"unbelieved" poems
I truly am pathetic.
But not for the ways you say.
For the way that I let you tear me down.
For the way I said it was my fault.
That everything was my fault.
In truth it was yours darling.
But I thought if I blamed myself,
then you wouldn’t be hurt.
That you would feel better about yourself.
And you did,
But I didn’t.
Now this is what it’s come to?
You, writing these spiteful lies you call poetry?
Now you’ve become pathe-
No…
I can’t speak of you this way.
I never could.
I always let you hurt me
with a smile on my face.
I always blamed myself,
though that was not the case.
I should have said something.
Stood up for myself.
But I didn’t want to hurt you,
Make you sad,
Make you feel the way I do…
I just wish
That these people,
The ones who read your poems
Knew the whole story,
My side of it.
The side that makes the ****** the villain
That makes the abuser,
the awful, disgusting, worm of a man,
just a sad, lonely and broken boy,
willing to destroy himself to see his true love happy.
But words are powerful
And hers may be better than mine.
If so then my story may go untold,
Unbelieved.
But, believed or not,
The truth must be told
I will no longer be that pathetic, submissive soul,
but instead an instrument to show the truth
A lens of truth…
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 3:08 AM UTC
Well now,
I seen you got that look in your eyes
I know you saw right through my disguise
This front, this mask I wear
Trying to tell everyone
"Beware"
Yeah sweet,
I see your hidden side,
That you've been trying to hide,
But please, just be fair,
I'm different I really do
Care
So...
You've seen what's been hidden
Underneath the paint on my face
I guess I'll have to apply a layer again
Can't let anyone touch my grace
I like being a mystery
Trapped in a
Haze
And...
There you are, out of my view
After I had a glimpse of the real you
Now I won't be put off
Or easy to faze
My life's complex
So I love a
Maze
It's true,
I do enjoy a chase
Sometimes, getting caught
Just ruins the game
So, as I look over my shoulder
I begin to
Wonder
I see...
I'll show you respect, admiration and grace,
I'll continue to follow but slow up my pace.
I still have my wits, but that's a wonder,
Considering it's your spell that I'm
Under
Do you now...
You know that I run for a reason?
I hide my inner light,
Cause I'm someone no one believes in
This life has been hard
And I'm the one dealing the cards
But I know now, I'm not the
Queen
Ah,
Unbelieved in is what you say?
I see it from another way,
You deal me the cards, and I pocket the hearts,
And you had it planned from the start,
You outplayed me, my trickster queen,
As we exit arm in arm as our final
Scene
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 7:56 PM UTC
“But I am old and you are young,
And I speak a barbarous tongue.”
“To a Child Dancing in the Wind” by William Butler Yeats
<|>
saw this poem on the site,
and it ripped a tear in my warp,
shredded edges rubbing each other,
violently, volubly, saying be wary child,
for what we don’t tell the children well
in advance of their sad discovery
that the world is not the perfection and
that good night moon story world
is not as it purport does if
it really exists,
and I am bitter that all warning asunder,
inutile, wasted, going unbelieved till time
is they must discover in their own pain,
their own sorrow that our world and words,
are imperfect, and that I am sordid saddened
that there is little one can do to protect them,
other than,
speak in a barbarous tongue
*”But I am old and you are young,
And I speak a barbarous tongue.”*
Yeats
~~~
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4756146/to-a-child-dancing-in-the-wind-by-william-butler-yeats/
Sep 30, 2023
Sep 30, 2023 at 8:32 AM UTC
there's a pimple on my left cheekbone
and one of my brows is plucked
a little thinner than the other.
the only makeup on my face
is the black on my eyelashes
my eyes
burst
green.
my mouth (my rosebud mouth, my mother
smiles) like a slightly opened
slightly troubled
bow.
my brow is furrowed
my eyes are searching
one of my ring-and-bracelet hands
holds back my hair (short)
and my elbow
rests.
i look at myself,
head-tilting, quick-sketching
the curves of my features
in a single line of ultra-fine Sharpie.
what you see is what you get.
my eyes frown into themselves
through the mirror.
i am long
i am lanky
i am lovely.
i am a little lost
and very found
i am angsty
i am achey
i am laughing
i am me -
if you only look at yourself for a second
you tend to miss
how beautiful you are.
it isn't my vanity.
it's the universal, and most unbelieved
truth.
i brush back my hair
and i puff my cheeks out.
i sigh, and i look at myself
in the cheap mirrors set out
on the art-room tables.
"not bad," i say to the single line of ultra-fine Sharpie-version of my face.
and it isn't.
even though
i left out the pimple.
Oct 21, 2011
Oct 21, 2011 at 5:17 PM UTC
Situation of inflation.
Betrayal saturates your current fate.
Destiny can no longer wait.
Your enemies deceive & hate.
Objectify a small white lie.
An unanswered why.
People & things fall apart.
Torn in half & broken hearts.
Salvage pieces to make it whole.
Satisfaction in a cereal bowl.
Truth unbelieved.
People you can't be with you leave.
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 8:25 PM UTC
He sat with Michaelanglo
a stirring butress, a rife old glutton.
Seething, the temple may be doomed.
And Jude, 'rich' as HELL,
beaming of priesthood. Cursed him
with mired lucher, saying... 'When do
you think our work will be done?"
The stars that shine about the church
over our heads are beauty,
in the Cistene Chapel are the same
stars that line the apothecary of our souls.
How then do we touch a theist?
With brooms over our feet,
with chicken bones to old to feed
to dogs, with lyes that burn the soul.
Tremulous attrition, and godless neoteny.
All munitions to the decks. For
Jude, the job is never finished.
And to a deity, man is completeness.
And the poet says to the unbelieved,
'Why so true?'
"No one will believe in God,...
if no one is in this Church."
The Sandbergs, the Blakes, the Jaynes's.
Here we have felt poetry, awakened to poetry,
and loved every minute of the poet.
What record could democracy create
by Judas? When does the account of
men try femine reason?
'Ill tell You',.. says Mr. Sandberg,
'Ill tell You!,...that naught one of us can forgive a
great poet.' And Jude, replied,... "Whom then
can I believe?"
Carl Sandberg leaned way back and answered,
'You can believe the Truth; she is warm
to the touch and cold for the feature of
treason.'
"Carl why then do we argue in 3rd person?" says
Jude.
Repling again, the Cistene Chapel is open
for marrage, the ceiling is finished because
no one can account for all of the stars, but who
has to pray with us for forgiveness.
My hands prean lust for wisdom with a
pen, my hands pluck keyboards as do
Aeolian Flutes. My heart is a broken sorrow
and my life is just a poet.
Carl has answered a question,
Jude has lies to tell, and a man will finish
painting the chapel with the sound of
Liberty bells.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 8:31 PM UTC
Part 8.
Yeh, yeh, yeh, sneer, to cool, hot to never, back down,
if and or but you did, or
you could have, had you had
half a chance.
Let's dance, two-step slow,
and watch lies we unbelieved slip as buckyballs,
on ice.
Twice told tales, told in time, ad another just
in time.
Oh, gnoshit, this just in, as ice, on ice, just, too
cool, you know. Ecklbarger, mulleted east-coaster,
show me your ticket on this Virgen line,
or walk
away.
Boom, dose two, dose y duo, rock on.
- the story rests, at https://kenpepiton.com millions of words,
use in any other order, however you wish,
twist right to tighten, left to loose, just to hold the pressure,
Archimedes ******* too tight, loose the letter t, t, see tiny t
tict..ticket. Punch it good to go, tickt
Aug 29, 2022
Aug 29, 2022 at 7:31 PM UTC
It’s paramount the notion
That men are born to grow,
Extend their creativity,
Expand the very best they know.
Explore the realm unseen before
Beyond their very reach,
Inflate the mind’s potential
To absorb and grasp and preach.
To plunder flair unrealized
Extend skills unperceived,
To craft a very masterpiece
Of magnificence, unbelieved.
To raise the spire of excellence
To sculpt a work of art,
Compose a peice which scintillates
And moves the very heart.
To reach beyond the mortal
And let the spirit free
To pen a Michelangelo
And have God sit with me.
Marshalg
@the Coalface
Victoria Park Tunnel
30 April 2010
Apr 29, 2010
Apr 29, 2010 at 8:45 PM UTC
In the fullness of time
The state may be reached
Where man’s comprehension,
Embedded and beached,
May run the gamut
Of realms unconcieved
And bring him to terms
With the great unbelieved.
He may come face to face
With his devils and God
And face stark realisation
That old pathways he’s trod,
Have rendered him sterile
And lost to the world
Of enlightenment’s treasured
Potential unfurled.
He may curse the day
When he wallowed within
The restricted, dark walls
Of his ego and sin.
The restricted thinking
Possession allows
And the deadening influence
Of substanceless vows.
When he wallowed within
The restrictions of self
And condemned his tomorrows
To rot on the shelf.
In pursuing the way
To such shallow relief
He convicted potential’s
Sad limit....A THEIF!!
Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
3 December 2011
Dec 2, 2011
Dec 2, 2011 at 4:57 PM UTC
hey well you've come this far
to a place beyond your reason
why not stay a while and see
what it's like to live unknown
and unbelieved and forgotten
stay with us a while, or a little
come with us to special places
where together we can explore
and can pick through memories
and emotions and unused ideas
you can stay, have tea with us
wonder and wander with us too
to far off places and places close
places within us we'd never dared
to travel to before alone until now
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 11:40 AM UTC
~
Subtly surmised
of this bed sheet warmth,
darkened skies felt,
Lost in silent hours
of a dream
A beauty unbelieved
in flowing nightlace
Drinking from the fountain
of every joy I have longed
Aglow where shadows
once traced
Song birds lift
of growing branch,
new leaves in velvet green
shading marigold sighs
falling from calla lily skies,
resting upon my heart
A touch greets
cumulus milk paint skin,
salted of time,
weathered in season’s charge
Coated satin emerging,
reclaiming its glisten of youth,
breathing
Whirlwinds gather,
swirls of tapestry patterns
float me on
cut crystal wings a’ shimmer
Soaring into your arms
A’ feel of kite string wisps
as love takes me
to you
I found you in a dream
I write you in poetry
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 6:50 PM UTC
Cleansings
by Michael R. Burch
Walk here among the walking specters. Learn
inhuman patience. Flesh can only cleave
to bone this tightly if their hearts believe
that God is good, and never mind the Urn.
A lentil and a bean might plump their skin
with mothers’ bounteous, soft-dimpled fat
(and call it “health”), might quickly build again
the muscles of dead menfolk. Dream, like that,
and call it courage. Cry, and be deceived,
and so endure. Or burn, made wholly pure.
One’s prayer is answered,
“god” thus unbelieved.
No holy pyre this—death’s hissing chamber.
Two thousand years ago—a starlit manger,
weird Herod’s cries for vengeance on the meek,
the children slaughtered. Fear, when angels speak,
the prophesies of man.
Do what you "can,"
not what you must, or should.
They call you “good,”
dead eyes devoid of tears; how shall they speak
except in blankness? Fear, then, how they weep.
Escape the gentle clutching stickfolk. Creep
away in shame to retch and flush away
your ***** from their ashes. Learn to pray.
Keywords/Tags: Holocaust, poem, ashes, crematorium, chimney, smoke, gas, chamber, Auschwitz, starvation, walking dead, mass graves, genocide, ethnic cleansing, racism, antisemitism, fascism, cruelty, brutality, inhumanity, horror
Mar 22, 2020
Mar 22, 2020 at 12:08 AM UTC
mouths
clamped shut
for fear of
humiliation
a brain that pops
with thoughts
unprojected
the solidness
of being
threatened
with destruction
by unbelieved
proclamations
of truth
this world
our world
your world
faced with
predictions
of destruction
because leaders
chose to follow
and followers
chose
a zipped
upper lip.
Dec 4, 2016
Dec 4, 2016 at 2:41 PM UTC
As I sit in silent thought,
Of all the things I've been taught,
I ponder questions like who and why?,
Why am I here , and why not die?
I think about the simple life,
Working hard, loving a wife,
No problems but those of nature,
Surviving her forces and her anger,
Feelings deprived, unbelieved,
Her storms subside, and do relieve,
The pressures of the world around,
The sun reveled , it's warmth unbound,
To warm and heal the scars of the earth,
The scars of us, and the scars of birth.
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 8:36 PM UTC
I sometimes hate this earth.
I'm not sure which is worst.
This life or the curse.
Only once I gave birth.
The only & the first.
An angel was delivered.
My happiness was shattered to slivers.
My tears shed enough to fill rivers.
I thought I was nice.
But no one to never ever marry once or twice.
If you know me, you hate me.
Even the parts you can't see.
I no longer cry.
I don't wonder why.
I only hope to never die.
To have or to hold.
Too late another year old.
Your heart is too dark & cold.
Another lie unbelieved is told.
I never got to keep any Guy.
Bad or good.
They never would.
Maybe they should.
If they thought they could.
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 10:25 PM UTC
When soft hearts are broken,
All lovely Moments are wreck-on
When the wind never blows,
the dark rain clouds glows.
When thunder can’t be heard,
the sun takes its sword
When angels do not sing
I sleep on the devils wing
When life cannot be lived,
death may be unbelieved
When truth turns to be lie,
the fake becomes so alive
The clock shows wrong time,
wounds never heal on time
When pain does not hurt,
and enemies never avert
When rainbows have no color,
sky becomes ***** and ******
when wrong seems to be right.
the right will never come to light.
Williamsji Maveli
Jul 9, 2012
Jul 9, 2012 at 8:46 PM UTC
"I cannot help you
with this publication"
it said
a closed door
a full stop
even an exclamation mark
you are swimming with the sharks
trying to run
with the wrong pack
basically you're a loser
your work just doesn't cut it
I recede back into
my protective shell of defeat
enclosing me
with the force field
of self denial and hate
here I am safe
nowhere to go but down
failure such an easy road
I travel with the crowd
all rejects of the elite
unwelcome in their kingdom
worse than unbelievers
we are the unbelieved in
Sep 3, 2022
Sep 3, 2022 at 5:52 PM UTC
I stare into you, you into me.
And I see a language that isn't written
in the books that you read.
Or even in the words that you had conceived,
and hid away so carefully, to be unbelieved.
In your stare I am told a story, and reminded of a need,
that I also find within myself, for these words to be freed.
And in those eyes I found that these lips came to stutter,
when I asked you how many confessions could a gaze ever utter?
After a night of staring deeply into each other,
you replied, "Many," and made my heart sputter, murmur, flutter,
and then dip into the gutters, and sit in a messy clutter.
Daddy, you made me melt, I swear this isn't butter.
All for a second, I knew, you knew and we knew one another,
and I wished, you wished, and we wished to be called, lovers.
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 4:16 PM UTC
All of a sudden,
Words strike
Bringing form to forms,
Images to images,
A torpid reality
Of shades, of maybes,
Of what we think.
All of a sudden
These words surprise
Into something new,
Unsaid, untouched,
Unscouted, unbelieved.
All of sudden
Words turn to maps,
To directions in the fog,
To whistles in the woods,
Magnetic fields,
Useless until discovered.
New words,
New worlds,
New sense of living,
Something new
Put into pages
To remark time,
Characters, faces,
Traces, History.
Hail to what has been
And could have been told.
Everything else
Is vanished in the maze
Of weather, memory,
Sand, dust, dirt, clay, mud, earth.
Hail to what is now,
The descendants of Ozymandias,
The remains of Tutankhamen,
The blow of Aristotle,
Nothing could be now
Without anything that has been.
We
Just happen.
Nov 14, 2018
Nov 14, 2018 at 11:50 PM UTC
The continuous culture
As none would be, yet still exists,
One who creates a perfect bliss.
So sensational as to be unbelieved;
Yet tales are told as first was seen.
The image there for all to see,
Gave birth to words and epiphanies.
A mind of light and stars and streams.
Connections made and ways believed.
And all upon a head of clouds,
Were seen a million times and how,
All understood the thought as one,
As all never needed a mirage in the sun.
Electric bolts from mind to mind,
Shared all the knowledge of all mankind
And as man all stood on land to view the sky,
Beneath the moon and sun all was clear to the eyes.
At last a chance to see the next footstep in humanity.
A language born a long time ago,
Was able to be used to translate,
And now all into a brighter future can go.
The mind of a hive, a continuous culture.
A change of life; breaking the spell we were under.
(C)2019 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Jul 2, 2019
Jul 2, 2019 at 2:59 PM UTC