Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
MeanAileen Jan 2018
Wasted all
of my precious time...
wasted on someone
who will never be mine.
Wasted my hours
and days and years...
wasted emotions,
pointless tears.
Wasted butterflies
and falsely felt joy...
wasted on a cold
and careless boy.
Wasted efforts
tried so hard in vane...
wasted thoughts,
get out of my brain!
Wasted dreams
and wasted desire...
wasted devotion
sworn to a liar.
Wasted my love
a love unrequited...
wasted inside,
broken and blighted.
Wasted my heart
was wasted on you...
wasted and beaten
and black and blue.
Justa dumb poem about a dumb person...
NvrMnd Sep 2015
..
*Nasayang na Oras
Ako'y nakaposas
'Di makawala
sa mga bagay
na nawala.
Danielle Suzanne Mar 2017
When I'd wake alone in bed at 4am
Again
To find you passed out
on the couch
Too wasted to notice
the heart breaking in front of you
I tried every day
But you preferred synthetic hugs
and to hide in a place
where the expectations were low  
Escapes and excuses
more alluring than I could ever be
Through tears I would plead
'Why don't you want to sleep with me!?'
I shouldn't have taken it so personally

But nobody saw me cry
Especially not you
Blind to my own tears
Large doses of denial dished out
A feast for the masses
Perhaps the most powerful drug of them all
My soul mate disappeared
each day
a little more

Maybe today will be different
Hope
The beautiful motivator
Maybe today
It will be me that you choose
Naively believing
that you had control
But then I woke
alone in bed at 4am
Again
Manipulated and used
March 26th 2017
Spenser Bennett Mar 2016
Is it poetry if I just let it go free?
Is it poetry if this is the truth to me?
Have I ever been in love or was it all a hoax?
Yeesh.
If heaven sits above then was our time all wasted grief?
Bea Aguilar May 2016
Wasted words
Wasted time
Wasted tears
Wasted feelings

I know that you don't give a single **** about me anymore
About the things you said to me
About the fights we had
About what I feel for you

I want to cry
I want to shout
But you left
And I feel so empty
mae Oct 2018
I don’t know if being pregnant
Was on my mind
Or the fear of being left behind
Unable to rewind,
Back to the time
In which I was able to make good decisions
To think with great precision
To look beyond  a short sighted vision.

Taking a risk,
Over someone who doesn’t care for you
Lack of resolve to take care of you
A person who doesn’t care for Love
And I simply paying the price
For disobeying the king above
Because I did wrong instead of doing right

His final straw has been cut,
And unfortunately I am out of luck
****.
Yes I am what you call, f**ed
r Sep 18
In so many words
it comes down to this
time wasted, spent
a million regrets
and not one red cent
of it worth a ****.
Tiger Striped Jan 24
as i left

i set fire

to every word i ever wrote for you

so that it meant

as much to me

as it did to you

nothing at all
Bardo Mar 2018
O! the lives I've wasted
The lives I could have led
If different paths I'd taken
And different people I'd met.

O! what friends were lost
When just around the corner they lay
Their voices heard but their faces
   hidden
O! why had Destiny to steer me this
   way.

                              II

With my life here in my hands
My impulsive moves and slow
   meanderings
My efforts regulated by my will to
   abstain
In gaining my present position
What have I lost elsewhere
And what have others lost
Because of my absence there.
No, I haven't killed anyone, this is about regrets and what ifs, a bit of existential angst
Akira Chinen May 2018
We might all be made of stardust
but no one shines like you
and the only time I hear
the angels sing
is whenever I hear your name
and when those same syllables
fall from my mouth
it feels like the slow pour of molasses
and it reminds me of when
the gods first created love
and love created life
and then life
made sweet sweet love
on beds made out of sin and poetry
and if you are not
the definition of beauty
then beauty has no definition
and all this stardust
is being wasted
when none of us
can shine
quite the same way
as you
Frasier Mar 20
Speak to her in a way she knows you truly love the essence of her soul.
Touch her so she will feel the passion from your body as though it were electrically charged.
Please her so that she forgets her name, the day and the time.
A beautifully passionate and eloquent man, can make a woman high on passion...drunk on love. Inebriated with passion and love.
-DFrasier
Amanda Jan 25
Today my heart beats sick with shame
A million pieces I am reluctant to claim
I am losing touch with the person I am
Losing you and my life is a sham
Please crave me more than drugs
Craving you and your comforting hugs
Your heartbeat sounds slow, far away and low
I'm not ready for my crutch to go
You have ways of drawing me in
Witness devotion carved into my skin
I bleed out lost time I wasted on you
Love me how I always wanted, like I loved you
People have different ways of showing their affection
kevin hamilton Aug 2018
heard a voice as i died
in the cold moonlight
forty phantoms
breathing through me

and this wasted life
holds on too long
like a piano from the dark
of a mystic chord
i froze and woke in tandem
with the underscore
Alyssa Underwood Aug 2017
Jesus, please set my bound heart free
Let not this world my prison be
Where fear and shame would pull me down
To suffocate and cause me to drown

'Stead loose my soul that it may soar
Heavy, fettered, chained no more
So You can lead me to the hills
Away from where 'perfection' kills

In You alone my worth is found
What joy immense, this truth profound
To know I'm precious in Your sight
My strength, my hope, my life's delight

Surrendered now to Your control
'Tis love which heals my wounded soul
Convinced that I can trust Your heart
Toward me, to You my cares I impart

And selfish may I no more be
But lend me eyes that I might see
The wounds which other souls still have
To give to them Your healing salve

That You might take their tender pain
And turn it to eternal gain
So suffering may not wasted be
But used to set our cold hearts free

Then we who in triumphant praise
More closely on Your face may gaze
Beholding all Your beauty vast
Held tight to You, content at last!
~~~

"So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed."
~ John 8:36

"But whenever anyone turns to the Lord, the veil is taken away. Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. And we all, who with unveiled faces contemplate the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into His image with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit."
~ 2 Corinthians 3:16-18

"I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us."
~ Romans 8:18


~~~

Sung to the tune of
'Jesus, Thy Blood and Righteousness'
(music by William Gardiner)
Leo Dec 2018
No more screaming, no more voices
In the empty land of wasted stories.
A place of madness and lost faith
But look at it the right way
And it’s astonishingly great.

A null tricky game, planned, well played,
You’d better keep watching before it vanishes anyway.
But perhaps it’s too late, in this blurry night
Maybe too early to see the bright light.

Just a second of hope, a last broken prayer
To remind you in this game, you were a good player.
Cause there are no winners
No losers, no glory
In the not too far land of wasted stories.
nja Jan 8
Stinging morning coffee bliss acompanies the first cig of the day,
It’s all downhill from here.
Does normal things Goes to lecture
Lunchtime sugar low.
Self-destructive tendencies itching,
Beer kick - gets drunk.
Being constructive is crushing.
Goes to lecure
Mind numbing normality
Home.
Fearful of loneliness and needy, go waste some hours.
Its late. Restless.
Stoop on the street,
with friends. Anxious, ill.
Wasted night.
Collapse into a shallow sleep of self-loathing.
Zombied.
Repeated offence.
An acurate describition of my daily university life. Evident is my dependency on drugs and my fear of being alone. Both loneliness and 'mind-numbing normality' are perceived as a threat. The title comes from the french word for daily life to accentuate the repetition and spiraling.
Marla Aug 6
smile proud. stand up. arms out.
aim. squeeze. snap. bang. drop.
gone.
Tiger Striped Jan 20
i fell in love

with words

long before

i ever thought

i loved you

so maybe it should have been a sign

when you never

cared about my words

did you ever really care about me?
J J Aug 28
Including the hangover,
                                       that's two wasted days.
fearfulpoet Jul 2018
“only” the lonely know (my special sign)

{=}

an incurable silence

the meaningless, wasted touch of a hand,
attached, directed by them from them
to them
a failed reassurance

a classroom, a stadium, cornfield or grove,
so many nutted fallen solitaries fallen to rot
midst a globe of trillions never noticed,
never missed

the silly conceptual that the lonely,
special unique, blessed with a curse,
a specialist status, “only” they afflicted;
with a ken that isolates and yet feels elevated -
oh! I am special

show me one, just one, human who doesn’t truly believe,
they are the onliest loneliest and you will vision
each and every
lonely person who
secret sighs and whose first thoughts are only:

god spare me one more day of being,
fearful of achieving
my very own knowing,
in the invisible place,
the incurable silence award,
reward of another purple heart,
“only” the lonely service ribbon,
my Cain marker

~my special sign~
WOW

what a wonderful reception to my first poem!

thank you,
less fearful!
Hope White Jun 2017
I didn't even ask
To be your sun
Or your moon.

All I wanted
was to be
Your Sunday afternoons.

How many empty calendars spaces
I wasted,
Waiting for you.
Jo Barber Jun 17
The world was small,
but the days felt big.
They stretched out before me
like big, beautiful balloons,
just waiting to be popped.

Like a child,
sometimes I let one go;
a waste of something good,
but it certainly was eerily pretty
to watch float off into the ether.
Thoughts? Feedback?
September Roses May 2018
We are tied together by our stories, our history
Tales woven through our ancestry, when our parents talk of their younger days,
When their life was ahead of them,
the future was anything and everything,
they speak of their old friends with ache in their soul,
Of times when their hearts were filled with fire and passion,
running through fields growing memories  planted by the world around them
When they could sprint the wind in their hair,
adventure ahead,
hope in their heart.
They speak of the days behind with woe
Because essentially just their ideas of the future as a young mind, were more enticing than reality.
As dreams failed and hope faded
As their minds wear
and their treasured stories that made them who they are fog over
As threads begin to wear
As tales they once yelled to the world with pride fray at the ends
Your whole world slipping away as the thread unwinds
But they get the joy of passing down the tapestry to their pride and joy,
to the life they made,
Every moment we live with ease of no appreciation for every experience every laugh
Moments we take for granted
Moments we will pine for when they run out
Moments the elderly urge us with fire to cherish
Moments we'll wish we listened about
There is a vast tapestry of memories behind you and infinite thread panning out in front of you, connecting to other tapestries,
visiting at friends,
at enemies,
joining with soul-mates future.
Some cut away,
some ripped from the tapestries too soon before they could weave their own.
A loose thread cannot be fixed once more are made,
and the patterns will never be what you want them to be, savour each stitch
Take time on every thread
You don't want to be sitting there 50 years old thinking about the life you wasted
About the memories faded,
About how every slipping memory's never like the moment you made it.
Don't be sitting 90 filled with regret
Filled with hatred for every opportunity you left
Screaming into the void about how much you hate what your life become.
because they say time flys when your having fun truth is time only flies when you're young.
Tom Spencer Jul 2015
Summer morning -
pink jets of clouds
splash out
from the golden well of the east
falling just short
of an ebbing moon.

Streams of swallows
flutter and glide
over the garden -
they are all flying
in the same direction
as if erupting

from the sun’s waking pulse.
Just for a moment
one of the birds hangs
perfectly still -
like the top-most drop of water
from a fountain before it turns

to face the glittering pool.
Beneath them all
the hummingbird
makes her rounds
and a dove scratches the earth
below the feeder

keeping an wary eye
on the scribbling intruder.
So many summer mornings -
too many summer mornings
I have wasted
worrying about the world

and my place in it –
absent from my own body
and breath
the cage of my ribs
rising, falling, and pausing
without me. Meanwhile,

another swallow
stills her wings.
Buoyed by an unseen breeze
she is both feathered sail
and cresting wave as she slices
over my shoulder bearing west.


Tom Spencer © 2015
Next page