You sat there crying with tears rolling down you face
Asked me why I didn't show you any compassion
All I could say was that 'I'm just a man'
I should have wiped away your tears and held you tight
Told you I loved you and everything will be all right
Yet, I showed no emotion, because 'I'm just a man'
All the answers to your questions, I couldn't find
I was impatient, because 'I'm just a man'
All those times you would scream and shout went unnoticed
I thought you would calm down after the silence
I never meant to hurt you, but 'I'm just a man'
I can still remember the day you said goodbye
I was so confident you would come running back
I wish I wasn't so arrogant, but 'I'm just a man'
I saw you walking the other day with another guy
I can't help but be jealous, because 'I'm just a man'
I saw you smile and you seemed so happy
Finally, you met someone who understood you
Who will show you compassion and hold you tight
You deserve a real man, not someone still a boy
But how could I understand, when I don't understand myself
I was an unloved child who lost his childhood
Nobody taught me how to become a man
Nobody told me the difference between right and wrong
Nobody taught me how to love and care for another
School didn't teach me anything about life
Now here I am again all alone dealing with the ghost of the past
Even though you don't think so, I did love you deeply
Guess I didn't say it enough, because 'I'm just a boy
I hope you have forgiven me for the times I hurt you
Because 'I'm not a man', 'I'm just a boy'
The Silent One
9 September 2015
Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2015
She sits and rocks, so gently back and forth
Her chin leaning heavily on her chest.
In her hands she cradles, one flat waxed rose
And sighs as pain is swelling in her breast.
Her long grey hair, now tied up in a bun
Is what I see when entering the room.
I helplessly watch, her tear drops flowing,
They look like dew, upon the lonely bloom.
Slowly she looks at a picture nearby,
A glimpse of a smile creases her face.
Granddad with her, stand on their wedding day
With red roses, and a dress of white lace.
After the wedding, she said with a smile,
I took this one rose and waxed it back then.
Granddad had laughed at me wondering why.
I said, for the special memories when…….
And now this old rose, I hold in my hand,
Precious memories kept in my drawer
I pull it out remembering the day
When granddad loved me, and I loved him more.
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
Contest: Encounters with Flowers
Copyright © Brenda Meier-Hans | Year Posted 2014
My heart was in such pain
I felt like I was going to go insane
I just don't know what to do
And my eyes full of tears that distort my view
I fell to my knees and felt the urge
My muscle tighten and pin needles struck me like a surge
My body was warm and with feelings so confused
My mind felt sadness had fused
I could not conquer my fears
I just sat down and fell into tears
When some close to you passes on
It felt like a warmth has gone
So I raised my hand towards a box that was empty with no tissue
I first was embarrass and had a little bit of issue
All my friends hugged me and said sorry for your loss
So now I cry in my bed and toss
April 14, 2013
Copyright © Reynaldo Mast | Year Posted 2013
Insomnia, familiar friend,
crawled into bed this summer night
so once again, inflamed with dread
I wander now in pitch of dark
and touch the places, now by heart, that sprawl unstirred by weary minds
This lonely place, where I used to come
where armless grief, and headless doubt
and worry filled the rooms
I know you cold, my land of oz
So ruthless do you change your face
into a place I once refrained
But, don't pretend to make me fear, toxic robber of my sleep
I've known you much too long
You masquerade in shades of gray
And now I know that dark of night, is not the blackest thing
And room by room, I'll play the game
until the light of day
The shadows magnify your art
and though they magnify my loss of sleep
and while I've tossed and turned in vain
I've lost the lonely albatross
that pulled against the grain
From hooded thresholds I embark
to find a language of the dark
A liquid language of a mystic night,
that switches on the light
I've walked the halls of ghosts I knew, and those I hope to meet
I've felt the stares, and shared myself, no secrets left to keep
But not tonight, familiar friend
you bask in myth I understand
I'll fill the tasks that need my hands, until the light of day...
For Leonora Galinta's Contest
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2012
~~~Being for the Benefit of Mr Kite~~~
An all round performer was Mr William Kite
He trained and rode horses, but also walked the rope tight
He worked for Pablo Fanqué the Wells Circus owner in 1842
But his work gave inspiration for John Lennon to do.
Mr William Kite would never have dreamed.
That his skills as a performer would inspire a song theme
As he performed on his head, while balancing on a rope
A trumpet in his mouth, and he played a damn fine note.
When he was with John Sanger, who was equestrian minded
William appeared for a spectacular night, the poster has reminded
The celebrated horse called Zanthus was even there
With Mr William Kite to perform - boy what a pair
This poster impressed John Lennon so...
It inspired him to write about William and the show
Being for the Benefit of Mr Kite, the poster does show
Inspired quite a few lyrics as all Beatles fans will know.
What they may not know - but I am impressed
There is a man called David with whom I am blessed
He is the great great grandson of William by whom Lennon was inspired
But better than that David is my half brother it has so transpired.
The Beatles Album Cover is "Sergeant Peppers Lonely Heartclub" which potrays the poster of Mr Kite
Copyright © Mandy Tams The Golden Girl | Year Posted 2012
"We chase unreachable heights, in the hope to find happiness,
Only to find we are still the same, because in fact we are chasing ourselves."
(Triggered and inspired by a conversation this morning between Arthur Vaso and myself)
I have crashed many times over the past five years. Many, many times before realising I was chasing my own tail.
Does this mean that I don't crash anymore? On the contrary. I came back last week from a three-week stay in a mental hospital. Oh, I crash and when I do, I do it good and hard. Rock bottom, here I come.
Realization is just a first step. It can also be the first hurdle, the one you never get over, that one that you will see in the distance and that becomes so BIG when you come near it, that it seems it will swallow you whole.
It's a first baby step.
What is unreachable? That is a first question everyone needs to answer for themselves. It's different for everyone, but we all share this: if we don't realize we are chasing a phantom, or our own tail, we will end up bitter and frustrated.
Unreachable for me (to make it less abstract) is:
- playing the violin again;
- dancing again;
- speaking fluently;
- not feeling lonely;
- setting goals that jeopardize my mental and physical health.
Up until recently I tried to achieve the impossible by trying to reach every one of these goals. Seeing this list I think that everyone who knows me realizes that it's a list that is setting me up for failure. And I finally agree.
I used to try and aim for the impossible. And I admit it still feels a little like defeat by admitting I can never reach these goals. It made me deeply depressed at first, almost suicidal. But I am slowly learning to set new goals, little steps, small things that make me not only happy, but also proud of myself.
Like writing poems, alone or together with the marvellous poets I met here in Soup and among my other friends. Or finding out what fun sports are available in a wheelchair when you also have limited use of your arms. Or finding friends, even though my loneliness is innate (also something I needed to learn to accept.)
I still chase myself. But I set the reachable goal now that I finally found the truth: I am aiming for acceptance of self.
Comments and discussion greatly appreciated.
January 22, 2017
Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2017
Love is prominent but lies are still troubling the arch in my back is still aching thru my core/ To calm to peaceful Today not enough appreciation from you
You make me feel less important.
How many more audition do I need to perform for you?
Your Personality changes like the weather negative energy creates “Thunder and Lighting”
Your Ego is higher then the altitude in Denver
You are the weather that changes everyday I never knew when its cold are warm
Today I was prepared for a Sunny day / But like the weather you change unpredictably have me puzzled just wondering Why?
I was not prepared for your precipitation/ you never allow me to grasp your feelings never appreciate my love you was only obsessed with yourself and not my heart. When its cloudy or rainy outside my vision gets a little blur and fuzzy when you are around.
Meteorologist Predicate Sunny and warm air with the chances of early morning cloudiness’
Copyright © christopher michaels | Year Posted 2013
We used to be a happy family,
But who knew it ended with an awful tragedy,
We part ways from each other,
Never again to be together,
Wondering all night to ponder,
Who will I stay with, Mother or Father,
Choosing one hurts my feelings,
I guess choosing both does not have any meaning,
Living with just one parent is so sad,
Being told to move on makes me mad,
I know that someday we will be together,
And we will have an awesome future.
Copyright © Stuart Madsen | Year Posted 2015
I am just finishing my morning meditation when I hear my doorbell ring. It actually sounds more like that buzzing sound you hear if you fry a fat fly on one of those electronic bug swatters. On my way to the door I hope it's not my new neighbor who just moved in the first floor apartment below me yesterday. Nobody wants a too friendly neighbor, right? I'm from the "fences make good compassionately mindful neighbors" school of thought about neighborly interdependence, much less intimacy.
I open the door to a 60-something blotchy, ashy, white-skinned man wearing grey polyblend sweatpants, slightly too short, over a pair of black Crocs, screaming "I gave up on myself years ago," and a lighter grey zip up the front, grimy hoody with a ripped left pocket, sleeves pushed up over old-red-haired-man, possibly ex-athlete, thick creepy hairy forearms.
Before I have a chance to let him know this feels invasive to me, or even say "Hello, who and why are you at my door during my meditation time?" the new downstairs neighbor starts flapping his jaws as if my ears were born to listen to his cheery wisdom.
"Hi, I'm Oliver. My two neurally challenged teenagers, Ivy's the bratty girl, and Daquan is the perfect, but sometimes a little loud, sort of like a really ticked off roaring lion, but you'll get used to it, son, and I are your new downstairs neighbors, and I wanted to meet you right away because I don't want you to freak out and call 911 when you hear us yelling or screaming or crying or jumping endlessly hour after hour because Ivy is really hyper and because Daquan can't speak but often seems to have a lot to bark and roar about what sometimes seems like its just gas and sometimes means he's wet and is trying to tell me I need to put the novel down, or stop writing that dreadful sad poetry, or writing predictable lyrics for country-western songs, much less living them, and sometimes he's just playing Tarzan, yodeling in his make-believe jungle. He's legally blind and uses a wheelchair for school but at home he scoots and thumps around, surprisingly athletic, on his butt, kind of like an upside down inchworm if inchworms had feet and arms, which of course they don't."
I don't have the first clue where this is going but we have no time, and apparently not the least commitment, to discern my own thoughts about Oliver's communication and rationality skills, or lack thereof.
"My husband lives about a mile upriver in our cottage that we are trying to expand before the rest of us move in. He is tall, dark and handsome in an AfricanAmerican kind of way and is usually depressed, at least when he's around us, which I can't really blame him because Ivy is Oppositionally Ordered, I don't know why they keep saying Fetal Alcohol kids have Oppositional Disorder because her capacity to oppose everything is most certainly not out of order, or in any way under-developed. She will pitch a fit if all you're trying to do is get her up from her feeding trough to help her out of a poopy diaper. You would think that somebody was going to eat her food after she has already marked it with her drool. I have no idea why they would call that Oppositional Disorder. No one I have ever met has been more oppositionally wired synaptic than my daughter."
"Anyway, Valentino, that's my husband, he suffers from chronic depression which is too bad because he used to have this really nice soft sense of humor and romance, if you know what I mean, but now he's just quiet and sad and afraid to retire because then he won't have any friends that don't drive him crazy like his family does, including me."
"He complains that we're too loud and stinky and the house is always filthy and my cooking is terrible but he likes to cook and clean so I don't really get it why it's not OK for me to not like to cook and clean, or do the laundry, or the dishes. Do you know what I mean? So, tell me about you."
Finally, a question other than the parenthetical "do you know what I mean."
"Ditto. Except mine are named, respectively, Yang, Yin, and Attila. Do you happen to like Ginseng tea with lots of honey?
Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2015
In Dunkersfield Lies A Neglected Grave
In Dunkersfield lies a neglected grave
last vestige of a precious life gave
No massive stone to mark the resting spot
of a simple man that gave all he got
Town people say they knew him so well
had big secrets he'd never dare tell
One was about a child he'd never seen
bastard son of a lady named Ilien
Others solemnly swear he kilt' a man
beat him with that mighty right hand
Hard truth lies somewhere in between
his life imagined and one he had seen
Ole Stoner Ace was a gambler for sure
had lots of women, none were too pure
Worked that farm, won on a lucky bet
hard life even for a tough combat vet
No church did he ever bother to attend
lived alone with not a single friend
Money sent to pay for nephew's school
kept his secrets, was nobody's fool
Christmas night he died old and alone
his savings given away, every penny gone
Good deeds he always kept to himself
bad maybe but he always was topshelf
In Dunkersfield lies a neglected grave
last vestige of a precious life gave
No massive stone to mark the resting spot
of a simple man that gave all he got
Robert J. Lindley, 01-23-2015
NOTE: Poem was written based upon the real life of a friend's uncle.
A tough old bird that had quite a reputation. Lived a wild life as young man
and had served time in prison for beating a man to death that had stabbed him in
the back in a barfight. My Dad knew him well. Told me that he was an upright guy
that came out of prison and left the wild life behind.
Sometimes life just beats the hell out of you and if you are lucky you still
manage to survive!
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2015
without a word I inquired of you
to allow me a quick hug to see me
So nicely my pixel head nestled upon
your pixel chest of which I
stood back from after a pause or two
least not wanting any tongues to wag
or disturb the honor of his lovers knot
My moment of sadness was stifled some
it lifted for that 6-second slot
Oh joyful mood that eludes now
will come again solemness was due
A smile returns from some unknown path
the corners of lip curl in reply
The internal struggle against sorrow
and pain was conquered by that friendly
Copyright © Magneeta Sojourner | Year Posted 2015
I was born in a world of poverty and soiled life of a third world country
The way I lived till I was five years of age was walls of boundary
These walls had towers of guards that had no heart or care
If a child would try to climb the wall they lose their life I swear
Father had drank and threatened my mother with a knife
My father lost his job and wife and that was the hardship of life
He stopped my mother from taking off with me in her arm
Hoping that my father would ignore and left me be with no harm
When my father went off to drink one night and came home with rage
My brothers stood by my crib and took a beating that set up the next stage
My father had woken up to three scared children half starved and in pain
His final words as he walk away from the orphanage gate live life do not go insane
I was still a baby in the orphanage; the caretakers did not really care about the babies
They stole items and materials those wicked men and maternal evil ladies
They starved all the babies because it cost a lot to keep them alive
As a child of that age I could feel the sins and greed that gave out bad vibes
I was ignorant about what I drank and ate, as I see white maggots move in my bottle
As I see them move I thought about how they were playing and some were hostel
They ate each other to keep each other alive in a manner that took me by surprise
In the back round I hear others throwing things with sounds of painful cries
I got very strong at a young age I was able to start pulling myself up over the cage
My feelings were to see my brothers with strong lungs that I cried out of rage
My two brothers came to see me and sneak food into my crib
The caretaker would find the food in my hands as they grabbed it and hit me on my ribs
As painful as it was I kept eating the food with blood in my mouth as it was instinct
I sometimes laid in my crib dazed and confused with smell of death so distinct
With all my might I kept myself strong and climb the small wall
I finally was old enough to get out of the building and I could hear my brothers call
With tears of joy with short legs that ran as fast as my heart
I ran to my brothers arms and held their hands to have a new start
I grew stronger everyday but more things came into my life in a manner of dismay
If my brothers stay by my side I could smile and everyday their would be okay
Copyright © Reynaldo Mast | Year Posted 2013
Travelling on the road for business gets old fast. The inside of one hotel room starts to look the same as another in any town you name. When you travel by yourself it becomes even more mundane. Customers, clients and/or prospects all have their own after-work lives waiting for them and seldom include you in their plans. So, as you depart at the end of the business day you are on your own, in a strange town.
You do get used to exploring cities, towns and suburbs on your own. You figure out how to avoid always eating in the hotel restaurant and you master the art of dining alone. For men like Josh, that usually meant eating at the restaurant bar. Even though he seldom ordered a beer, wine or other alcoholic beverages, the bartenders were always a willing party to chat with and enjoy some semblance of human interaction.
On this particular occasion, the trip was even more difficult than usual because Josh was having trouble at home with his wife. Whereas, some may think it a blessing to remove yourself from the situation, it just made Josh feel even more lonely not being able to talk to her to try to work things out. So, after putting on his happy and buoyant work-face all day to keep the customer satisfied, Josh donned his fedora and walked out the front doors of the high-rise office complex onto the crowded and lonely city streets.
The fedora was a relatively new addition to Josh’s wardrobe. Not many men wear fedoras any more. Josh’s wife thought he would look good in the hat and surprised him with it as a Christmas present six months ago. Josh was still getting used to wearing the hat, but received many compliments on his appearance while wearing it.
Without even bothering going back to his hotel room, Josh slowly strolled around the city streets lost in thought about the situation with his wife and wondering how they might resolve the loss of passion, the loss of caring and the loss of love in their relationship. Finally, he stepped inside the doors of an enticing pub to get himself some dinner.
The bar in this particular establishment had plenty of stools available to pick from. Josh sat down on one and placed his fedora on the empty stool next to him. On this evening, Josh started off by ordering a beer.
Copyright © Joe Flach | Year Posted 2012
There’s a dark place
Dawn has never been
Only pain can see
I hear your candle
Drips of discontent
Your beaded breaths
Night's naked din
Thoughts grow cold
Scent grows dim
Window of hope
I feel your footsteps
Your cheek against mine
Rain bled palms
The emptiness of wine
Rust creeks by
Shadow grows thin
Dust of tomorrow
If I learned to speak
If you broke my fall
Could I touch your face
Widow on my wall
Copyright © Xavier Keough | Year Posted 2013
The sky looks dull
the wind feels dry
gloominess, i see
when i pass by
the trees stay still
and birds sleep long
in this town of gloominess
i once belonged
heading my way home
i cant find that street
where i carved my name
on a huge hollow tree
have they left and gone?
did they take my tree?
which i myself grew, with that little seed.
i call out for people
a passing girl i see
and shout to her the utmost
hoping she hears me
no one, ever replies
how arrogant human being
my heart beats fast
i feel lone and tensed
my reflection i cant see
and the wind i dont feel
people dont reply
and now i know why...
the clouds rain and shower
the birds fly away
people in their houses
and im on my dead way
where the days arent bright
and the star dont shine at night
the wind u never feel
and a heart not capable to heal.
Copyright © Manahil shafiq | Year Posted 2010
Lonely slowly solely I trailed on a street
I looked back, forward, left and right and there was no one to greet
The street was narrow, long and seems to have no end
Very scary, I trembled, so I called my big brother Ken
I shouted his name, shouted and shouted without taking a pause
My voice only goes, multiplies and bounces back, with no response
Very tired, frustrated and hungry, so I leaned beside a tree
I plucked some fruits, just to quench my stomach’s plea
But hungrier than I, was the lion standing not far from me
It roared and swung its tail looking at me
“An already-made meal, how sweet” It said and smiled at me
“Oh father, make me not its daily bread” I prayed and planned to flee
My feet was not glued, so I asked it to hurry to flee
How fast I ran, I don’t think I can even give you a clue
The lion followed me angrily as I ran and pant on the road
I was tired but could not afford to assume a resting mode
I almost gave up but saw a tree I felt I could climb
It could be a nice rescue so I doubled my steps to climb
Voila! There I was and the lion could only stand to watch
I smiled back at it, as I searched for a better place to lodge
But there was none, as the tree owner seemed not to be happy with me
The cobra raised its flattened head, ready to pounce on me
I was much scared, confused so I felt the urge to pee
I said my last prayer to God, thanking Him for what He has done for me
The cobra jumped at me but unluckily fell in the neck of the lion
It fought the lion and I could only referee to crown the champion
Poor cobra lost the fight and the lion devoured its whole length
But the king of the jungle couldn’t withstand for long, the venom of the cobra
A voice then spoke to my heart, after the hungry lion’s departure
“Fear not my son, even in the valley of the shadow of death”
Copyright © Prince Assandoh-Mensah | Year Posted 2014
when i left
i took a piece of you with me
i thought my leaving would
make me forget you
but i was wrong cause
you were always on my mind
my leaving you did not
change anything because
i still did the same things
we used to do together
only you were not here
to do them with me
even when i was gone
i would see you everyday
in each step i took cause
our paths were entwined
together and you were the
reason i was living anyway
now am left wondering
why did i leave
Copyright © sharon anena | Year Posted 2013
When I was little,
I've been suffered discrimination.
At starting point,
I couldn't be notice the situation.
Only difference between I and others
was that I was new commer.
I was not a native there,
I was a stranger.
I've learned about human,
that wasn't believable creature.
Every time I tasted pain,
I felt their poor and miserable nature.
Lots of sadness
came into my heart.
My damage was so severe,
that I couldn't restart.
There was nothing
to be helpful, around.
This was the true nature
of human being, I've found.
People always hate others,
who are different from them.
People never accept others,
that did not benefit them.
I can't continue
being suffered terribly from them any more.
I can't continue
being nervous for their sake never more.
I could depend nothing on them at all.
standing on my own foot and withdrew them all.
No expect to others,
no discourages from them.
No reliance on others,
no betrayal by them.
keeping safe distance from others all time.
And I've learned
to avoid troubles by those evils at anytime.
I could start
living peacefully in this way.
I would be going on this way.
And once I've been freed
from evil curse of people barely,
I've found the fact
they also hurt each other poorly.
I was disgusted but never thought,
it's my turn to negrect them.
Because, doing this way,
means I was the same with them.
I threw myself
into loneliness with silence.
Neither as a victim nor as an assaulter,
concern with them was out of my patience.
But after long time passed...
I could find a person,
who can kindly accept me.
We could understand each other
and this could change me.
Whether it was good or bad,
everything was acceptable.
Finally I knew warm heart of human
that let me think people a bit approvable.
Copyright © Makoto Ogino | Year Posted 2015
And the cemetery was quiet,
just like any other day. He carried
the flowers which were her favorite;
lavender. Graves surrounded him
like a maze, as he made his was
to his lover's grave.
Soon, he arrived on the grave,
with an angel's statue on top.
"You will always live in my heart,"
he whispered, in the midst of tears,
as he placed the flowers on a porcelain
vase on the grave.
It was getting dark;
he didn't mind. He lay on the left side of her grave,
and slept. Deep asleep, a scent of oriental spices
and sandalwood surrounded him. The scent smelt
like his wife....
Contest Name: And The Cemetery Was
Date of Contest Judging: 6/1/2016
Copyright © Teddy Kimathi | Year Posted 2016
Loneliness affected my waste, due to fire-heart and desire
Craving perfection~A true love story, told in the heat of passion
Majesty to my backbone, ball of fire upon confinement
Emperor to all my fire balls of love, until peace and quiet
Hit my soul, touched- thus depressing feeling
Running in blood
Silence, in my lust~O greed for another, took away this drive
Energy of love, left isolation controlling my itch
For I hunger no-more, upon lies and friendly companionship
Sympathetic puts a face of loneliness, longing for true love
True love to be so true, yet never abused, has love was used
Upon my heart, cheated in many ways, disobeying under skies
Violate marriage into a face of loneliness
The many nights my heart is left in shadows secluded
Thinking of our love story, laughter and tears
Many nights you held me tight it was bright
Now I go on every night with a fight, has I continue to cry
This love story to you, in the little time left under my feet
Hoping you would see, I never stop loving you
It’s so true
Has I must say good-bye face of loneliness and you
Crowned-headed to my loyalty and beauty
Is no longer, yours love sweet love
I send thus love story upon the wings of a dove
So your heart may know, my roses will stand above
Face of loneliness, will cure the knife left in my back
So please, don’t forget to write back
Love always, Face of Loneliness
Copyright © Delilah Ventura | Year Posted 2014
As I stand awake
And gaze upon the sea
And the sea in turn
Looks back upon me
I look out over
And see the moonlight glisten
I slowly shut my eyes
And very closely listen
The waves crash hard
Upon the rocky shore
I see ships light
And I set the siren to roar
The winds blow in hard
And I know death is near
The sadness of a lonesome
Lighthouse keeper is clear
As the winds blow in so fierce
The seas men must act wise and swift
They pull themselves to action
Working hard to keep the ship adrift
The winds blow in strong
As the ship crashes a-shore
The crew scrambles desperately
To survive this dreadful score
For the lighthouse keeper well knowing
His assignment fully now strives
To set out an alert in hopes
Of rescuing these lives
Now as daylight approaches
The search will reveal
There’s no ship to be found
And no bodies to prevail
Written by Neil Ofarrell and Skyler Dawn
Copyright © Neil Ofarrell | Year Posted 2012
I feel that I have found a home in this cyberspace
with full of hearts and ideas in a special place
I wonder of all the people in the world to make me smile
with antics that help me grow in every mile
I do want to say to all of the people with respect
because of all of you my mind is not in a wreck
I would lie if I did not get ideas from all of you
without you my poems would not come true
I bless everyone with care
with kindness and without dis-pare
I hold my hands high and put them together
with this I bless you with good weather
I do read some of the poems that people put out
sometimes I feel with out a doubt
I feel the pain in the poems that some has revealed
with hopes that they can read with their mind not sealed
I smile a bunch with every word
it is like a music in my head making a cord
I do want you all to know that you have made my day
to be a better day in every different array
I cherish my time with all the people in my heart
the words flow in my mind is just but a start
I'm happy with everyone in PoetrySoup.com
with hardship that came this cyberspace makes me calm
I cannot choose five cause if I do I don't think it's right
just to tell you that is just my own insight
I thank all for helping me grow with all the poems that are shown
with faith and humor, with views of kindness this site has grown
If I had to say or dedicate my poems to who
would be the first five who reads my poems with a point of view
Copyright © Reynaldo Mast | Year Posted 2013
Once, he had the most brilliant light
In Heaven, he'd been the star even at night
The most favored, the most beautiful
He never thought one day he'd become a fool
He was always pure, never felt insecure
Until Heaven borne one special creature
And the angels cried, the angels wondered
What would happen if they are no longer favored?
Angels watched as Heaven gave the man a special woman
My beloved one walked away, flame in his hand
Why the special gift for a man made in soil?
That was when anger and envy started to boil
The most beautiful star sat alone in silence
Heaven's in peace, can he dare start a violence?
Yes, he would for the love of Heaven
So he called all his beloved brethren
War would never do good for anyone
He knew from the sight of blood in his hands
And stared at the ground where his brethren laid
From the bloody battle, my beloved angel turned away
His wings unfurled, made of pure Heaven and glory
They were as black as night, magnificent and lovely
He made once last glance as he begun to descend
He knew he made a mistake he could never amend
It was his nature, no other pleasure than flying
But his heart broke knowing that he's falling
He landed to the ground, broken and wounded
Tears from his eyes, he felt ashamed and abandoned
He stood alone in the middle of the night
His wings dimmed, slowly fading its light
For the first time, he felt the rain on his skin
And for the first time, he shivered from the coldness of the wind
He looked up and saw his brethren
Why did they follow him, he's a Fallen
They bowed their heads, still loving him
So he decided, He's Lucifer and no longer the Son of the Morning
Copyright © gracel almada | Year Posted 2013
A boy. Short. He goes to school and cowardly hides behind every corner, scouting out what lurks behind the next turn. Always shoved and disregarded, he seemed to have no friends. He was bullied everyday by this monster. Someone who terrorized him since day one. “Why me?” was his battle cry, just before every black eye.
A boy. Alone. He was adored at school. A big jock. He hated his life, his choices. He picked on this kid, a rather small kid, who was simply pathetic. He would catch glimpses of him, cowering behind corners, and hiding in bathroom stalls. It was this kid that made him popular. He did not hate this him, but simply saw him as an stress reliever. Anger reliever. He was praised at school, abused at home. School was his safe haven; his home away form home, but no one knew what truly went on behind that strong, muscular smile. Divorce. Abuse. Shame. His mother was a prostitute, sold every part of her just to manage to keep him alive. His father was a drunk. Abused every inch of him to relieve him of his intoxicated wounds.
A mom. A prostitute. As a little girl she was very bright. Did well in school, and even managed to get into a good college. It wasn’t until that one night she mad a stupid mistake. It was one of those fraternity parties. “All the cool kids went, right?” She would tell her self. That’s all it took. One kid. One rufie. One sip. Next thing she knew she was pregnant. She dropped out of college. Told her boyfriend it was his kid. Got married. And had a beautiful baby boy. It took five years until she told her husband the truth. The truth about the conception. He left. She was alone, receiving no support. No money. It took her one month until she found herself in the back of a strangers car in an alley way for $200.
A frat boy. A stupid hazing ritual. “Host a party. Drug a girl. Have sex.” Only he made a mistake. He got drunk. Too drunk. He had no control over his actions. The demon residing within him took over, raped a girl, and impregnated her with what ruined her dreams, his dreams. In frustration he went to get fresh air. And made one more stupid mistake. He was conscious of what he did, and knew he could not live with his mistake. Police found him hung from the fraternity balcony the next morning.
This is in dedication to all those who suffered from something that was no in there control.
Copyright © Brian Byrne | Year Posted 2015
Conversation with older folks always
Makes us think about
How complex we are
When asked 80 to 90 percent of older people
How are they doing?
Most replies are the same
“Child I am just waiting.
To meet my maker”
From the time we were born
Plans were made for us
About our life
What are you going to be?
When we grow up
And soon has one become an adult
Our thoughts about dying
You are born then you die
Life might be simple for some
However, it a race to
get over unfairness of life
I met my third grade teacher last year
The first thing she said to me
“Did you follow your dreams?
A moment in an instant world
I felt like she were in control
She is much older now
However, nothing has change
We born, then we die
No matter how hard we try
The ropes never seem to loosen
Copyright © Annie Lander | Year Posted 2013
Im absolutely terrified
My knees shake
Like a baby fawn learning to take its first steps
I want to leap into this wondrous field of possibility
I just don’t want to be dropped like a hot potato
Like so many other times before
I want to believe and have an abundance of hope
But how can I when I’ve been left with a broken heart
Picking up all the jagged pieces, one by one
How can I believe that this time will be any different?
How do I dare risk it all again
Knowing that im putting it all out there once more
Copyright © Madison Mittelbrun | Year Posted 2014
Nothing can be better than being in solitude.
The amount of pain caused by chaos has no words.
I drink from the cup of babel only to taste vile screams,
And so I look forward to the days that hold silence,
For that's where I am contempt and find my inner peace.
The silent whispers of darkness paint pictures in the space
Pictures of thoughts disintegrating into the cold. . . Silence.
Nothing can be better than the whispers of silence
The whispers only I can hear
The whispers that are never to be found by another.
In the midst of all this I find comfort in knowing.
The past promises no future, but its good to look back
Knowing I made it this far.
All falls silent.
Copyright © Sandiso Majubana | Year Posted 2015
My soul is dark
Blackened by my misery-self pity
I feel depressed
What does that mean?
At 30 years of age, I have learnt so much
My life is stationery, maybe regressing
But no forward movement
Words I so carelessly abuse
But never apply
I, my own worst instrument of destruction
I am fearful of what I can become
Turmoiled by what I know but so often lack
I, so ambitious, contribute so little
To my life, my dreams, my existence
I, who give so much and expect even more
From those who give even less
I am surrounded by negative souls
Bodies that hold me back from reality
Boredom rules and empty promises govern
I am What? Who?
Where am I going?
What is my plan?
I am alone, so alone
Again, I feel depressed.
Copyright © venessa lisa asvat | Year Posted 2013
The Rustic Old Miner
He lived in the hills in a little shack
traveled he slowly back and forth.
Heavy load resting upon his weary back
back to his mountain in far North.
Had no family that he dare call his own
solitary soul living life lonely.
Amid wild animals and hard mountain stone
thought about love but once only!
Love held no candle to his mountain view
where sun rose but ever so slowly.
Had all his old tools, needed nothing new
one old bible and it was very holy.
He might do with just one worn out pick
dawn to dark, hard stones he broke.
Staying tough and very hard was the trick
quick into work every morn he woke.
He felt no rough weather deep in his mine
just sweat and pains, stone breaking.
No complaints, his life to him just fine
never one to be lousy belly-aching.
Years flew by and he found a little gold
life and those views held him fast.
One cool morn he woke to find himself old
never dreaming, it could be his last.
Afternoon rolled on, his head was spinning
that moment, his last breath taken.
Had he known, he would have called it winning
life over, soul had just been fakin'.
April 24th , 1975
Note- From my private journal.
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2015
Yet again, the experience taunts me,
but a willing sacrifice, determined and well thought of.
Suitcases seem heavy, the clothes too much to wear,
and the pain I cannot bear.
Day after day, reminded of that day,
I wish that day never came.
Is it worth it?
Maybe, but my happiness lives in the heart of another.
At last that day has come,
sometimes, as the day leading up, words meander around unspoken thoughts.
Home at last,
I say, I am there and back again.
Honestly, what I know is wisdom,
Inseparable hearts, cohesive bodies and the softest lips I have ever kissed.
There can be no departure,
but this day it feels like that
Copyright © Valmiki Lutchmedial | Year Posted 2011