"unrestrainable" poems
They are flocking from the East
And the West,
They are flocking from the North
And the South,
Every moment setting forth
From realm of snake or lion,
Swamp or sand,
Ice or burning;
Greatest and least,
Palm in hand
And praise in mouth,
They are flocking up the path
To their rest,
Up the path that hath
No returning.
Up the steeps of Zion
They are mounting,
Coming, coming,
Throngs beyond man's counting;
With a sound
Like innumerable bees
Swarming, humming
Where flowering trees
Many-tinted,
Many-scented,
All alike abound
With honey,--
With a swell
Like a blast upswaying unrestrainable
From a shadowed dell
To the hill-tops sunny,--
With a thunder
Like the ocean when in strength
Breadth and length
It sets to shore;
More and more
Waves on waves redoubled pour
Leaping flashing to the shore
(Unlike the under
Drain of ebb that loseth ground
For all its roar.)
They are thronging
From the East and West,
From the North and South,
Saints are thronging, loving, longing,
To their land
Of rest,
Palm in hand
And praise in mouth.
5.5k
Contagious words
Toxic veins
Tender eyes
Blossoming chains
Contagious words
Toxic veins
Unrestrainable pulse
Everlasting stains
Contagious words
Toxic veins
Empty souls
Vacant trains
Contagious words
Toxic veins
Hollow souls
& Manipulated brains
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 3:50 AM UTC
A fascination, of incomprehensible thoughts,
winding in, and around your eloquence.
A sense, that lingers in respectable beauty.
An uncontainable, unrestrainable feel.
Anyone would **** to be in the presence,
of this simply complex contingency.
Nov 17, 2010
Nov 17, 2010 at 8:31 PM UTC
Insatiable
Tumultuous hunger pangs
Unrestrainable
The right kind of food
For the right kind of appetite
Serves just two persons
Multiple courses
Quite a feast for the senses
Divine, yet sinful
Best enjoyed while hot
Small portioned delicacies
Consume immediately
Top with a cigarette
Then realize: you are still
Insatiable
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 10:25 PM UTC
As I was climbing the steps,
Today after school…
I felt a pang of claustrophobia,
Despite being outdoors…
As I watched the herd of students in uniform,
Both in clothing and in conversation…
I felt scared.
Because I was a part of that herd.
One which mindlessly spent its days,
Spent,
In accordance to the routines of the society,
Their personalities among other things.
All those kids,
In preparation for standardized tests,
Had become standardized as well…
They were forced to fit a mold,
For so long, that they didn’t have to be forced anymore,
And it had all happened so quickly, just like the way mold covers food,
And it had come to seem so permanent, just like patina covering brass,
Hiding the quirks and the character of the statue for all eyes to see, through corrupting it.
They had turned fit to false ideals.
The stair was full of black coats,
As if to make the uniforms even more uniform.
And even the rare spring-like winter day,
Hadn’t made me want to break the routine that day,
To run away into a field
(If I could find a field in the concrete jungle,
The one that I hadn’t yearned to desert just yet,
Though I should’ve made any place my field, anyways.)
And to dance & lie among wild flowers,
Each one unique and not uniform at all.
Even the trees around the stairs looked one and the same,
But how could the system curb even,
The one thing supposed to be unrestrainable,
The uncurbably roaring nature,
To bend it in its will against diversity.
Just like it had done to us…
But then I saw kids playing in the soccer field,
Not a field of flowers, but a field nevertheless
They did seem to be thinking differently,
Their laughs didn’t resemble each other’s
So it was growing up which had made us like that,
A premature maturity,
Which would be premature even at the age of eighty,
(If it could even be considered maturity)
Which had stripped away our individuality,
And had made us a homogeneous flood, sweeping away all identity
And I still am a captive of the desperation that had taken a hold of me in that brief glance,
I still don’t know what to do,
Humanity, help me,
Aid me in melting these cages,
Through the heat of the stars presents in your minds as well as your hearts,
To recover individuality.
For I refuse to give up,
And to loose myself in the flood
Feb 19, 2018
Feb 19, 2018 at 9:42 AM UTC
Society wasn't meant to handle us
be able to understand us;
and so we cannot understand ourselves.
They don't know what it is like to feel and see everything so deeply and vibrantly
that you begin to feel and see no more.
Instead they diagnose us and they “treat” us.
Say it with me:
“I AM THE MEDICATED YOUTH.”
But I will not be ashamed. I stand proud
Because while the drugs may dull and fix the pain on the surface,
I remain an anomaly, something so rare and unique ––
Something so misunderstood they're afraid and don't know what to do.
uncontrollable, unrestrainable,
free.
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 10:32 PM UTC
I don't like my poems anymore,
they don't quite have the same punch,
but then neither does my body rock from within
it is all even and humdrum.
Writing is not easy when there is nothing churning,
burning, singing and crawling under my skin
waiting to pounce, leap onto a blank page
uncontainable, unrestrainable,
using words that don't even make sense.
There is no furious typing trying,
no doodles or markers on the edges of my book,
I just sit and stare and think,
and that's the worst of it all,
when I'm at the brink of logic and reason,
I endeavor to write a poem.
Disaster. Failure. Best forgotten.
Aug 26, 2017
Aug 26, 2017 at 11:04 AM UTC