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I guess you didn’t know
That I have a lost and uncomfortable soul.
She screams and shouts to overcome the pain
But without uttering a word because fear is in reign.

Is it all in my head?
Another discerning dread that she feared and left unsaid.

How did I get here?
This black funnel and clouded sphere have her trapped inside with no hope to adhere.

Like an impending doom forever encompassing everything she’d once dreamed
All the things that used to be will now never be—at least that’s how it seems.

Not knowing what to feel or how to bestow her love
All hope for that was ruined with the very first shove.

How does one proclaim the truths of their heart?
If everything they’ve ever loved always seems to get ripped apart?
Forever afraid of the what-ifs and of the worst
All because of that stupid ******* **** who immersed.

Thrusting all of her hopes and dreams into the chasm of perception
What used to make sense has now seemed to be blackened.
Happiness used to prevail inevitably, or it at least seemed attainable
But can now only be hastily found with the help of an Rx bottle.

From afar her eyes sparkle and shine like the rarest of diamonds
Cerulean blue like the water surrounding the tropical islands.
If she refuses to let you in, you’d never believe she was so sad
But even the waters of paradise conceal desolate bad.

He’s sent her on a spiraling staircase slowly down to hell
Forced to suffer one small step at a time, while he upwardly propels.

I guess you didn’t know
That I had a story to tell.

I guess you didn’t know
That my soul is not well.

I guess you didn’t know
That I have been enduring hell.

I guess you didn’t know
Because I’m trapped in a distorted and torturous shell
Desperate to find the one who holds the key to unchain me & cast away this spell.
bouhaouel zeineb Jan 2015
The mad king is dead
The cruel king has passed away
Stand for the new queen
The merciful and mighty queen
" My people a new beginning awaits us
No more suffering
No more hunger
I will unchain the slaves
I will feed the poor
I will rule the kingdom with wisdom and justice
I will hang the murderers
I will imprison the thieves
I will chop the **** of every *****
The king wasted our money and fortune
Sold out our fields and women to the enemy
But we will take back what is ours
With fire and blood if needed
But now bring the food and play the music!!
Let's party!!
And **** the king"
Let your step free
From the shackles of time
The alarms are dead
Skeletal in the rounds
Of the past
Let to rest

Breathe the fresh air
Tickling your face
It is full of youthful aroma
That shall touch and

For indeed tomorrow
Is precious
Sow it today
In the soil of present
Nurture it
Nourish it
With ample dreams
Rich and fertile

But let not the omen of past
Ever shadow it

We have come along
From yesterday until today
But the seasons of the morrow
Await –
That’s the canvass
Outlines of past
Can definitely be re-brushed

Unchain the spirit
Undo the time
If we move today
Tomorrow evening
We can pause
Look back
And smile!
Radiating content
With energies more divine!
ryn Jan 2015
•unchain me from unrest•
shovel me out of the dirt•
une-                              arth
my conge-   sted chest•
let my secrets blurt•
let them
just   for
the wor-
ld to see
me up...
my  will
the fruits
of the bi-
tter tree•
let    eyes
see  what
will show
•...let feet
be caught
in stubbo-
rn mud...•
let prying minds be
what they would come to know
•...let wanting hearts choke...on
the dirges of my stale blood....•
now dig me up quickly•'cause
it's been far too long..... and i
have been readied•exhume
all of me completely•for
no longer should i
remain as........
Jacky Xiang Aug 2010
Fare thee well by islets of time,
Beauteous blooms of fragrance; of thyme.
Gliding symphonies beckons thine eye,
Gentle minds float toward sky high.

O cues sung by the siren, allure!
Once, fusion of reason borne pillar.
Twice ponder, may our paths entwine,
Thrice to act, unlike the tranquil Seine.

Like angelic enigmas par Euler,
Soar upon the painted auric frontier.
Air fresh: an ebullient morning dew,
Wisdom: moisture for the thirsty few.

By spring fountain, if thou art inclined,
Bright sparrow among the bovine herd.
Lo, argent quarry of dust- liquid guile,
Behold, product beyond thunder- gale.

Scents of lavender assail thy sleep,
Euphoric dreams, we welcome with glee!
Sleepy horizons, a glorious dawn,
Morning filled with a trillion suns.

Some time, some day: travel the stars,
Mortal shackles unchain my awful maw.
Pupil of Aristotle, Darwin, and Vinci,
There lies truth; a transient hierarchy...
Tommy K Sep 2013
Witchy Poo

Mary had a little lamb
She made chops out of it,
Ate it 'till she was sick
Her ******* felt like ****.
So she went to the Wicked Witch
To solve her ******* drama,
With a wand up her ****
Like a banana in a farmer.
With a poke and a shove
The witch knows the soul is hers,
But it's the only way
That this sickness can be cured.
There was a sinister bump
A noise was close by,
The witch looked through the window
Humpty Dumpty was outside.
Witchy Poo got angry
And cursed the dumb egg,
That one day she will get him
And that he will crash down dead.
So Humpty ran off
And told The Kings Guards,
Witchy Poo is in trouble
She's a fugitive at large.
Hiding in the mountains
Hearing Humptys cries,
Sitting on the wall
Blabblering Witchy Poos crime.
So she came down from the mountain
As quietly as she can be,
Sneaked up behind him
Climbing a tree.
Then she pushed Humpty off
From the high wall,
He hit the ground
And splattered on the floor.
Climbing down from the tree
The witch ran away,
Hiding in the caves
Doing her wicked ways.
While looking through the mountains
A guard spots some loose weeds,
Chopped them out of the way
And his eyes trickled with greed.
There was a hidden door
And he opened it up,
Looked inside
And he thought, what a grub.
He saw the witch
Snoring so loud,
His sinister grin
Was making him proud.
The guard thought to himself
Saying, the ***** will get it today,
I'm going to be rich
On a nice pay day.
So the guard told The King
The place where the witch hides out,
Squealing to the pigs
While eating with their snouts.
The King ordered a search
For this menace to the crown,
Wanted: Alive
So she can be burnt down.
The search party went out
And found the witch,
The guards came back with some casualties
And in shackles, the menacing *****.
Then The King announced to his kingdom
That the witch will be sentenced to death,
Then she was thrown into the dungeon
Waiting for the end of this mess.
Torturing the witch
In cruel and horrible ways,
Telling her she is going to suffer
So she better pray.
As the days goes on
Then The King set a date,
"She's gonna be burnt on August 28th"
There was a shout of joy
As everyone was happy,
Except for the witch
Locked up, feeling ******.
Rats at her feet
Chewing off her toes,
Cockroaches all around her
Cursing all her foes.
Starving and weak
Hanging from a chain,
Screaming to The King
To go and grow a brain.
Weeks have now passed
It is now the date,
That the witch will now die
Burning is her fate.
So they unchain her
She is so weak and tired,
Dragged her out of the dungeon
Her brain is all wired.
As they bring her out of the door
The sun hits her face,
Blinded by the light
Coming out at a slow pace.
With no toes on her feet
Stumbling and pushed around,
Rocks are being thrown at the witch
By everyone in town.
Tied the witch to a stake
Wood and hay underneath,
The witch is getting taunted
Yelling insults at the beast.
The King watches on
And raises his hand high,
Then drops it suddenly
Meaning it was time for her to die.
The Kings Men got their torches
And started the fire,
Witchy Poo started screaming
It smelt of burnt tires.
Burning and scorching
The witch is now a charcoal corpse,
Then everybody was celebrating
And their minds warps.
As they drink lots of wine
The Kingdom is now safe,
From the evil Witchy Poo
Who messed up this place.
Singing songs of praise
About how Witchy Poo died,
Here how it goes
And the story aint lies.

Humpty Dumpty
Sat on the wall,
The Witch pushed him off
And he splatted on the floor.
The peasants were yelling insults
The Kings Men had the fire,
Burnt The Witch at the stake
Because she was evil and a liar.

And that was how Humpty really died
And how Witchy Poo got fried.

Tommy K
Sub Rosa Dec 2013
I'll miss the day we were crawling down main-street at 4 a.m
after we slept in the guest house and danced to CCR.
Tossing our beer cans in the neighbor's trash,
and singing with every molecule of our bodies
at the passing train
that deafened us from 20 feet away.
We ran wild beneath the overpass,
climbing the engines lying dormant on the tracks,
pretending we could fuel them up
ride across the nation in a rusted box car
write our names between the colors of illegible graffiti
and shout against the wind as we rolled through the hills.
And what a shame we didn't chase that passing train the way we could have.
What a shame we didn't let it carry us away
with nothing but our flannel jackets
and cut off shorts,
the lighter in my pocket,
and the thirst for a nice adventure.
We sauntered back to the diner,
exhausted by the scenery and faces,
our buzzes vanishing to the neon signs
of bars, seven bars on one street,
and the smell of coffee
as the elderly hobbled in with the morning paper
clutched between arthritic fingers.
Tomorrow, and everyday after,
a train will pass through town at 4:45 a.m.
and I can hop on the caboose any day I desire.
Each birthday slithers by,
flicking it's tongue in my direction,
tasting my youth.
And I glance again at the disintegrating old man
sitting alone in the window booth
wearing the face of a jailed old bird
with clipped wings and the grievous expression
of an ***** gent.
He would pass one day,
leaving a dusty, crumbling shanty to his children,
a box of crinkled newspaper clippings full of obituaries,
and an empty seat in the  booth by the window,
where someday I will collapse in the a.m.
take my coffee black
and cut my husband's name from the paper,
wishing I was on that train
shedding this loose blotchy skin
for the rough hands I had
the day I chased the engine to the edge of town
and regretted the moment
that I turned around
and came home.
To my heart I write these words,
Spare me from my sickness,
Unchain me from my shackles.

I walk only because I must,
Not yet for myself.
There are good days,
There are bad.

It's sad to see myself in such a state,
When my efforts reap little reward.

Today, once again, I find myself asking why,

Who knows.
I do my best to restrain myself from my own fires,
And still they burn,
But not as the flames in your candle, no.
They burn with a searing, slow, and silent heat.

My stomach churns at the thought of this lasting forever.

Reprieve me of my prisonous mind.
I would love to love myself, and yet I try,

And yet I falter.

Why do I hold myself to such perfectious standard?

I bear the standard of the anxious and depressed, meanwhile no one knows how to listen for the silent cries that even I speak unawares.

I tear my own heart asunder, but why?

The silent disease with no cure.
The infection that cannot be understood due to its silence.

So how are we to solve this puzzle?
Where none of the pieces fit?

Solve the riddle unspoken.

~Robert van Lingen
Why do we treat each other this way?
Feels like our words are only a chain . . .

            why do you
treat me this way?

            How do I
get you to change?

            why oh why?
Oh why, even today,
            I'm sister-chained?

Noth-ing but pain,
Born to be sisters except for this pain,
That pain, the words, pain it remains. . .

conflict between us al-ways remains,
conflict between us remains.

            unchain your hearts for love.
Oh woe,

            How do I
get you to change?            
unchain your hearts for love.
Oh woe,

Oh woe. . .
Ever notice how critical and abusive women are towards each other?
Matthew Aug 2014
Now is the time to cut your hair short
play in the snow even if you'll get cold feet
Listen to live music
even if it’s bad music
because any art can make you fall in love with its creator
even if it only lasts two minutes.

Now is the time to become attached to people
even if they aren’t perfect for you
and unchain yourself from people
even if they are perfect for you

Because it is time for tomorrows
for realizing your hips and knees crack for a reason
for leaping off the giant’s shoulder
for running fast even though you’ll tire

for climbing to the top of the mountain
so you can see the stars
Now swarthy Summer, by rude health embrowned,
    Precedence takes of rosy fingered Spring;
And laughing Joy, with wild flowers prank’d, and crown’d,
    A wild and giddy thing,
And Health robust, from every care unbound,
    Come on the zephyr’s wing,
      And cheer the toiling clown.

  Happy as holiday-enjoying face,
    Loud tongued, and “merry as a marriage bell,”
Thy lightsome step sheds joy in every place;
    And where the troubled dwell,
Thy witching charms wean them of half their cares;
    And from thy sunny spell,
      They greet joy unawares.

  Then with thy sultry locks all loose and rude,
    And mantle laced with gems of garish light,
Come as of wont; for I would fain intrude,
    And in the world’s despite,
Share the rude wealth that thy own heart beguiles;
    If haply so I might
      Win pleasure from thy smiles.

  Me not the noise of brawling pleasure cheers,
    In nightly revels or in city streets;
But joys which soothe, and not distract the ears,
    That one at leisure meets
In the green woods, and meadows summer-shorn,
    Or fields, where bee-fly greets
      The ear with mellow horn.

  The green-swathed grasshopper, on treble pipe,
    Sings there, and dances, in mad-hearted pranks;
There bees go courting every flower that’s ripe,
    On baulks and sunny banks;
And droning dragon-fly, on rude bassoon,
    Attempts to give God thanks
      In no discordant tune.

  The speckled thrush, by self-delight embued,
    There sings unto himself for joy’s amends,
And drinks the honey dew of solitude.
    There Happiness attends
With ****** Joy until the heart o’erflow,
    Of which the world’s rude friends,
      Nought heeding, nothing know.

  There the gay river, laughing as it goes,
    Plashes with easy wave its flaggy sides,
And to the calm of heart, in calmness shows
    What pleasure there abides,
To trace its sedgy banks, from trouble free:
    Spots Solitude provides
      To muse, and happy be.

  There ruminating ’neath some pleasant bush,
    On sweet silk grass I stretch me at mine ease,
Where I can pillow on the yielding rush;
    And, acting as I please,
Drop into pleasant dreams; or musing lie,
    Mark the wind-shaken trees,
      And cloud-betravelled sky.

  There think me how some barter joy for care,
    And waste life’s summer-health in riot rude,
Of nature, nor of nature’s sweets aware.
    When passions vain intrude,
These, by calm musings, softened are and still;
    And the heart’s better mood
      Feels sick of doing ill.

  There I can live, and at my leisure seek
    Joys far from cold restraints—not fearing pride—
Free as the winds, that breathe upon my cheek
    Rude health, so long denied.
Here poor Integrity can sit at ease,
    And list self-satisfied
      The song of honey-bees.

  The green lane now I traverse, where it goes
    Nought guessing, till some sudden turn espies
Rude batter’d finger post, that stooping shows
    Where the snug mystery lies;
And then a mossy spire, with ivy crown,
    Cheers up the short surprise,
      And shows a peeping town.

  I see the wild flowers, in their summer morn
    Of beauty, feeding on joy’s luscious hours;
The gay convolvulus, wreathing round the thorn,
    Agape for honey showers;
And slender kingcup, burnished with the dew
    Of morning’s early hours,
      Like gold yminted new.

  And mark by rustic bridge, o’er shallow stream,
    Cow-tending boy, to toil unreconciled,
Absorbed as in some vagrant summer dream;
    Who now, in gestures wild,
Starts dancing to his shadow on the wall,
    Feeling self-gratified,
      Nor fearing human thrall.

  Or thread the sunny valley laced with streams,
    Or forests rude, and the o’ershadow’d brims
Of simple ponds, where idle shepherd dreams,
    Stretching his listless limbs;
Or trace hay-scented meadows, smooth and long,
    Where joy’s wild impulse swims
      In one continued song.

  I love at early morn, from new mown swath,
    To see the startled frog his route pursue;
To mark while, leaping o’er the dripping path,
    His bright sides scatter dew,
The early lark that from its bustle flies,
    To hail his matin new;
      And watch him to the skies.

  To note on hedgerow baulks, in moisture sprent,
    The jetty snail creep from the mossy thorn,
With earnest heed, and tremulous intent,
    Frail brother of the morn,
That from the tiny bent’s dew-misted leaves
    Withdraws his timid horn,
      And fearful vision weaves.

  Or swallow heed on smoke-tanned chimney top,
    Wont to be first unsealing Morning’s eye,
Ere yet the bee hath gleaned one wayward drop
    Of honey on his thigh;
To see him seek morn’s airy couch to sing,
    Until the golden sky
      Bepaint his russet wing.

  Or sauntering boy by tanning corn to spy,
    With clapping noise to startle birds away,
And hear him bawl to every passer by
    To know the hour of day;
While the uncradled breezes, fresh and strong,
    With waking blossoms play,
      And breathe Æolian song.

  I love the south-west wind, or low or loud,
    And not the less when sudden drops of rain
Moisten my glowing cheek from ebon cloud,
    Threatening soft showers again,
That over lands new ploughed and meadow grounds,
    Summer’s sweet breath unchain,
      And wake harmonious sounds.

  Rich music breathes in Summer’s every sound;
    And in her harmony of varied greens,
Woods, meadows, hedge-rows, corn-fields, all around
    Much beauty intervenes,
Filling with harmony the ear and eye;
    While o’er the mingling scenes
      Far spreads the laughing sky.

  See, how the wind-enamoured aspen leaves
    Turn up their silver lining to the sun!
And hark! the rustling noise, that oft deceives,
    And makes the sheep-boy run:
The sound so mimics fast-approaching showers,
    He thinks the rain’s begun,
      And hastes to sheltering bowers.

  But now the evening curdles dank and grey,
    Changing her watchet hue for sombre ****;
And moping owls, to close the lids of day,
    On drowsy wing proceed;
While chickering crickets, tremulous and long,
    Light’s farewell inly heed,
      And give it parting song.

  The pranking bat its flighty circlet makes;
    The glow-worm burnishes its lamp anew;
O’er meadows dew-besprent, the beetle wakes
    Inquiries ever new,
Teazing each passing ear with murmurs vain,
    As wanting to pursue
      His homeward path again.

  Hark! ’tis the melody of distant bells
    That on the wind with pleasing hum rebounds
By fitful starts, then musically swells
    O’er the dim stilly grounds;
While on the meadow-bridge the pausing boy
    Listens the mellow sounds,
      And hums in vacant joy.

  Now homeward-bound, the hedger bundles round
    His evening ******, and with every stride
His leathern doublet leaves a rustling sound,
    Till silly sheep beside
His path start tremulous, and once again
    Look back dissatisfied,
      And scour the dewy plain.

  How sweet the soothing calmness that distills
    O’er the heart’s every sense its ****** dews,
In meek-eyed moods and ever balmy trills!
    That softens and subdues,
With gentle Quiet’s bland and sober train,
    Which dreamy eve renews
      In many a mellow strain!

  I love to walk the fields, they are to me
    A legacy no evil can destroy;
They, like a spell, set every rapture free
    That cheer’d me when a boy.
Play—pastime—all Time’s blotting pen conceal’d,
    Comes like a new-born joy,
      To greet me in the field.

  For Nature’s objects ever harmonize
    With emulous Taste, that ****** deed annoys;
Which loves in pensive moods to sympathize,
    And meet vibrating joys
O’er Nature’s pleasing things; nor slighting, deems
    Pastimes, the Muse employs,
      Vain and obtrusive themes.
Andie Apr 2018
The piano resounds, flooding us over with the mood
Counting headlights on the highway, take me away
It's a moon eclipsed, and my newfound flame, I guess you're lucky
that it's dark now
Sometimes this has a hot sweet taste;your breath’s hot and gross, but I kiss you like a lover. We're dancing in a world alone - if I unchain my soul, you can never let me go
I sink into you like water, be gentle with me have patience with me
we sink like a stone in your honey ~ just beware the bees
Heaven is in your eyes, and you hold me hard in the white light
We love like star-crossed lovers, with blind eyes, and when you call me beautiful all four flash with joy
Call it what you want, but we both know that everything is eventual
I'd like it if you stayed, but is it better to speak or die?
Welch, McLaughlin, Yelich-O'Conner, Lucas, Brasington, Aciman
we bloom
A L Davies Oct 2012
wednesday  ..
                      is faded black jeans/old white tank (too big) (hole from belt buckle centre front)

glass of water stuck into the rings left by past week's mugs of beer
sitting by the ashtray. and you are better than a nip of rye in the truck cab heading to work.
the dust in my lungs (wide open saskatchewan fields)
is not as important as watching the clouds stain purple with the sunrise
patting two gorgeous farm dogs who run over from behind a silo turned to bronze in the light
(there is an angel laying naked in the wheat grain)
to nip playfully at my calves while i unchain the derrick,
somewhere in my mind's recess it feels like i am loosing atlas from his *******
tho i do not register the thought until later upon waking from a nap.

saturday // 1:15:44 pm
i am in only briefs now working on a song/i clocked 4
                                                               ­                                       hrs greasing truck 1117 this morning and
hauling pallets.
daylene from dispatch brought in donuts.

i'll spend the afternoon listening to kanye and talking to women online.
—there are no girls in estevan. i have (kind of) looked.
                                                       sometimes i believe this to be pathetic but then i think further ahead
and it's not so bad.
you do really meet some nice girls. phone is replete with their numbers &
they keep me company on long rides to and from leases,
asking about work. hoping that i am well.
(once back home by christmas account will be deleted and i can
take them out at my leisure. you'll understand i hope that i am not
a desperate man. but one has to work with that which he has.
would you rather i go lonely? make my home in the mud to croon hank williams to crows?)

there are now three beer cans on the carpet & one on the washing machine by the
bathroom door which i will drink in the shower.
it was sort of a long day.
oil field poems though.
Nina JC Jan 2014

do you ever think
that maybe the sun
gets sick

of smiling
down at strangers
in an audience

to look

and yet still, each morning
the spectacle continues to rise

shining, singing
to deaf ears
blind minds—

silent applause.


i feel the wind's breath
creeping up my spine
and can't help but wonder

if maybe the only reason
he whistles is to be heard.

the wind is just as lonely
as the next passer-by

he tries to hug
but gets lost in translation:

soft skin kisses
transform into blows

this power
he cannot control—

he calls it

but others only ever see

and maybe now they
both mean the same thing anyway.


perhaps trees
only sway
as an attempt

to unchain themselves
from the roots that
shackle them to the ground

confined by the soil
that anchors them
to a cage

they're convinced
is called


they say
every tree
has a story to be told:

the squirrel
who hollowed out its heart

and made a life out of
the rotting rings inside;

dead voices
carved into peeling skin

arms outstretched
only ever greeted by air

and the occasional bird
that comes to sit
on a broken-***** bridge
that once led to somewhere.

it's true.

every tree
does have a story
to be told

and if a tree falls in a forest
and someone is around to hear it,
it does make a sound.

but the real question

is would anyone
be listening


i think
in a way

can be a lot like nature too.
Epic Monkey Aug 2014
Innocent child
Spark denied
Hardly strived a final strife
Justice died
Mother cried
As hazard tried to save his live

Innocence-spilling massacre
Infant weeping
Held by his dying mother
Suddenly sleeping
Desperately leaving
This world to another

A masterpiece of insanity
A disgrace to humanity

Manipulated politicians
Manipulating ignorants
Discriminating religions
Yet same God is worshiped
Same peaceful visions
Yet all drown in hate
and proudly claim
to be believers
Yet **** in His name
like proud imbeciles
for inhuman leaders

Go read your holy books
Absorb the essence of charity
Accept we're all the same
Refuse the tyranny
Color your brainwashed minds
with stains of compassion
Break the political system
Overshadowing your freedom

Don't let their shams
Carve your misery
Unveil Insanity
Unchain Humanity

~Epic Monkey
For the inhuman insanities happening in many areas in the Middle East especially Ghaza and Moosel. As humans, we can't remain neutral to what is happening!
Mahdi Dn Mar 2014
I don't really want to see your so called face
Your unreal reality's your hiding place
Preaching about peace is your safe base
The way you evade revealing your face

This is where I draw the line
A start for all differences
This is when I drink the wine
Made of the blood of my ancestors
I shall not be the one
Obeying your dictations
Your lies shall end now
And truth will change the world

Unchain yourselves!

You keep adjusting people's thoughts
Modulating the wise
Filtering their rise
Those bold words from your mouth are so absurd...

This is where I draw the line
A start for all differences
This is when I drink the wine
Made of the blood of my ancestors
I shall not be the one
Obeying your dictations
Your lies shall end now
And truth will change the world

Unchain yourselves!

These worms, inside me;
Were formed by your lies
Worshiped you; their master.
But he shall be dethroned!
Lyrics of the song Faces by Chaos Descent. Written by Mahdi Dn.
Earth Shine Jul 2012
i feel broken, used
like a pawn in the game of chess—when i know im worthy of a Queen
there's nothing to hold onto anymore, no wind in the door
i grasp the impossible, fight for the unseen
what is "real" isn't quite what it's made out to be
i close my eyes and wish for more—
all the hopes and dreams that have been forgotten
i stumble into rocks and stormy weather, one step closer everyday;
past depravity, sheer boredom—into bliss
pure j o y
the time will come, when my people open their eyes & unchain their hearts
their world will be exposed, and they will truly KNOW
everything is a lie!
hold onto something, just believe
a glimmer in the dark of the night
see past the façade
you're locked in a cage
trapped, forgotten
set yourself free..
live in love, in harmony
unite with your brethren! share your soul!
expose yourself for who you are:
a blessed being—a child of the universe
every star, your sister; every leaf your friend;
every person a drop of a water—
falling, floating, waiting
savor every breath.. taste every breeze
laugh at every closed door and know it's just as easy to break thru it than move on
acceptance is key
ride the currant, don't fight the tide, for it will defeat you;
it is steady, unchangeable
it will break you down
hold onto the moment—it is the only one you'll ever have
let your stomach drop, your heart sink, your toes curl
for there will be a day when your stomach curls,
your heart drops
and your toes sink into their destiny.....
fly high and never look down!
catch every breath, rest in every cloud
listen to the emptiness; there's no repeat button
kiss your troubles away
know the path by which you have arrived!
there are thousands of forks in the road, which will you choose..?
i've counted the days, minutes, seconds into oblivion
why observe what can't be controlled?
find yourself in your aspirations
you will meet there, in the sands of time, your peace
hold onto clarity ♥
fort myers fl
Woody Nov 2016
It is midnight and I dreamed
that the wind was up
at the old place,
I drove 300 miles to unchain
the swing on the porch,
the moon was asleep
up in the persimmon tree
where webworms made bonnets
like a dead woman's hair,
an owl said hoo and the living
room groaned like an empty belly,
I threw a stone and called
but did not enter, I didn't know
if I would be welcomed there,
and it will be many a cold winter
before I climb those creaking stairs.
Mary Elizabeth Apr 2014
Look at yourself




























Zero editing because I've never written a poem that explains my complex so well honestly.
Annie Quill Feb 2015
Messing around with style, what do you think?
Madds Aug 2012
One more sleepless night,
Another timeless darkness,
closing in on me.

Flames consume my eyes,
The burning will never stop,
Please, oh, please, take me.

Let the devils in,
Give them shelter and some tea;

Now, now, let me sleep,
please, I've been good to you all,
Unchain me, devils!
So so so so sos horrible. enjoy.
Veterans of war show off their scars
Telling their frightening tales of battle
The say " right here, in this very spot
Is where the age old bullet was shot"

But what about the others
The girls with troubling pasts
That haunt their every hour
They sit in the corner clad in black their expressions turned sour

And when the pieces of themselves
Come some what back together
Like the veterans they have scars
Only its from their emotional wars

To the eye their perfect plain and pretty
Another person in the crowd
Another nameless happy soul
No sees, no one helps, there is no one to console

Alone they fight their treacherous battle
Friendships lost, loved ones gone
And when it's done the world goes on
To as if nothing was ever wrong

And if that one is found alone
Crying in the corner
They all question what's the matter
Since scarless is her stature

No one questions
No one helps
She has nothing physical to show
Yet there are scars, only emotional, you know

No bandaid can fix the heart break
And the world doesn't know how
To unchain her from the repeating past
And forever it seems this will last
Please comment, I would really love to hear what you have to say about my poem or any interpretation you might have
Amitav Radiance Jun 2014
Drop all inhibitions
Let your imaginations fly
Unchain from doubt
That makes you stationary
Soul is all pervasive
And let it be your guide
Venturing new avenues
Take the boulevard to freedom
When you will meet yourself
To reveal and expose the truth
When, the null will surround you
Cocooning you into the infinite
Forever, bliss will kiss your soul

© Amitav (Radiance)
Jim Sularz Jun 2012
© 2009 (Jim Sularz)

In a strange land, in a far-off sea, ships set sail to scar man and earth.
When diplomacy fails, shattering hopes for peace, hate propels war’s unwanted birth.
Months and years of mock exercise and drills to check complete.
To prepare for a war that may never come, but is born when tyranny’s unleashed.

On that tearful day when soldiers called, break formation to say goodbye.
Children rush out to clutch soldier’s legs, tremble, and start to cry.
But soldiers know, they have to go, to keep play soldiers safe.
From yet another tyranny, in yet, another place.

On embattled shores where fallen foes and heroes fiercely fight.
The battle ground will be sanctified by those who die that night.
Through the grime, and with sweat, and with blood, and with tears.
Through the horror of war, many frozen with fear.

From battle to battle, fighting shore to shore.
Nothing escapes from the hands of war.
Men killing men with all of their might.
Unchain a bomb with a blinding light.

When a long, brutal war finally ends - claiming it’s broken and countless dead.
The boys that charged as a spirited godsend - return dazed, war hardened, iron men.
And when some soldiers come home, they’re never quite the same.
Because their silent war rages on, every night and every day.

On Veteran’s day with the cheering crowds and the waving flags.
They celebrate the soldier’s sacrifice in a very special way.
But a soldier’s mind is just a flash away.
To a place called Hell where they died that day.

Now, with the soldiers worn and their bodies bent.
A once embattled foe has become a friend.
And when the day comes, to blow the final taps for all.
The old units will be lined up and ready - for the last roll call.
Readers:    I wrote this poem for my father - Henry A. Sularz.  Authored in 2009, I dedicated this to my Father, Henry Sularz, earlier that year. He served in WWII and fought against the Japanese from island to island in the Pacific. He came home in one piece, but he was a changed man from the experience. He died on his 87 birthday – August 16th, 2009.    Four months before my Father died, he read "Soldiers Called".    His only tearful response to me was - "Jim, you got it right."     "Soldiers Called" has been accepted into the national archives at the American WWII Museum and at the Imperial War Museum in London.  

This poem also stands as a tribute to all soldiers everywhere that have fought in war and the horrific experience they all endured.   War is the most senseless event in Mankind's history.   Unfortunately, it has defined us as a species for thousands of years and continues to do so, to this very day.     When will we learn?

Jim Sularz
Dhaye Margaux Jun 2014
A thousand years-
      I can't make it
      for in every moment I can make a tear
A thousand reasons-
      of loving you
      and every pain that's hard to bear

A thousand smiles-
      they're gone away
      now I am in this dark corner again

A thousand sighs-
      they make me free
      unchain this heart from so much pain

A thousand wounds-
      they make me sick
      and give me so much aching fears

A thousand words-
       please come to mend
       and wipe away my thousand tears!
Too much...
Ivie Jun 2013
I have never wanted to believe in anything [you] so desperately.
I was clinging on to it, like it was the only way to breathe; only way to be free, imprisoning me from the suffocating society norms–
Waking up on the coarse sheets, smelling like roses and whiskey, your scars brushing my freckled delicately folded arms bathing in the morning rays,
Then your shadows trailed up, destroying every ounce of love you might have felt, why are you letting them drug you into never escaping this lonely eternity?
You were the prayer; you were the reason, was I ever enough?
I know believing in you is like asking for a car crash, but if it’s you then I want to bleed,
And taint every inch of your skin in my blood,
                        And mould every bone of our bodies into one and call you mine.
I want to hurt like that, like falling from the empire state, lungs choked and crashing into blindness, with ever tendon and capillary unidentifiable in the mess that’s been created
I want to breathe like that, like fire breathes in forest, but that’s the way you are breathing in my heart.
I want you to tell me you haven’t lost yourself to darkness, and there is still a spark of luminescence hidden underneath the gardens of nightshade –
Left in your soul waiting to be watered and nurtured like a seed, then growing into cherry blossoms –
Rather than a field of poisonous mandrakes.
And I wanted to believe I’ll be the redemption but my knives are blunt and they cannot unchain you and you aren’t realizing what it means to be alive.
Helen Jul 2015
Every drip from bleeding pen
will forever drop
into an ocean
of broken hearts and distant shores
drowning hopes and flailing flaws
Every line, a path to cross
detailing every love lost
Every hate turns into crime
presenting as a moment in time
failing are the words
sitting as wingless birds
as Winter settles
upon us under snow clouds
we allow to own us

Our words will ever fail
leaving a faint trail
that allows me to find you
but only if you speak true
Speak to me
so I feel rhythm
give my heart beat a rhyme
break me out of this prison
where words have failed me
I'm done being a prisoner
for committing no crime

And the old habits once that led to good times
are just now old addictions
it wasn't supposed to last
to see another day
now it's fifteen years.
With the scars we bare
the shackles sting
we forged a prison
only to never see past the bars
Empty scenes and the faces
I no longer recall
I'm beyond the edge
welcome to the abyss.
**** the greetings lets just start this
as strangers who have grown all to familiar to the flame.
The story is there I just don't care to recall.

Perhaps because you sit there
at the edge of a fiery pit
casting memories into a flame
that were never legit
mocking the chains that hold me
casting aspersions to the skies
when did you get so close
to Purgatory, held hostage
by others lies?
Unchain me from this misery
how so easy it is to forget
the path taken to Ecstasy
is scarred with arrowed hearts
something more scary than
Lost Love and littered with
bones of Regret
You know the story well
you feed the fire with it's ripped pages

As in wasted lies and tattered pages nothing feeds a fire like a good dose of delusion.
No more do I view the possibilitites, simply count the days and escape further into myself.
Sometimes we find within the depths there are no clear answers .
Sometimes locked within we find just more emptiness and nothing more.

Old tracks and new scars together keep company with stories
I care no longer to tell.
The page as it was before you is as broken as before we met.
Does it all ever truly change or just become as twisted and bitter as I?

Do we wish to re read old stories, those that shattered into glass?
Do we want to tell the same old tales? Should we even try to rehash?
Sitting in the darkness, tracing old scars, feeding the fire from pages
that are not who we really are.
Wishing  we were progeny of those that had it good.
Thinking we are better than most but they misunderstood
that we stand in front of the fire, feeding it pages from our book,
never understanding all the mistakes that we took.
Never understanding that we listen to our conscious as we lay,
never understanding there was a price we had to pay.

We tell old stories out of the same old lies
In seconds and empty barrooms taking comfort in space
and drowning in distance .
We wore this disguise, we no longer can recognize our own reflections .

Sometimes truth is the only thing that keeps us from the destruction
all of it built upon lies .
The tides change, taken to a distant shore only returned like a message in a bottle,
discovered long past our time .

Why weather the storm when we always preferred it’s chaos my dear?
Old wrongs would be far easier if not feeling ever so right .
Sometimes you have to follow a dead-end for the pure hell of knowing.

And in that dead end we find the final passage of the book
Written in blood, scratched upon the walls,
tucked away in some hidden nook, in a corner
where we like to hide our eyes.
The final lines of a storm damaged mind, a wrecked soul cast upon a lonely
tide, the final words scratched into scars that wind around a body like a
The last three words scribbled in a ****** mess..
What a joke!
In empty crowds and fallen stars we often see only what gives us a much easier day.
Wine with regrets, hearts and barbwire confessions, none where ever as true as you .
Bleed those thoughts once more and we will pretend together .

This waltz is as clear as a sinking ships bliss
tell them all I've long since gone insane
Give my regards to your memories for I will burn in their illusions
till our Hell is left barren,  no remorse suits the ash as does this bitter pill
and a never existent flame.

To hide what is so easily viewed  now the scars we bare with such glee in a perfectly twisted display.
Give me no tomorrows promise for I only yearn for today.
I will never be able to articulate the true pleasure of writing with John. In between building/crafting a piece, we get to know each other more deeply than the line before. He's a master writer, a great listener and a true friend.
chimaera Jul 2014
on howling hope
love charms are weaved.

Stay for a while
in my porch,
hum a melody
and dance with me.

The night will linger,
all words hollowed,
all roads erased.

Yet, wanderer,
for just a while,
if you will,
enchant hope,
unchain this burst.
Nadrah Oct 2013
Unchain me please
as I've never been this baffled
by the fact that these
3 simple words
could turn my life into
a living wreck.

Promises were made
Hearts were crossed
Pinky promises, we once did
but none of them lasted
as time traveled faster
than it seemed to be

Memories took hold of me
The way you handled me with care
The way you touched me gently
The way you held me like
a delicate little bird.

You never complained when
I cried over the simplest of things
and yet you held me tightly
and said "it'll all be okay"

What changed us?
Distance mocked us harder
Time envied us
and so
we went our separate ways.
Never to be seen again
Never to be heard again
Vanished as light went away
When darkness arises
cait-cait Jan 2017
Step one starts with forgetting/

you begin by tearing
yourself from the skin they took home in,
disconnecting your arms from their seams,
eating their hearts
and hoping that they forget you,

Step two means burning all
dissolving each memory like the pills
your mother took at breakfast,
how could you have let this happen?

so you pull
veins from yours and
untangle what they gave you,
choke down a penny
and hope
that they don't think of

Step three is the
cut yourself open and scrub yourself
unchain your wrists from that dinner table
and hope that his nightlight doesn't bleed

orange was never a pretty color

Step four is the hardest,
when you take a knife to your palm,
and make slits down to your wrist,

when you ignore the beck and call
of memories you forgot you had,
people you realize never cared,
so you take
a drink for those you know you've
long forgotten,

and come clean
to three different people, all the
same and hope the next girl
doesn't know step one....

it never seemed to hurt when you
played it all out in your head.
this has been in my phone's notes for a really long time and i finally wrote step four. right as he forgets and replaces me...:.. ....ok
toulouse Dec 2014
i was a cold, sad girl
tiny, too tiny, oh so tiny
but never enough to be
that girl
the ballerina with wings
instead of feet
cold, so cold
chilled to the bones
that fed my obsession
and taunted me
the desire to grow wings
the haunting feeling
feathers brushing my shoulders
but weight, so much weight
flight held down with bones like anchors
i had no perseus
to unchain me from the rocks.
i was a cold, sad girl
who needed just enough
to cut the chains myself
to give life to my wings
and fly away
recovery is not an easy road and anyone who tries is braver than the bravest gryffindor; no one can give you the strength besides yourself and that's the strongest part
Krison Oct 2018
Light awakens,
shakes and beckons,
Come and see my shine.

I pierce the dusk,
away the dark .
For shadows pay no mind.

For the green does call me so
"I've seen"!,  unchain my glow.

This the maker of the grain.
That dictates heat in rain.
The day within the fog.
The loss within the gain.

For you cannot drain
the sun .
You cannot cause it pain.

For it is yule that's burned to death,
The dusk to make the dawn.
And never can you stare in awe,
At it, such blaring might.

Unless it be, by nightly stars,
When it allows you sight.
Seen from all it's children,

Europa, earth and mars.
Louay Nov 2012
We’ve accomplished grace
In the eternal august night
To unchain a soul that is contrite
Her soft touch gave men a pleasurable fright
She made me endless dry nights
With a twist of the forthright sunrise.

I’m wondering
I’m wandering
In your vast spacious eyes
I’ll find exile in your fragrant dream
I’ll watch your promises steam
In the waning night
I felt the lunging freedom by the touch of your hand

To the glimmering dusk
We’ve failed to alternate
To the passing bliss
We reasserted
To your musky perfume
Angels tried to elaborate

Frozen words of wonder you maimed
A love hitherto acclaimed
Wintertime is upon us
Worn dour faces
Grazed by memories

Wintertime is upon us
Lenient breaths
Defying the freezing weather
Like white cotton bursting into the air
Numbed fingertips
And cold lips
Winter was the season of you heart
Winter became the season of my life

Now loneliness is my last supper
The ice for my heart will scupper
I’m alone amidst the feral waves of sobbing
And my heart is drunk with its salt
The crescendo will exalt
Now I must repent
For the placid lament
Zoe Irvine Nov 2012
When the house is a hole and the kitchen's a state
and work's like a chore and the tv's a bore
and the family’s complaining and the friends are all draining
and the hot is too hot
and the cold is too cold
and the young are too young
and the old is too bold
and nothing fits anything, anywhere, any old time
anyway - it's not them. It's me.

It's you.
We must stop.

Stop fixing, start healing
heal, feel, start feeling.
What’s in the middle of wrong, wanting out?
What’s on the edge of all right, wanting in?
Let it in, let it out
heal, feel, fail: BREATHE.

Be at peace, *** at bees
go camping, go carting
spirit sailing.
free-loading, load-bearing
bare skinning: spare tyreing

Spree soaring.
Fly high-ing.

It's not them.

This will not be your last moment
to be in the mud, **** up to your ears,
eyes glowing and goggling at the stars,
as the water flows fast through your brain.
It will come again,
the avalanche, the ever launch,
into the pit.

Learn to love mud.
Learn to love **** and the crap and the water and rain
and the clouds and the sun
and the streaks of light that colour
your eyes a prism. Learn to let go of the prison,
the plot,
the *** of gold that man made, and dive
into the rainbow, drown
in life, in death,
in dust and moonlight.

Einstein said, if you can't say it simply, you don't
know it well enough.
Well, I can't say it simply: I want my life to be free.
And everyone knows shackles
are the devil's fee for ignorance,
for the simplicity that we want free to be.
So make it difficult, you ******,
make it hard and wild and brave
and bright and boring: if that's what it takes
to unchain my clammy hand from your clasp,
make it really ******* stale.

Make it meaningless and marvellous
and miniscule and most of all,
make it do what it doesn't say on the tin.
Make everyone look
like they know nothing, only
to find that what they’re really full of is
priceless, like diamonds, and then make them
mine. Make them mine,
all mine,
digging deep
into their essence until they’re empty.

Make me mine.
You ******.
You make me mine.

I’ve got the tools, you've got the map, I've packed the picnic lunch.

Bring it.

— The End —