Your entering an elevator
in the skyscraping building of life.
As you step through the doors
your uncertain of which floor is right.
So you press all the buttons
hoping to rely on your sight.
Upon reaching the first floor
look who steps in, it's your wife.
Reaching the next floor,
your child comes running in.
You embrace them with happiness,
as the doors close once again
Then onto the next floor
with a bunch of smiles you all go.
Upon reaching the next floor
another child runs in "Oh no?"
Whats going on?
This wasn't part of the plan?
"Oh well I can take it,
that's right, I'm a strong man."
As you reach the next floor
your wife says this is it.
Exiting the elevator,
your kids start to throw a fit.
As you are about to exit
you see your wifes hand on the door.
Then she turns to you and says,
"Why don't you go up one more floor"
With the doors closing,
you see tears in your wifes eyes.
"Why would she be crying?
Was she telling me goodbye?"
Reaching the next floor,
you decide to see what this floor is all about.
This must be the right floor you sense,
in your mind with out a doubt.
As you turn to the elevator
to go back down one floor to your wife.
You see there is no down button,
for the elevator in this building of life
Copyright © Dan Kearley | Year Posted 2011
was this tortured victoms ground zero a lie?
were his 17 sites of an obsessive world peace nature proof in the pudding?
were the forgetfulintentions of poetrypoem helpful at all?
the life lesson of ressurecting three literary saviours and then slaughter them
how many witnesses
to this technicolor dream there to keep you living?
can you prove me wrong
that i just averted the holocaust?
was the confusion of this necisary?
from the homeless shelter starting over
the realisation of how many cities have already cried
not televised of their tears
the world sick with war
many affected in their own ways for their perceptions of a life they lived
back stab society
crime of the century
the story of a stolen empire
whoever they were
were going to bomb my city
whoever they are
have been torturing people
whoever they were
are going to lie through their teeth
deadlocked with confusion
sucked in with terrorism
and spit out as a peace keeper
sucked in with good intentions to aid survivors of tragedy and war
spit out as person with a soul
the crime of the century
classic con or not
the mixing pot society
that almost died
the mystery unravelling of me your allie
and you working for me
to kill worldly enemies
to play the game to get me laid
called keeping miserable happy
all the way from youtube's imcallingjapan
to an x tube music video
all the way from the governments of facebook
the pancake sting of the satanic community
walking circles downtown clapping chanting pancakes
family and friends waiting acting like strangers
someone starts making fun of this person
he yells you hate sex
family and friends start clappping and chat sex sex sex
then give a stranger a high five
and walk away under cover again
i have taken over this planet
its a thing
like the way to kill warpigs if they take over the police
to color code an ambush
you cant coordinate
but i can
the crime of the century of saving your life
yeah thats my empire of loose ends
the ones that changed your life
the ones that fit in the manners of me taking over the world
those 80 families with million dollar paintings
with poems assisting futuristic intelligence on the back
back stab society
i just took over the planet
like the porn industries game of hug all over the mediapope of twitter
Copyright © Troy Jeremy Nelson | Year Posted 2011
This building held his dreams.
Its sturdy walls and sloping roof
Contained his hopes and fears.
It nursed him as it stood aloof,
Its doors and windows closed.
The mocking world was kept at bay
And failure mattered less.
His constant allies, night or day,
The floorboards, bricks and beams:
This building safely held his dreams.
For Skat's Picture frame contest
My thoughts on a pic of an old house where Vincent van Gogh had once lived
Copyright © jack horne | Year Posted 2011
It takes so long to understand
How the fractures of the past
Reach the home of the future
With such a stealthy hand
All the foundations
That you braced and propped
All the restorations
Made in cement and bricks
Which seemed so seamless
Begins to show the cracks
While the girders and supports
Begin to resemble
Your own hands have wrought
Time you felt would give you time
Built that time, but it has slipped away
Behind the stalwart barriers
You designed to keep the time
You didn’t think to hide yourself away
But nobody knows you now
No one can see you
Through the cage
And from the panoramic view of your eyes
You toss your crumpled warnings
To anyone who is searching for suggestions
On building materials
“Only fools turn their back on their heart”
“Only fools turn their back on love”
“Only fools paper over the agony
and believe in someone else”
“Only fools choose something other than love
“for building materials”
“Love’s a split between
yourself and someone else
“Martyrdom is not an expression
of a truly loving heart”
“It’s a sacrifice unasked for
from the loves in your life”
“It’s a solitary sacrifice”
This message I throw from my high walled
High from the tower
I built my own
Not by choice these props and girders
These adobe bricks of sand and straw
I never knew
What these bricks
Copyright © colin mitchell williams | Year Posted 2009
The old school building from childhood
Changed now ~a nursing home
Laughter echoes "pon the warm breeze
Children some now don't roam
Years separated me from here
The building has improved
The grounds are much the same as then
Gone are see-saws that moved
Gone is the fun merry-go-round
Where accidents happened
Life as a whole has surely changed
Thinking of those actions
Life sometimes goes full circle
This school from years bygone
Ancestors whose offsprings in home
Once lived, learned, and moved on
Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2013
Cast out devils
Once holy building
Deserted and abandoned
No more holy rites
Dead vicar’s skull and thighbones
Used by Satanists there now
* A true story - the Satanists were forced to leave and the church was reconsecrated
Jack Horne for Constance's Church by the Ocean contest, 23rd September
Copyright © jack horne | Year Posted 2011
Framed the worlds by faithful words
For visible proof.
Dedicated to my son Caleb.
Copyright © Leon Stacey | Year Posted 2006
I do not know?
For all the tears I shed means
I'm getting closer to you as I'm building
stairs to Heaven.
I dread the moment I no longer
shed my tears as that's when the stairs
will end, But I predict that to be in
about eleven years from then.
I fear before my stairs are built
you and I will be on my stairs I built
on our way to Heaven .
And the ones
I couldn't build just appear like a magic
carpet and we just glide our way to
Heaven's door the way we were meant to
Side by side and then I disappear
into your arms where I'm whole again
looking at the baby Blues.
Copyright © Cheryl McCall | Year Posted 2009
White windows of painted boards,
and an exterior of rust-red resistance.
What infinite hallways dwell behind your doors?
An army of cream-clad patients,
sunken cheeks and hollowed eyes,
these are the images that come to mind,
and I feel the tension of the smoldering gaze
of the building with rust-red resistance.
A hand with no strength within,
fingers white as cod, and I ask,
“to whom is it kin?”
the building with rust-red resistance.
Like walking without meaning,
in a nightmare of frustration,
the people of the rust-red house share
no sunlight with the rest of Creation.
They, behind white windows of painted boards,
are alone in their elation.
For even while the day unfolds,
the rust-red house is theirs alone, no invasion.
The rust-red house is theirs alone, no invasion.
Copyright © Caroline Guenther | Year Posted 2011
A dreamer wisely
Builds upon his dreams
When wisdom becomes
The instrument of reasoning!
Copyright © Cynthia Alvez | Year Posted 2012
into the world comes a brand new life &
regardless of whatever consequences brought it
the little one now breathes this air
the little one now feels the chill
the little one absorbs every stimulant
every single iota of experience
pours into the eyes
sucked in by the little ears
all in the attempt to understand
all in the attempt to survive this place
outside the womb.
the prime caretaker
the one seen by society to be the best of all
the one who has stood between the child &
the concrete below
the one who initially says that they will love &
care for this new being,
this is the person from whom all the bricks are
for the wall begins to be built when the molder begins to
carve this little one into what they could never be---
when the molder begins to draw perfect little parameters round
the body of the little one---
when the molder begins to abuse with doctrines
when the molder begins to instill upon the little one
a worldview that is known only to the molder &
the wall begins to be built.
the molder takes the child to its gatherings
mingling, showing off the little one,
talking of what the little one might be like when they are
how the little one might very well
follow in the footsteps of the molder.
and with each brick of certainty
with each brick of dogma & willingness to submit to the world around
the wall towers above the height of the still staggering little one
who, while still trying to attain the art of walking, eating &
cleaning up after itelf,
now has been closed off to the rest of the world
before it even had a chance.
Copyright © andrew delapruch | Year Posted 2011
I do not know?
You keep me going
The ocean is ice
But that won’t stop me rowing
All I want is the best
Every daily action is pre-thought
So you can settle comfortably in your nest
The whole world I live in revolves around you
Building your future so bright
This is the least I could do
For my unborn children
Copyright © R Kumari | Year Posted 2005
A self-affliction come undone
A shattered canvas and setting sun
Beneath the reasons I still stay
Beyond the treasons I dare not name
A world divided in my head
A universe to comprehend
A broken sword to crack my shield
To my reflection I always yield
The sights are endless in this place
The lessons won will change its pace
My heart a thousand burning earths
The sun is back to ask its worth
This challenge I can not betray
To run away is to remain
My shattered history now screams
And every silence is in retreat
And then my self-affliction asks
“Why aren’t you burning with the past?”
I take the treasures, not the flames
So every loss can’t be in vain
A brighter sight to carry through
To what exists when there’s no truth
A world where no-one looks within
The only place where life begins
Copyright © Ian Petch | Year Posted 2011
I had to turn back for a second look
Despite the faded exterior
Despite the fallen plaster
The old building charmed me!
I strained to see more
Wanting to memorize each feature
Dreaming, wishing, hoping
That I could one day...
I ached that such a thing of beauty was
Ravaged by time
By callous hands
Was that a light inside?
The house was inhabited
A semblance of normalcy
Shone out from the window
Some poverty stricken soul
Had found shelter
In the abandoned
In the enchanted
There is a light
Inside of me!
Can you see it?
The exterior of my soul
May not be beautiful
Though there are faint reminders
Of who I was
Of who I am
Don’t grieve at havoc
That time and experience
And the rough hands of the world
Have wrecked on me.
Take a second look
That light is on
It beckons you
To come inside
To take up residence
In this abode of mine
Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2012
The silvery metal lines
snake around the bend
into the building
waiting at the end
The gravel shivers
as the huge train passes
bound to the rails,
whilst divided into classes
Yet all move to the same place,
there is no about-turn
in this directed race.
There is no freedom to turn,
left or right,
as to the rails are bound,
even if massive and mighty – what a sight!
As to the rails are bound
- this train
that moves on the rails
towards the building
waiting at the end.
Copyright © Daniel Human | Year Posted 2014
Dawn is breaking as I get home from work
(Under paid clerk, always broke)
and the garage smells of cigarette smoke
Gingerly I step over lithe young bodies, sleeping,
limbs slung wide in abandon, random
(I remember Spring, in my December.
I remember...and the envy almost
makes me choke)
My house looks like a homeless shelter
except less organized (improvised)
futons, mattresses, pillows, sheets,
blankets strewn aside (a linen closet suicide)
Innocent faces (showing no traces)
wrinkle free (c'est la vie)
mere hours ago (working, missed the show)
these sleeping babes were
rocking, rolling, tearing up the stage.
And my no-longer-in-residence hero (lost, lost, so great is my loss)
in peace by sleep endowed
has a face that would have made
Sleep has banished his worries (recessed the jury, diffused the fury)
unleashed the restraint (no more complaints)
sleeping this man-child has
the face of a saint.
In life I learned early:
fight or flight
avoidance or submission (avoidance works best, although a
form of cowardice)
I avoid to protect my heart (already torn apart)
from emotional sabotage.
And when I awaken, he's gone.
All the youth, energy, equipment,
his whole entourage.
Now the house seems hollow (my cowardice swallowed)
another life-experience missed (no one cares enough to be pissed)
afraid my heart would shatter
I avoided the whole matter.
Exhaustion has his dad by the throat,
his role reduced to an anecdote. (why sugar-coat?)
Age has settled in my brain
as I pour Jack Daniels down the drain.
Copyright © Danielle White | Year Posted 2009
... we are building that famous tower
are we going to use different languages?
and so all our efforts would fall?
or, are we going to create the round tower?
The way to the top of the hill
at three o'clock in the afternoon
after falling three times
in the three scorching suns, the Earth opens,
it redens, dries up, dies.
Maybe from behind the wall of our tower,
two days after,
white smoke would rise,
stright up, like that in the desert,
not of the empty haze...
But of the begining
of our love... and poetry...
Copyright © Christiana Sciberras | Year Posted 2005
Remember at the young age, when homies were homies,
and weren't actors or straight phonies,
acting like your above me and i'm below thee,
but who are you, you probably don't even know me,
you have no clue,one word can mean so much to someone,
build them up or make them crumble,
crash and tumble,
but all i hear from you is slight rumble,
your words are held and dropped, fumble,
fake friends cause hurdles in life a slight stumble,
time is tick ticking like a clock,
but happiness and laughter is where it's really at,
so forget about the past,
like a run first offense,
i mean no offense, so don't take this outta context,
when i say easy lives are for the good,
but struggles create the best.
Copyright © levi davis | Year Posted 2012
While you are trying to acquire your millions
I am trying to build our foundation
You are so focused on your plans
You seem to forget about ours
Seem to forget about me
I try to stay positive
Try to be assertive
I try to ignore my loneliness
But then I just become frustrated
When I realize I am still building on my own
When we started
Us being the best was your first priority
Since we started
Us keeping it together has become your last
I feel as if we are grasping for straws
Hanging on to something that has long gone
And even though my back aches from bending
My mind is exhausted from thinking
And my hands have contusions from building
I continue to pile brick upon brick
Continue to smooth the cement to keep us together
I work through my doubts
Work through my fears
Ignore my weariness
Brush away my silent tears
I build for you
If only you would grab a shovel and build for us
Copyright © Ashli Jones | Year Posted 2007