girl, you know you have to shake them out.
They hold no shadows,
Just like Peter Pan.
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 3:42 AM UTC
Long do I labor
My back turned to the hot bearing sun.
Long do toil
Until my hardened hands crack and blood begins to run.
And in my labor, my heart turns red with the fires of anger.
At the pointless task set before me.
Why, I question do I place myself in such danger.
When it is all plain to see
That my actions do little to sustain me.
My body though young grows weary of these bleary days.
And my youth drains from me as color from a cloth.
I am left weaker at days end than when I started
And I obtain no recompence To cover the cost of all that I have departed
The weight grows greater by the day
And I fear I grow weaker for the effort.
And yet at the time of my departure
When i lay down my toils pick
When I go back to the shack of a home
That i wearily built.
And I open the creaking door to a warm lit home.
And inside I realize that I am not alone.
For within the darkness eyes look back upon me
Small delicate hands reach out to embrace my leg
Happy for my presence, for the comfort that I endure to provide
Let it never be said that my heart were made of stone.
For even I in my loss, in my pain, I go to eagerly divide
What little my toils have to offer, what little the world sees fit to condone.
And when I see the smile they all give
That another day, by my effort they may all live.
I try not to weep, for they thought crosses my mind
That if I were to fall to jealosies grip
What wall would stand firm against he horrors of mankind.
What piller would hold the ceiling above them.
What furnace would give them warmth.
What sword and sheild would protect them from evils men
I am undone by my title
Weakened by my bonds
But for them, my pourpose stays vital
And for them do I treck on the toilers grounds
I will bleed so they will not need to
I will fall such that they may rise
And when it is all said and done and I am called on to
Let it not be not be said that my cross I did not bare.
Let it not be said that my dependants I did not prize
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 8:02 PM UTC
my fingers tickle keys about pointless topics that many strangers read
i try to impress those with a rythm i attempt to keep
i think of impressing others even when i sleep
but it gets tougher and tougher when the same **** keeps happening.
talking about crimes in streets
thats redundant
talking about drugs
thats redundant
talk about depression?
PLEASE! we're in a recession.
if your tears aint making me money
start walking honey
because starving yourslef to skin bones isnt worth that emotional sydrome.
we need to get grown and become logical, not philosophical.
what if is just some ******** that will make smash into an obstacle pretty quick.
im sick of the same ****
same ****
same ****
same ****
same ****
same ****
my days are painful and slow
they treck alongside me like a snail in a hurdle racing a turtle.
there's no prgression
no incentive
no reason to be inventive
because its all about the money not the culture
as the vultures tear us to ribbons
rich ******* sippin on lifes bosoms is cushioned with oppurtunity.
all i would like to say is if you plant a seed
give water.
not need.
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 2:51 PM UTC
In the winter of
My darkest sadness
A candle glows,
Tiny and so far away.
It gives the darkness
A focal point and I
Struggle my way towards it.
Another candle lights my way.
I don’t know where it came from
But it makes a fearful journey
So much easier to manage,
And I eventually will dance
On thistledown to
The music of the Skylarks
In a sun-filled, cloudless sky.
ljm
May 18, 2025
May 18, 2025 at 6:50 PM UTC
I wander this lonely treck of trail, and watch the lilacs shrivel up and die.
The son of Zeus shall not walk even handed upon these trenches plains.
I will not bear this weight, no more.
I will not perpetuate my life in this
Wasteland, no more.
I will not revel for my past futures that I so
Foolishly lost, oh no more.
I will not tense one more muscle for this boulder, it will have to wait, no more.
I will not set precedent that the human race can
So easily be pulled into the pasture and shot, no more.
I will not bleed one more time for the cruel, oh no more.
This heartless world will have a beat once again.
For I am Sisyphus and I will find meaning.
Nov 23, 2016
Nov 23, 2016 at 10:13 PM UTC
Cataclysmically careening down a chasm of chaos
I seperate myself from myself
I am just a part of the everything and spiralling ever further into the void
Devoid of the hubris and ideals of the individual
We are now as we are
The great Is.
Tiny terrifying tarantulas treck through my trachea
bring to me the woe and confusion of thought
my voice creaks and from within a gurgle of shame
comes an uproarious feeling screaming louder and louder
FIGHT
However
I sit in my apartment,
surrounded by a display of unadulterated unease
the carpet is littered with broken promises to myself
and the corpses of my past lives
shambling through the dark and finding the bathroom I find the light
I turn it on and inside the mirror is
the face of my mother, speaking in tongues and drinking maple syrup
while Mrs. Butterworth moans like a **** star
A fillibuster of inconceivable toxic waste spews from my mouth as I make excuses
I shave my face and head out the door
I have a job to do after all and this world needs me
Me the only me that has ever been or ever will be
and the only thing that matters
a tangled mess of ligaments and flesh strewn together like a marionette guided by strings called neurons
my brain playing make-believe with false pretense
keeping secrets and shining lights on
the monsters underneath my bed
I cry because I like to remember I can
that I am able to feel the things I read about in books and see on tv
but when faced with tragedy I just shut down
and I realize I'm alone
and that brings me happiness.
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 1:14 AM UTC
My tongue turns numb to excessive drinking of cheap liquor and ***
Cold Fire Liquid touches my lips,
dances with my tongue,
slides down the chute of mine throat,
into the pond of digestion.
squinted eyes, foul breath,
cup in one hand while the other cups breast.
sit in daze while animals make mess.
start conversation I will surely forget.
forget what taste tastes like; all tastes of leather.
must try to dance with grace of feather
a curios thought and sentence of irony,
"this is a night to remember"
finally I take off to home of mine.
time I check on mine wrist,
words rise from my watch and say, "BLISS"
then dissipate into a "liqoury" mist.
I treck cracked streets like creature risen from grave.
I ***** through the streets.
give route was what I gave,
to crack fiends, thief's, hoodlums, and they
saw a sloshed 17 year old and thought, "mah boi chillin tadai"
but just to be honest that never happened...
...but it might today
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 11:55 AM UTC
All I can hear
Is the quiet "tick" of my watch
Telling me
It's 8:23.
I guess time
It goes on unfaltered, undaunted
I could be dying
But the large hand would still
Treck on
To 8:24.
And it's crazy to think
That some people won't live
To see
8:30
Or even
8:25
Because people are dying
Right now
At 8:23.
See, but in the time it took
For me to write this down
It's already
8:26
And some people only ever
Got to see
8:23
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 11:26 PM UTC
This road I walk alone
Haunted by the memories of past lives that aren't even mine
Stuck in a revolving door of lies and empty promises
So I left
With nothing but a broken mind
And a book full of undeveloped thoughts
The terrain is rugged
Jagged rocks and broken branches stab at my feet
Taunting me
But I don't mind
The temptation of knowing the future out ways everything
This tunnel vision makes my surroundings bleak
I contemplated on turning back
But there nothing worth going back to
This treck will be a lonely one
I chose not to pull any down this sink hole with me
Survival is slim for those who don't know where this road go
Hopefully this path I chose wont destroy me
I ignored the warning sign
I dont know where this leads
When I reach the end I know I won't be the old me
But there's always a problem
This fork in the road confuses me
Its been awhile since I walked a mile
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 4:58 AM UTC
Leading chance perchance to get
I try to find what's forward set
And all for those who created me
On the road I go and seemed to be
I easily stumble and lose my whit,
And I doubt myself, but I can do it.
Creating a path with leaps and bounds
Now hense I go forth, no turning around
But if I could I would look back
Upon the choices which I am set
I easily stumble and lose my whit,
And I doubt myself, but I can do it.
And if I try I might just take
A moment to think, or stop and break
Break from a path which I pushed forth
Upon those supportive of my chosen course
I easily stumble and lose my whit,
And I doubt myself, but I can do it.
I look back with stupor at how I got away
But I must treck on like any other day
The more I wonder, the more I trip
The further I question my kinship
I easily stumble and lose my whit,
I doubt myself, can I do it?
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 3:37 PM UTC
Again sleeps become,
A coveted prize.
Sheltered away,
From my heavy eyes.
Reluctant walls block,
The short treck to my bed.
And a quiet voice urges me,
"Don't go" in my head.
So I wait just a single,
Rooms distance away.
Relying on nature as sleeps saviour,
Regardless of what the voices say.
Jan 14, 2017
Jan 14, 2017 at 5:04 AM UTC