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Social Metaphor Poems | Social Poems About Metaphor

These Social Metaphor poems are examples of Social poems about Metaphor. These are the best examples of Social Metaphor poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Free verse | |

Reality's Angel

I am Reality’s angel resting on the broad shoulders of discovery the truth feeds darkness and engulfs its target ideas and concepts in turn become meaningless to you there is a creator of all things He is just and patient many still have fallen into the masses of shadow wrapped in their own filthy idols of philosophy I have seen grown men fall like rose petals and weaklings rise into unjust leaders forever the follower of furtive evil dominating only to remain inferior the most important answers lie in the unseen regions where no sense can fully give assurance the mind that so many unreasonably twist and turn grows weary because of the distance it must take and truth be told the distance is not what frustrates it is knowing we are seeking something far that could very possibly not exist, that our minds can twist into theoretical, idealistic nonsense it is knowing all we really think we know is meaningless and yes—even a lie all that has been written thus far rests under my wings under the warmth in which you refuse to feel can you believe in me— though I am completely unseen? how much more difficult would it be to see Him?

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

A CALL FOR LIBERTY

America has another name
her name is Freedom
hidden behind  
Political
Racial
medical
Federal banks
Economical
Educational
Social
all fixed corporations
means extra banks
We the people  protest our freedom
we’re calling for freedom
America
show us our freedom
life requires no credits to score
all lies
we are enlightened beings
we are so much more
so much more than
rich man   poor man
Groundhog  going in circles
working 15 hours a day  man
We’re calling for freedom
liberty is our birthright
to roam the earth at will
is our birthright
We are freedom
we say freedom
America   live up to your name
your name is Freedom
Freedom is the word
word is law
America  follow the law
the  law  says  freedom
we demand truth
we demand  mental freedom

Copyright © Nailah Baniti | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

BLACK IN FEBRUARY

February is back
Black history
American’s telling tales of history
his story   not my story 
my story is still a mystery
existed long before slavery
long before so-called man of bravery
long before the pearly gates
long before time and the concept of being late
no disrespect to the ascended GREATS
their sacrifices I truly appreciate
but my story goes beyond the realm of senses
beyond unhappy homes hiding behind white picket fences
further than bare tits in Ethiopia
before Adam and I left Utopia
deep  deep  underground
beyond the first spec of light
beyond the first sound
Black  is the study of chemistry
360 degrees of self mastery
America’s telling tales of history
one month for Black
how many for White history?

Copyright © Nailah Baniti | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse | |

ISIS

She's the first image of God
the Alpha    the Omega
the beginning   NO end
the highest evolution of God
God sent
the Black woman is God
nappy   nappy
the master
the servant
still happy  happy
the first image of God
strength that cannot be broken
soul that cannot be bought with a
silver or gold token
YES! 
she’s the first image of God
Mother of the rainbow children
Lucy    Auset   Isis    Virgin Mary
I know  
sounds scary   scary
the Black woman is God
skin as brown as dirt 
divine flower sprung from the earth
she’s the first image of God
Original descender
return of Christ
Nibiru ascender
the universal womb of God
divine womb   divine wombman
holding the knowledge of God
the Black woman is the mystery of God
 Isis   Genesis 
genealogy of God

Copyright © Nailah Baniti | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse | |

4 letters

4 letters can describe us all
Sane, Slim, True, Tall

ironic and solemn
Your 4 letters Will change
Love. Hate.
Here. Gone.

simplistic and short
yet complex and infinite

Baby to Wife
Wife to Mama

This is Your

Four lettered Word



pasted within Your incredulous Mind

Your 4 letters.
even you Will Hide.

Slut. Spic. Tard. Twit. 

oh no! no, no one can Know.

Hide. Hide. Hide.
no one Shall Know my Most 
precious Word

ridiculed and cursed
ashamed and misunderstood

Hide From Your True Self
Hide From That

Four lettered Word



in the end our 4 letters Will all be the Same
no one can escape From This 
villainous Word


It lingers the longest
seared swiftly on the Soul
This

Foul Four lettered Word

cursed Upon us all 
is 

Dead. 



Copyright © Brian Byrne | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

The Color Missing

The Color Missing
Red, black, and blue are the colors of our work pens. Red is the color of the blood we spill on other people’s mistakes.  Blue is the color of the songs we sing on tax forms or pay stubs- every page has a secret melody. Black is the color of the streets we fear most. Black is the color of our signature of approval. Black is the color of our death.

‘But what about the Green pens?’ I ask. They say ‘the ink is too hard to see.’

Copyright © Jacob Reinhardt | Year Posted 2013

Details | Haiku | |

The Internet: Rtrn

A void of Facebook
Creativity dies here...
Procrastination!

Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

Generic Minds

generic minds listen to generic music
have generic thoughts that are unknowingly abusive
watch generic things talk about generic things
gee this generic *****is spreading like a disease
better get your flu shot 
thats what they said to me
a suicidal vaccine 
a subliminal killing spree
its contagious and the outrageous
thing about it is that the people are blind in an eye
that they didn't even know they had
it's sickening to watch these clueless civilians 
inside the looking glass
with nightmares of being free
without a key to their mind
for it is trapped in the frequency
in the illusion of time
bathed in our universe
killing all that refuse to see
those that admit to hypocracy
or see the message in hip hop
how cant you see
the message in the lyrics that
bring adolescents to their knees
from bullet wounds conflicting their flesh
contradicting that they're the best
but the songs keep telling them that they dont need no rest
that they dont wanna go home
that they should ride alone
with the gat as their only companion
and so the only path they choose is the one that they're told
until they grow old and hope turns to a window pane
inside a window pane, until all they feel is pain
they realize that the music itself is ashamed
so whats to look up to
when you cant even speak when you cant even walk because you look so bleak
your eyes are sunken from the tv you're infested with the dee zees
now its too late to turn around and live for your conscious
so when youre screaming oh please
close your eyes and bring your mind to life
open your eyes for the first time
and never wonder why
since the answer this entire time
has been inside
and you better find it before you die
you dont want your soul to be in a pool with all the others
a buncha brothers missing their mothers
but only seeing strangers
only feeling the haters
wishing they would have used their minds when they had them
and now its too late,
now it's time for another new born fate to grab them

Copyright © Green Trees | Year Posted 2012

Details | Rhyme | |

Oodles of Joy

"Oodles of Joy"
In the morning of everyday i 
start
I make a food that's really 
smart
Crunch'em, rip'em, and pour'em out 
As saliva pools form in my 
mouth 
Put it in the mic for just about 
three
Impatiently  watching those 
beautiful noodles waiting for 
me
When the time Is up
I Pop it open and take them out 
And start shoving "Oodle's of 
Noodles" into my mouth. 
 
Khalil Wali

Copyright © Khalil Franklin | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? | |

I Don't Care

I Don't Care...


I don't care,
if you're battered black and blue,

I don't care,
just as long as I can drink and screw.



I don't care,
if you've lost your damn job,

I don't care,
you're just a kernel off the cob.



I don't care,
when I see you begging in the street,

I don't care,
I get to suckle on capitalism's raw teat.



I don't care,
about the elderly, the poor, or the weak,

I don't care,
if the earth will be inherited by the meek.



I don't care,
if the climate is warming, I'm so much cooler,

I don't care,
in my penthouse I'm the boss, the only ruler.



I don't care,
for those rolling for scraps in the muck,

I don't care,

I really don't care, cos' I don't give a f**k



inspired by Bob Geldof's "The Great Song of Indifference"

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

Three Inch Cliches

The Soul is the Beautiful Light of Love
Shining like the sun through the 
NO
As the reader, I’m going to have to cut you off there.
Here’s a metaphor for you…
Reading is ****ing.
And your words hit our auditory canals
Like a hotdog down a hallway.
As an experienced reader, I’m after 
The virgin vernacular 
The aphrodisiac aphorism
You know- the big… black words
You feel me?
Because a line is a flashlight, exposing the world’s nudity-
And we’ll never get anywhere shining it in the same spot.
So kiss me with classy couplets
Smack my assonance!
Bring me to the climax-
And we’ll share a smoke together,
Warm beside the fire of your Three Inch Clichés.

Copyright © Jacob Reinhardt | Year Posted 2013

Details | Elegy | |

A Soldier's Elegy

A kestrel dips into an updraft
thinking he knows the world
tranquility gurgles 
through silent valleys
over mountains
around the earth
refracted 
through the wind

The creature soars ever higher
in great swoops and dives
the horizon curves as it eludes vision
the stars pulse their siren
but thrill denies
adrenaline overrules
their ambient warning

Gust to gust each fades 
quicker than the last
whispers carry the weight of wings
and their soulful song breaches sanity
prayers of rightful good
where petty purple banners
crest twinkling hearts

The last thermal ridden
last lyric dies
as flight’s drone fades
upturned wings alone
the sky empty oblivion
as the sun aligns its beady eye
to the looping path of the bird

Two brittle forms 
grapple in light
which blots out the senses
and protects 
what can never be touched
divine oblivion 
smites the naive bird
an archangel buried
in a crypt 
six feet deep.

Copyright © Avery Swarthout | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme | |

This Middle Rung

In ignorance, bliss!
This bottom rung,
we speak as we choose
and that gets the job done.

Yes, ignorance mired
in language unkempt-
the parlance of paupers,
ill-regarded, undreamt.

In tolerance, wise!
This highest rung-
we speak as the learned
and get the job done.

Where lofty words sing
amidst high-minded mind-
the old tongues of conflict,
new tongues now refine.

In limbo, angst!
This middle rung-
the higher won't save us,
the lower we shun.

Just enough rope payed out,
just enough slack-
For me and Pygmalion
to launch our attack.

~TH~ 2015
http://wrongwaywriteway.com

Copyright © Tom Hitt | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

Placid

Zephyrus breezes speak gently-
Undertones of placid eras alive in memory-

Tumult rages awaiting rigorous gates to detonate their command,
Planning utter obliteration of finite serene ways…

Blue and pink swirls of peaceful dusk
Replaced with a grey and murky inferno 

Eyes of Hades suck cherished life 
from all vibrant beings.

Shallow surf lazy with time,
Cruelly tricked - turned to tides of torment.	

Deceptive frailness fractures
serene, primordial peace.

Where is the dignity?
Noble causes massacred-
Equanimity executed under the breast
upon which we all feed-

Ceaseless greed-
Ultimately the beast we feed.
Looming vulnerability of us-
The annihilation breed



 {placid undertones}










Copyright © Amy Green | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse | |

Your Secret Place

Everyone should have a secret place
where everything is so beautiful, you just belong
as peaceful as a day is long, an out of your usual pace,
sounds of nature all about, where birds sing there song,

Meditation replaces frustration, along your happy trail
moving about streams, pine trees as tall as a waterfall
where pine cones grace a foliage landscape  so surreal,
woes are meaningless about green grass, lollypop bushes

A cool spring where skinny dipping hasn’t a sign to obey
trails going every which way, too choose, you can’t lose…
your way, this sunny day, misty spray, a couple out to play,
no weight to bare, deadlines to meet, nor fail too win

time only absent from laughter heard as children frolic there...
in a caressing manner, with her long hair draped about your face,
sounds echo off boulders where water flows by gallons everywhere
yes - your secret place, where good time memories are your true nature

Copyright © Perry Campanella | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme | |

The halo effect

If there is one thing I remember
It is what life told
Just open your eyes
All that glisters may not be gold
So who is to blame and whose fault I hold
The halo effect, the one in disguise
Manifesting deception in front of thy eyes
Treat one different because of their look
Why read? Judge the cover of the book?
But you do read others because they don’t have the look
If you understand, how long has it took?
The halo effect, we magnify a trait
Condone the flaws, we magnify a trait
Attractiveness, is this what you mean?
All this talk, my perception a feign?
What I see, aint what it seem?
Huh, thanks for this, as well as that.
The halo effect, my mind was hacked. 

Copyright © Darian Brown | Year Posted 2013

Details | Terza Rima | |

SHADOWS

Could spectres conceal inscrutable plot, 
while following lives with clandestine eyes:  
mocking each movement with grace we have not.  

Caste-less company of foolish and wise, 
elusive and tireless, always impend: 
fleet, ever positioned to criticize.  

Noiselessly waiting at each journey's end 
watching and judging, without acquittal, 
deeds that we're proud of, and some to defend.  

Their aloofness lessens us, belittles 
as around all they swoop, dread silent crows, 
and yet are scattered like children's skittles  

when darkness descends with one immense blow,  
for night is queen of secrets and shadows.

Copyright © Perry McDaid | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Drowning

Gasping for air. . . you strain your neck; stretching..you look around, checking.
Struggling to keep the pace. . . you're movements, fluctuating; you panic, you try floating.
Screaming for help. . .  no one is around, you wish for a miracle; you're wheezing, yelp not helping.
Giving, no one is reaching. . . the waves starting to bring you down; you fight, your Will diminishing.
Vanishing. . . your light dimming; They look from afar, will they notice you're drowning?

Copyright © Jesson Rata | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? | |

Tomorrow is Ours



Tomorrow is Ours.


Suffocating beneath the weight of historical fear,
asphyxiated by the legacy of traumatised yesteryear,

the festering wounds of enslavement still remain,
juggling euphemisms in a crisp sound-bitten refrain,

spewing out neo-liberal economic charades,
doling out charity in strips of plastic band-aids,

but,

tomorrow shall be ours,

casting away subservient mind-sets that shackle,
no longer the weakened prey of the insatiable jackal,

tomorrow shall be ours,

we shall reclaim our plundered mindspaces,
we shall shed our chains, leaving behind the traces,

of past injustice, of the hurt and pain of our ancestors' sorrows,

we are here, now, alive with hope,


we shall rightfully claim our own tomorrows.




Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme | |

Trapped

At least it’s not entrapment, school, 
But aims at freedom of speech, 
For every pupil, every child, 
Whatever it is that they beseech. 

But when you feel like you’re in prison, 
Just speak, if you can, well and clear, 
And, if they ignore you in the meantime, 
Maybe one day they'll draw near. 

Copyright © Rhoda Monihan | Year Posted 2015

Details | I do not know? | |

Money

Sure it can live
No it cant feel
Something gives when the cream is real

Copyright © Ace X | Year Posted 2012

Details | Verse | |

Philosophical Poetry Week: Transient Tuesday

I am a misprint,
Ink blot on love,
I remain a maybe
Longing for fact,
No speck of lint,
A hand in glove.
Thunder; a baby
Will only react

When you etch
Parallel clouds,
Whistling on cue
To a dead town.
Dream a sketch
Of silent crowds
Becoming you,
This boiling crown

Chews thought
Into flagellation.
Holes in the walls
To spy through,
Seeking a sort
Of bricked-up sun.
A heaven of halls,
All leaving you.

Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013

Details | Epic | |

Isigin Dusu-II

Senle ve sensiz bir hic
Yururum yolumda
Korkmadan yasamin
Senle sensiz bir hic

Bir dag yamacinda ucurum hayatim senle sensiz bir hic
Yasam dersem kabulum agit yakilmis sevdamiza
Hikayesi  umit olsa da  acsa  cicek olsa sevda yaylalarda
Senle sensiz bir hic  bilerim  tasinmaz yasanmaz  nefesimiz

Bir cicek sevda yaylada ruzgarla esen
Kosma  olumune  desem  kimse dinlemez  
Ruzgarlar  sallar eser gullu  basma  bedenini 
Saklar saclarini yazmali basortusu dantelli
Akar bir nehir  sevdayla senle ve sensiz hic
Bir  koca cinar  bolunmus toprak yarik yarim
Amansiz nehir  akar  bolunur  delinen kalbim 
Senle ve sensiz bir hic  canim sevdam
Cok  canlar  oldu telef gozyasi oldu tasti  irmak
Cok analar yakti agit  kan kirmizi  irmak

Cok kahpe planlar hoyratca  goz yumanlar
Cok aci  kahkahalar oyunu  sessizce  oynatanlar
Senle ve sensiz alkis tutanlar bir hic  utancim
Gelecegim senle sensiz 
Isigin dusu  umidim cocuklarim

Copyright © reyhan yucebay | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? | |

The Petty Posh-WahZee - Liberation and Ostentation



The Petty Posh-Wahzee - Liberation & Ostentation


The Not-So Distant Past:

The fallen fighters for freedom, are unable to turn in their graves,
their battered, fragmented bones, mixed with a handful of torn rags,
are all that remain, a mute reminder of their selfless valiant sacrifice.

They endured brutal Apartheid harassment, detentions without trial,
torture in the cells, and mental anguish when loved ones disappeared,
they left their homeland, to continue the struggle against racial bigotry,
while countless others fought the scourge of white-minority rule at home.

Nelson Mandela and many, many others, spent their lives imprisoned,
on islands of stone, and on islands of the cruellest torture, yet they stood,
never bowing, never scraping, they stood, firm for ideals for which they were prepared to die,

and many, many comrades did die, at the hands of the callous oppressor,
and many, many comrades perished in distant lands, torn from their homes,
while the struggle continued, for decades, soaked in blood, in tears, in pain.


The Present:

19 years have passed, since freedom was secured at the highest of prices,
delivering unto us, this present, a gift of emancipation from servitude,

a freedom to walk this land, head held high, no longer second-class citizens,
in the land of our ancestors, whose voices we hear and need to heed today.

I do not care much for fashion, Lewis-Fit-On and Sleeves unSt.-Moron,
yet the ostentation that I witness baffles even my unsophisticated palate,

our ancestors' plaintive whispers are being dismissed, left unheeded, as
we browse the aisles for more and more, always for more and yet more.

Asphyxiated by the excess of the Petty Posh-Wahzee, we find ourselves,
perched precariously on the edge, of a dissolution of all that is humane,

babies go hungry, wives are battered, our elders left in hospitals for hours,
I cringe as I scribble these words, perhaps too sanctimonious and preachy,

yet I know, deep in the marrow of my brittle bones, I know, I know, I know,
this tree of freedom planted by the nameless daughters and sons of Africa,

needs to be shielded, nurtured, protected from our very own baser impulses,
so that the precious tree of freedom, may bear the fruit that may feed us all,

for if not, then we are doomed, to tip over, and into the yawning abyss, we shall fall.







Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

You Are Rich

Festered lament maddens me
Why must the despair of my heart’s desire
Truly enlighten me? 
I rested among the sick and lame
And found myself no different from the rest
For a troubled mind holds endless poverty
Penniless regret marks as a sickness no doctor can prescribe
For the bottles of balm are empty
And medicinal hope grows angry
I derived my madness from creativity
Revealing the remains of my humanity
‘Cool off, child’, I heard a soft voice whisper
But can’t you see I live off the flame?
It asks for no nickel or dime!
But it seeks to destroy all the same
The small voice returns at times
And often my heart listens
But we all listen
And only believe in the inevitability of pain 
I speak of the majority
Not of you
For you are blessed and beyond disgrace
You have a life—a beautiful face

And most of all, you are rich
With attributes I can only dream of 

You are rich with life and purpose
Holding inscrutabilities I can only wish to understand
You lift me without touch or care
Disposing me from your treasures
Because though you meant no harm, 
You are rich with blessing
And must remove all possible threats
So my festered lament
Remains an enlightenment

I can say I am rich in poverty
But you are forever rich
In Mystery

What hurts the most is knowing
I may be wrong about you
For you are so obscure in this mind
And as empty as I am I wish to be filled
In your richness
But we all are filled to the brim in the end
And sometimes I cannot distinguish the good from the bad
There is nothing I wish to discard
So I hoard in constant deficiency and despair  
And I hoard the idea that you are beyond compare

That you are rich
And always will be richer
Than me—or he

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? | |

For Bruce Springsteen

for bruce springsteen...


it was a rain-swept monsoon day

way back then, so many moons away

when i felt the music strumming in my veins

setting me free like a runaway horse without any reins

you sang of simple truths, 

your verse spoke to people just like me

in my lonely, wasted, and desolately quiet night

as you screamed out tragic human wrongs, and of everyone's plight

'bobby jean' spoke to me

of that girl down the street

glimpses of whom, we as innocents would furtively meet

and 'the river' that flowed through my ever-barren heart

led me down further roads of thunder

when slowly i finally learnt that the hardest part was fighting on

and never to surrender

to the hard-luck dreams that were born to run

while i danced in the dark 

with memories vivid and stark

even as i whined like that dog who for forever lost his howling bark

and then a 'human touch' came along

and 'better days' seemed real, not just words in a song

and still you sang and swayed and spoke straight into my unseeing eyes

as gardens of secrets were opened, and as your fist punched the skies

in an anger that i too felt and in whose cauldron i too burned

as we saw murder get incorporated, while on its wobbly axis, our fragile world apathetically turned

and then suddenly i was told that i was all grown up

working on a highway of scattered ideals

and absolving myself by sprinkling some coins in a waiting cup

well, after all these years of walking along so many a thorny road

with an armour of your verse covering me, even as i hear them taunt me and even as they continue to goad

but now i can feel myself fading away, into the bleakness of this coming night

just like the ghost of that old tom joad...

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013

Details | Epigram | |

JUSTICE II


Justice,
Your laws a spider-like web*   
Resemble 
That catches the very little and
Frail
While the big and powerful through
They pass
Without ever leaving a single
Trail! 


© Demetrios Trifiatis
    21 MAY 2013

*In 593 BC, Anacharsis, criticized Solon’s laws by calling them a spider’s web! 
Solon, one of the seven sages of ancient Greece.  Anacharsis a sage and friend of Solon.

Copyright © Demetrios Trifiatis | Year Posted 2013

Details | Ode | |

Redemption

Redemption is a fancy dish
Served on a wooden plank
It’s full of nails and crusty bark
With no one else to thank

Just cut away the ugly parts
And untie all the knots
Don’t look too deep or underneath
Defute those aging thoughts

Just look at all the daily bread
Your maker has provided
The hearts to help you break it
Your destiny decided
Copyright © Mike Martin 2015

Copyright © Mike Martin | Year Posted 2015

Details | Dramatic Verse | |

Emotional Hole

I did not find myself to be so important
So I ask my friends do I seem distant?
When I ask the question I had received an answer, Yes
So I think that made it clear that I had been not the best
I am a friend of a friend that talks so many things
That friend talks to much it is insane and insanity it brings
I do care, about my friends they are all good people
They tend to stand on their high steeple 
Today I find myself not so aware
Disbanding my fear of regret and care
Walking many different paths I see that I have found holes
It is the path that people choose to use to fuel their rage with coals
Coals are partially burnt wood or fossils a piece of fuel
It is the source of burden and fire a rage of emotions that stands cruel
It can be warm and caring, but it also can be baring
I just start to feel so low, below the ground I keep on staring
I reach for my friends so many times I feel so ignorant at times
Just once I feel I should not rely on them when feeling I can not find 
I dig my hole deeper and I can not climb out
For some reason I am just full of doubt
I care about so many things and what I have is confusion
One person should be all I should think about to get out of that illusion
My battle in my heart and mind is not at all so pleasant
I feel so alone in an island that is shaped like a crescent
My emotions is like coinciding with a diameter of the semicircle
Not a full emotion that is complete like a circle
My feelings is circular full of incomplete thoughts, so much deeper
I feel it will wake up my evil half a evil soul that is a sleeper
What question should I ask myself? to believe that I am not so alone
As I feel like a person who is deteriorating to the bone
I ask my friends the same question once again
I figure I should do it, to know what kind of feelings I should end
So many thoughts that come out of my feeling
I feel like my friends take, an emotional trauma of stealing
They ask me questions and I answer theirs
But when I need mine answered I feel burning inside like a flare
Are they even friends when they do not take me serious in anyway
Just put me in my hole cause I feel nothing in their will be getting in my way
It's just so simple to answer someones problem
I answer friends with beauty of a rose, but when they answer mine I get the stem
I know the stem is very important in life, with out it how can a rose be a rose
With a hole to put the root and stem in how can it grow
The words we speak I guess is like all natural things we reap and sow

Copyright © Reynaldo Mast | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? | |

I Stand, Alone



I stand, alone.

Scratching for my truths,
peeling away the veneer,

I stand, alone, before this
impregnable cliff so sheer.

Cocooned in my solitary shell,
wrenching a smile from a tear,

I stand, alone, a little odd,
and definitely quite queer.

I stand, alone.

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013