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Life Metaphor Poems | Life Poems About Metaphor

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

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Details | Verse | |

What Life Means To Me

Life,
I put the suit on long ago
been wearing it ever since
it came with a coat and snappy vest
and two pair of shiny pants.

The pockets I filled with important things
crickets, frogs, and ants
all of them on the list that read
do’s and don’ts and can’ts.

The suit of life, it changed with me
into a statement of the times
tattered jeans and tie-dyed shirts
adorning screaming mimes.

Shifted gently through love’s tears
it’s births and deaths and sorrows
tailored itself to changing needs
as todays became tomorrows

Fashion may affect the tone
yet the fabric of the cloth retains
the honor of the tailor’s hand
the piety of living’s stains.

The jacket hangs, as jackets must
over pants with ageless sheen
the pockets bulge with life’s reward
the visions of its dream.

I put the suit on long ago
and wore it till it fit
now hold it ever precious – dear
I’ve grown quite fond of it.



2/8/2015
submitted to – What Life Means To Me – Poetry contest
sponsor – Jerry T Curtis


Details | Bio | |

Letters I Never Sent


Earth is a building
A crowded house covered with thorns 
donated by peacemakers

A building
Showered with endless tears washing sad feelings
Tears that fill holes to shape the planet with goals
It shelters those that shelter themselves
Shame poor souls
Pass them free suicide ropes
This earth is a shack overcrowded with souls hungry for 
reality’s accuracy

A construction that shield competitors for God’s recognition
This earth is a round promised lie
Circled to circulate exclusions
A bunkhouse burning from the heat of human insults
Group hugging insects 
Voice planning impacts 

It glows echoes of reality’s limping lips and confused vintage 
Glorifying gruesome goals
The third house amplifying fear as a choice 
The next door neighbour to your borrowed smiles

A building 
A freak round building 
Earth is a tornado moving bricks from one mind to others

My heart married the future with all its dimples
Holes piled up with fables
War of voices in ties and suitcases
 Killing the already dead in word visions
 Picture pictures painted in demonic paint brushes 
Bunch of hands group shaking greetings 

Earth is a building
A crowded house covered with thorns 
Donated by peacemakers
A building that let loose diseases for business   

Some letters i never sent

(c) Ray


Details | Couplet | |

Hidden Beauty

Can there be beauty in my toes,
Where stubbornly a fungus grows?

I never thought it could be true.
I try to hide it with my shoe.

Its purpose, not yet discovered—
I try hard to keep it covered.

From large toe to the next it spread,
And now I look at both with dread.

It wants to grow against the norm,
My toenail with misshapen form,

Knows the wild ways it wants to grow,
And now it has a mate in tow!

I’ve vowed to make a sacred oath
To kill this hated fungal growth,

But I now see the beauty of
My wayward toes denied of love

Are like the people we might hate
And I’ve learned to appreciate

Diversity against the norm,
Well taught to me through my toes’ form;

That each of us must be unique,
And there’s the beauty that I seek!

As my fungal toe and its mate,
Which I condemned as reprobate,

Conceals within their ugly form,
Their freedom’s right against the norm!

© 1-18-15
For Hidden Beauty Poetry Contest 
Sponsored by Rhonda Johnson-Saunders


Details | Rhyme | |

A day well spent

We must seize the day is what they say,  
We are here but for a moment, here but for a day,

We must awake and not forget to contribute, love and play,
We know that none of us are here to stay,

So go share your love there's no time to lament,  
You can then lie down knowing your day was well spent.

-Eddie Belcher


Details | Sestina | |

A cyclical life

Here in the heavy depths of insolent woes,
We gesture and talk and waste our time,
Staking claim to each minute of our earthly life,
Running the hours through a clock by the day,
Never sated, not content to find even love,
Buried deep inside the petals of a perfect rose.

So was a metaphor created from the rose, 
Then plagiarized and used for all of time,
Simply here to represent the beauty of love,
A perfection to which we cannot aspire to in life,
Or even death, in the darkest of all those woes,
Great though they may seem by the passing day.

It's a fragile, soulful kind of love,
In the pressing presence of the breaking day,
Where your back breaks beneath ample woes,
And there just simply isn’t ever enough time,
To do what you plan to do with your life.
Then you start to resemble that rose.

Soft and delicate, with easy loss of life,
Mournful of the passage of time,
Counting down, day by dreary day,
Ever seeking out to find dear love,
The theoretical banishment of woes.
Such is the way of the deep red rose.

Has it ever occurred to us not to mark time?
Just to ignore it, along with any such woes,
Just to leap forth and enjoy life,
To live to the absolute fullest everyday,
And just as chosen by the poet's rose,
To find and hold on to, that one true love.

For I find, that it's mostly true these days,
That people don't make enough time,
For laughter and fullness in life,
So preoccupied with petty woes,
That they forget about the beauty of love,
And in doing that, they forget about the rose,

I know what the rose represents in my life,
And I work hard to expel my woes every day,
So that soon I will have time for true love.

*****Written in Sestina for Constance's Poetry 101 contest.*****
******* 5th Place winner*******
******Sarah Blake August 2010******

A sestina is a highly structured form of poetry consisting of six six-line stanzas and a three-
line envoy (thirty-nine lines). The end words of the first stanza are repeated in varied order
as end words in the other stanzas and also recur in the envoy.


Details | Verse | |

Stars

Stars
A cycle of rebirth And regeneration Cosmic mysteries From the depths of the universe.
Immortal beings During acts of love Cast mystical spells Generating creative life forces.
Name: Pandita Sánchez Contest: “Shine with Your Naani!” Date: 6-18-2014 Sponsor: Nette Onclaud


Details | Ottava rima | |

The Morning Mist

The morning's mists
mix with the
woodland's scent
To fill me with such
wondrous happiness;
I see her wet but
gentle hands are
bent
And reaching out to
touch with
loveliness
The trees, and fills
my heart with
wonderment
At how her fingers
curl with
curiousness
To stroke the ragged
faces of the rocks,
Or run her dewy
fingers through the
phlox. 



{Written by Isaiah
Zerbst for the
poetry contest
"Through the Mist"
on the 20th of
August, 2014.}


Details | Carpe Diem | |

Carpe Diem

Carpe Diem If time were just a thing to save, At last, when life is ending, We’d have a bank of empty days— No equity to show. Instead of hoarding like a slave That which we should be spending, Invest it well in useful ways— Observe the interest grow! © Sandra M. Haight 2014 All Rights Reserved ~First Place~ October 21, 2014 Contest: Seize the Day (Carpe Diem) Sponsor: Regina Riddle


Details | Verse | |

The Footpath


The Footpath


The footpath to eternity

Crosses our sea of time

Beyond

Horizon of mortality,

Where in Heaven sublime,

Souls bond.


© Sandra M. Haight 2015 
   All Rights Reserved


~NA~
Contest: Memento of Waters ~ Visual #1
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
Syllables Checked: 8,6,2,8,6,2


Details | I do not know? | |

Brahma I

If Brahma is Brahma I also am Brahma,
then why am I wandering on a not real way 
holding something I don’t know in my hand?

I can lead my life toward good
because everything is Brahma, but I can live 
an evil life as well because everything comes from my ego.

If Brahma is Brahma I can cross over the ego 
bury myself in meditation, 
though it may be a lonely 
and a trying way.

Gather ashes from six* burnt senses 
and walk on the nonexistent way
because I am a naught substance, 
though to be in a mode to attain spiritual awakening, 
my ego, stands in the middle of good and evil
unable me to shake off tenacious carnal desire,
it compels me to keep walking on the path of evil passions

and if the terminal goal of life’s never ending circle is
an attainment of spiritual awakening,
and spiritual awakening is to walk in light, 
the brightness is the way;
however, paradoxical, in a sense, is also true

stupidity and ignorance though lay in the darkness,
it may also be the way. Yet, the problem of life is 
still laying under my foot; and that is the chain of anguish
which would never, ever, be cut off;

I, therefore, collapse on the way 
while dragging the chain of a great weight
it may be the end of anguish, a knot of a life’s circle, 
or a moment of a pause in the ever changing world,

or it may well be a renewed life in Faramita the world of Paradise,
or the beginning of another anguish in the transmigration of the soul,
and that’s why I believe the nonexistent substance is the way 
to Brahma which is one same substance.

Tat tvam asi, I am the Brahma
Tat tvam asi, That art thou


*Six senses: five basic physical senses plus soul or intellect.



Details | Sestina | |

A Mouse And A Man




In the anters and shadows of this baleful life
perhaps the little brown mouse searching in silence
bewray a lonesome story behold

For eyes to wander a brief candle behold
in hushed light, enwheeled...this pitiful life
if only, my friend, to peer in silence

where love had flown in years of silence
to gape for dawn, a friendship behold
in ghostly thought of scurried life

From the cold reality of life where painful silence smothers, Behold!! compassion is born..

___________________________________



Definitions-

Anters - Caves
Baleful-Mortal
Bewray-Reveal
Brief Candle- Life is compared to a candle flame
Enwheeled- Encompassed
Ghostly-Holy
Gape-Long/Yearn




Details | Free verse | |

The Elephant in the Room

3 polished oak fans,
Swirling in robotic unison

High maintenance socialites,
Sipping on Merlot fallacies

Lemon yellow coated walls,
Flat,
Like their smiles

Comparisons of dangling Porsche & Bentley keys
A glorified day care center,
Pacifiers included

The muted virtuosos speak softly in hymn dialects.

Courtesy laughter in snob’s octave

Their heads twitching side to side,
Left to right to left

An equilibrium facing assault charges against self

They slow dance to cello dreams
And E minor dividends

Two-step monotone, sway
Against platinum lacquer foundations

…

But, it was then.

These same socialites,
Made of recycled candle wax
And rubberized, hedge-fund confidence,
Began to stare longingly at the party host’s 70 inch plasma TV

Proudly imported from China

“Attention uptight snobs of Mecca!
The city zoo has imploded!
The monkeys revolted!
The zebras were tired of being racially profiled!
Run for your LIV…!”
(SMASH!)

And before the reporter’s frightened inner child could finish’s his clause,
An elephant crashes into the decadent room
Filled with Crisp linen scents of Febreze & judgmental fear

It stares at the socialites,
Laughing heartedly as it playfully stomps away into constellation’s onyx night

As tears waterfall from the snobs’ sobbing eye sockets
As if they just listened to another Celine Dion song

The real newsflash

Metaphors played hooky today

©Drake J. Eszes


Details | Free verse | |

Dementia

He was always so happy
strong and bold.
He'd give you the shirt off of his back.
Tough.
Independent.
He had a rough life
growing up through the depression,
but like he always does,
he got through it.
He has two boys, of whom he is so proud.
Moved from Regina, to Victoria.
He had the best life anyone his age could have wanted.
But ever since his wife died, 
he has not been the same.
Sad
Lonely
Empty.
But like he has always done,
he got through it.
Mind slipping, 
just a little forgetful.
That's how it always starts out...
But like always, he powered through it, 
until now...
He is not the same person that I used to know.
He been sentenced to the prison in his own mind.
Possessed by the thoughts of his dogs ashes.
He likes to play the blame game,
but we know he doesn't remember that it was him.
He wakes up in the night
shaking with pain, 
tears streaming down his face.
There is nothing we can do,
Oh well...
Two more tylenol.
Hold on to hope
for as long as you can,
It's only a matter of time now.
He gets vocal, a very loud tone.
He'll block you in your room
and make false accusations
But we know that it's the pain induced monster in him.
Tick tock, tick tock...
You can't handle the stress anymore
you have to leave.
Just hope for the best, 
maybe it will get better.
Surprise, it doesn't.
Your denial is foolish, everyone knows 
what happens next.
Sedation
Medication
Anger
Hurt
All results of
dementia


Details | Free verse | |

- CRYSTAL -



                  If you think life is like walking on a crystal staircase
                                          Simple and easy 
                                       Bright and sparkling
                                    Blind, naive and dreamy
                  An angel with the wings on each side of the steps
                                  Your heart would be broken
                                      You must not stumble
                                           Your strength
                                              Weakness
                                             Foolishness
                         Red blood trails in shining crystal staircase
                              Leaving behind tears for lost dream
                      Life consists of realities - longing and harmony
                                 Winnie the Pooh with honey pot
                                           A tidal wave of joy
                      All the dazzling stars shine brighter than hoped
                Walk of life staircase is an art which everyone must learn
                                       But no one can teach you
                      The staircase of life are not made of shiny crystal




09.03.2014
A-L  Andresen :)

- My english is my second language -


Sponsor: Nette Onclaud 
Contest Name: Metaphor: CRYSTAL 
Deadline 06/04/2014

(6th in the contest)


Details | Free verse | |

Sentenced

They place my vowel
Under barren landscape

Sipping from cracked porcelain cup
Of an alienated heartbeat

Devilish grins
Slapping Karma’s bottom,
A quarterback’s misguided win

Liar’s prophetic retinas glaze
With metric, disciplinary ruler

They place my consolidated lyric
On upper hand
Of cubic zirconium petulance

Their torn, lanolin coated tissue
Degrading polyester embedded uniform

Mislead by “savior’s” belief
A desolate embodiment of character

They observe me
With cherry coated pupils
Through rusty, iron bars

Its frosty echoes
Portraying fickle sonatas in these stale winds

Yet,
My ambient tear
Is simply a hoax for their recycled victory

Holding wooden spoon against my waist

Ready to crawl

©Drake J. Eszes


Details | Epigram | |

LIFE



A mighty river life is,
Where 
The powerful waters of
Rushing feelings, 
Roaring emotions  
And 
Thunderous ideas flow,
That 
In wonder its source has
And 
Its estuary in awe! 



© Demetrios Trifiatis
  31 MARCH 2014  



Details | Free verse | |

Twigs

Twigs

Flowers bloom
And flowers wilt.
Flowers blush
And flowers fade.
The eternity is only in me-
The twig that bears the flowers.

Sparrows are born
And sparrows die.
Sparrows fly
And brighten the sky.
That who nurtures sparrows is me-
A cozy make of a twig upon a twig.

The sun fades
And moon is born.
The twilight blurs
And moonlight spreads.
All the soothing moonlight beams are me-
A crisscross of unfathomed twigs.

Whether in its birth
Or in its death;
In the heart
Of its heart;
The entire beauty is none but one-
A design of mysterious twigs.


Details | Rhyme | |

A Soul Awakened

She is the muse to her own sorrow; She is the digger of her grave. She is the painter of her ocean view and every fatal wave. She is the shadow of her Father; She is the darkness in your sight. She is the night without the stars surrounding pale moonlight. She is the music with no words; She is sweet love without the reason. She is your dreamer with submission cold by warmth with every season. She is your pet with cold intentions; She is your baby scared and shaken. She is the bold and pure- the lost and found, She is a soul awakened.


Details | ABC | |

the circle of life

A predator among us.
A villian in our midst.
An entity of evil,
Clouding up our wits.
Preying on the innocent.
Devouring the strong.
A sycophant immortal.
Unbound by right and wrong.
White wool adorning
The curves of their form.
Cloven hooves dragging
on the ground with the worms.
No hoofprints behind them.
just the four toed paws
dotted at the tips
by their long and angry claws.
Nature is a cruel being.
Creating monsters in her storms.
No one understands
And everyone is torn.
The prey will always villify
those who are higher than they
on the food chains bottom
the sheep will always stay.
The wolves are meant to feed
without remourse consume
The psyches of the weak
to bring them to their doom.
The sheep will bleat and bellow
in fear of those wolves
And try to justify their blindness
by stamping hard their hooves.
Hiding in the herd,
the prey upon their back
the predators facade
turns their wool to black.
Such is natures way.
No one is at fault.
The circle of life.
The predators of thought.
For who can blame the hungry beast
for eating to survive
When you people create such feasts
And tantalize our eyes.
We can not feel guilty
for gaining our sustenance.
consider this my fealty
for i shall not repent.


Details | Rhyme | |

My Garden

I attend to my garden each day
Though a tedious task it is true
With the seeds of ambition I pray
It will flourish for me and for you

Do you know how it prospers my dears?
With the sunshine of radiant love
With the moisture of falling wet tears
Intermittently splashed from above

And by nurturing it with the swell
Of bright hope for each new shining day
The faith fetched from my deepest dark well
It will grow in a glorious way

Then by weeding it daily, it should
Give new seedlings room needed to grow
Quick removing unwanted dead wood
Left uncluttered its beauty will show

As my blooms open fully in sun
All their colors will blend bright and dim
I’ll caress them so gently, each one
And breathe deep of the fragrance within

Through the Summer my garden will spread
Filling spaces so barren before
And not fearing the Winter ahead
It will flourish and thrive even more

Now I know with the coming of Fall
My old garden will soon fade away
But through Winter sleep wait for the call
To awake on that blessed Spring day.


© Sandra M. Haight 2014 
   All Rights Reserved

~NA~
Contest: Anapest Trimeter
Sponsor: Pendleton Arkwright
Judged” 12/31/2014






Details | Free verse | |

- Life Behind The Mirror -

Enchanting chambers made of glass 
Breaking reflections shatter falling into ruin
The history behind the tears and sorrow of a heart
Fragile echoes inside truth broken always sings 
If this be loves beauty like dropping crystals splash
Speaks a language of one thousand tongues when the sparks fly
 
The soul released from thought 
Faraway shadows cover a dream
When you have found what you're looking for
And always breathe in the beauty of nature
Silver buds glisten in morning dew 

Millions of years before you or me
Weeping willow hangs heavy over us 
These things and so many more
have made you and me understand
Blossoming sunshine shades golden 
Crowned kissed by love in the summer  rain 

What a beauty to wake up to birdsong
Carried on gentle winds when they sigh
Hearing screams from the raven far up in the mountains
Secrets of the water flowing whispers 
Our lives have a meaning here on this earth
Stars circle your space in another realm 
Thoughts and dreams put together as mosaic
A moon smiles as shadows dances to a joyous tune 
The smell of pine needles tickle in the nose
As a sun lights our footsteps with golden harmony 
Commitment strong and sense of purpose is the key to life
 



13.05.2015
Written by L. Mcdaid & A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved


Details | Free verse | |

Groundswell Girl - Named by JB

Enter a storybook tale
Where I can be 
The heroine you hail
Lucid dreams of soft reflection
A touch heated with lust and desired protection
A breathe a gasp as we succeed 
Join the fairytale with me
Valiant night within dark eyes
the right movement and I make them shine
like moonlight on the steamy hot spring
care to follow for a little dip with me
Trailing like the water at my fingertips
Grasp me around my hips
As close as the breeze on my skin 
Whisper lies as I let you in 
Lips mumbling up my thighs
bare heart exposed to the sky 
fire burning in my veins
Am I a mistress of this lust or simply a slave
Trembling with desire
Take me till we've lost count of the hours
enter this storybook tale
Where I can be the heroine you hail


Details | Verse | |

The Canvas

This poem is a farewell piece of advice to a group of students I have taught over the last four years. I do 
hope they find the metaphor meaningful and believe that they are the "architects of their own future."

Spread before you is a canvas of hope and opportunity Waiting to be painted with strokes of what you are and can be Waiting to be filled with colours that define you and the life you live Waiting to be stamped with the personality that only you can give To the portrait of your life, by itself a work of art A work which, on this day, with vigour you will start Spread before you is a canvas of vision and desire Waiting to be sketched with shades of passion and fire Waiting to be decorated with a story and theme Waiting to be etched with ambition that is now just a dream Of a picture whose tone, texture and style Would have made this work worth all the while Spread before you is a canvas, empty, yet full of space Waiting to be stroked with your wit, charm and grace Waiting to be brushed with strokes daring, vivid and bold Waiting to be painted with a story that can be told Of a life whose essence is one of sublime beauty Of a person who lived his life and did his duty Of a person who lived life the way it should be Of a complete canvas that will reflect many a memory.


Details | Lyric | |

On

Out of the blue it dawned on me
he really meant it when he said
"all the world's a stage."
We play around our little parts
some parrot all their lines away
some get cold feet and then they run.
and there are those who madly stick
around and put their hearts to it
making their own lines as they play.

Across the Globe everyone's giving
their own special minute performance,
the world's a stage
the stage means merely
you're not the only star out there
neither the shiniest for that matter.

The stage exists there to remind you
everyone laughs, loves, cries and ponders
everyone lives and plays and wonders.
There's One who attends every performance,
Who's critic, audience and director.
Step up and well your lines deliver
and you will hear Him clap and shiver.




Details | I do not know? | |

Wrestling Verses


Wrestling Verses


Spilling ink onto paper,
reading tea-leaves,

fragments of mirth,
shards of anguish,

remain,
trapped in rolled-up sleeves.


Turning up my collar,
as blue as these days that slip by,

scattered verses plunge into,
the fathoms of unknown waters.


My ink runs, slips, treading lightly,
penning odes to love on bare skin,

your skin,
your bare back my canvas,

my fingers tracing, caressing, scribbling,
homages to our laughter, our tears.


Wrestling verses,

lie spent, exhausted,
famished and parched from saying too much,

still,

my fingers tickle your soft skin,

my ink would run dry,

were it not for your gentle touch


Details | Ode | |

Instauration

“Abandon ship and from her flee
Better her than all be lost to sea.”
“First Mate, be rendered silent,” is the captain’s plea
“Dear crew, I beg, depart not, stay along with me.”

But Admiral calls from ships numbered three.
“Leave Elpida alone, and Captain, for drowning.”
Then company vanished, quick as a wink.
Left small, untested sailboat to sink.

Night reached down on vast ocean’s face,
And soon sea’s swells were by darkness embraced
Light blazed cross the sky, wind roared from the heat.
The blue’s anger and rage against terrified vessel did beat.

More and most fiercely Elpida battled the deep.
Up ‘til the moment Earth sunk in her teeth.
The storm screamed on, endless as the heavens are deep.
And for half a score years, the sun, from Captain's eyes, night did keep.

For two times for every five, did the captain despair
Lost upon foreign soil, abandon by fleet out there.
To stumble upon natives, fate had it be.
An amiable bunch, again the odd number three.

To restore broken vessel labored the four
Sew up the hull, repair ruptured floors.
And for time, two times, and three times more
Toiled this group ’til there was work no more.

And the sun, as, of course, it would be
Broke the horizon and bore new day on the sea.
Set the deserted again to conquer the deep.
No armada to accompany, but lone Captain, no fleet.

And now, even now, sails Elpida Berregin.
Meeting new worlds by way of the sea.
In all her travels she met again her former fleet,
But Captain did not the Admiral re-meet.

For they had become galleys of ghosts;
Galleys to whom the dead were tending.
Offering up a prayer, Captain took his leave,
And having left, returned to journeying.

“Abandon ship and from her flee.”
Perhaps they, but never me.
Elpida Berregin, mighty galleon proved by sea,
A crew member, forever yours, will I be,
And will serve your Captain most faithfully.


Details | Verse | |

Life

Life, precious rock of time, we shape, hone and buff as each day offers us ways to shine our gem of years wisely till we have polished it to glow the best we can. © Sandra M. Haight 2015 All Rights Reserved ~3rd Place~ Contest: Shall We Waltz? Sponsor: Kim Merryman Judged: 06/07/2015
.


Details | Free verse | |

Loose Change

I dig into the open wounds of self preservation,

and hear

                   ...from way over there,

my love jingling in your pocket

as if it were the loose change 

in your wet dreams. 

You were always numb to the mirror,

taking comfort in the blind eyed 

discontent you've reigned in 

with hard strokes of denial,

making your makeup seem

a little more made up in the dim lighting

of reflection. 

Don't you think? 

It was never about making love,

it was about forgetting.

My hips were a glowing red exit sign,

on the route of 

                           ....screwing life away.

Each moan, a promise that 

even though you were dead inside,

you could still make a piece of the 

world shake. 

Maybe even make something break. 

And that made everything seem

a bit more tolerable...

until I started thanking you 

for the damage inflicted.

The pain I felt, assurance 

that I was alive.

I'm not sure why that 

took the fun out of it 

for you..

I still screamed bloody murder

when you sunk your teeth into

newly adjusted nerve endings..

The pain, more real than ever before.

I guess you never meant to 

take a ride with someone just as 

damaged as you. 

You were hoping to be the only 

ghost in this city, still bound

to a carnal playhouse. 

But baby..

                I was a corpse long before I had any change to spare.

-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.


Details | Free verse | |

Cold Beers and Voyeuristic Cannibalism

I’d like to pretend that my hands aren’t dirty 

from the soap of mental suppression,

that the callouses are from hard work,

and not from picking my bones back up

off the floor on a daily basis;

ragged, dry, and weary. 

Every fairy tale has a root,

stapled into the hard soil of truth.

They all have a moral,

some sort of clerical error 

born from life’s shadow. 

We watch, hoping to learn 

from the missteps of someone

else’s intrepid imagination,

some 4D revelation singing

lullabies to the young heart

of humanity.  

And they bend to the fickle 

will of greedy creativity, 

making the yoke less bitter

so that we can tongue the purge

of denial without pouting. 

I’d like to pretend that my hands are clean,

that I don’t whisper cold lies into your palms,

watch you drink from the frosted glass

of my sincerity; Hope that you don’t blink,

that you won’t notice the blood bubbling 

up, and over my shiver before you finally

finish this story. 

I just want you to understand.

This isn’t poison.

This is merely me bleeding out,

and hoping you’ll learn to love the 

taste of fire kissed oxymoronic metaphors,

served up with juiced will and the vegan

flesh of my inhibition.  

So that you can see through my eyes,

know where I have been,

and how it felt to be consumed.

-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.


Details | I do not know? | |

The Warrior

The Warrior

My pencil is my sword
My eraser is my shield
And when I go to war
My paper is my battlefield 
When life is to much
This is how I express the way I feel
And so I write such words
As murder, stab, kill
When people read these words
Misunderstanding they think I’m insane
But this is just how I vent
All my anger, frustration and pain
People that don’t know me
Think I look like a bad man
The people that say they do know me
Think I live the life of a madman
All of these things
Circling in my head
Sometimes I have to wonder
Would I be better off dead
I used to be a somebody
And my reputation would reflect
That I used to be a person
To look up to and respect
But now you can see
By the trembling in my hands
That all I am these days
Is a tired, broken man