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Prose Poetry Fear Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Fear

These Prose Poetry Fear poems are examples of Prose Poetry poems about Fear. These are the best examples of Prose Poetry Fear poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Prose Poetry | |

"Fearing The End With Broken Trusts"

I have died to see my life grow from this dark holes of endless torture, nothing is here to 
stay, I do not want the nights to fall upon dead eyes, sober the ecstasy the devil put on your lips, behold the end with embraced cold, this night will kill us all, fear the dead for been the ones to judge tonight, the clouds walk straight to grave, the moon shines bright in red, the sun dances under endless fire, we the child's have failed to acknowledge wrong, we have fought the war by ourselves, we don't feel the sun warm our face at morning shine by our behaviors, we don’t die for free, either vane, fear this hell to rise upon your shoulders, I fear the end with shattered dreams of desperation, cant scream either punch, walls are too strong, sweat blinds my eyes, sweat cleans my filthy soul, take down the moon tonight dear, I shall pay you with my blood, devils stealing souls, we cant sleep to lose it all, loosing my eyes to see beyond the horizon burning, the smoke makes the day die fast, I don’t want to live if all I feel is pain, either do many, my name is not of importance, but the feeling is the one to make the night, dancing upon the chest of the earth, tonight we shine with the moon dressed in red, tomorrow we rule the sky, for yesterday we ruled the grounds, underworlds are dying to see me arrive, I am welcome to this dinner, deals are broken tonight, we have sold what we don’t have to give the better plan, oh green threes, they still live inside a cruel dead state end, bring me the horizon, bring me the hells, that I know this will decay, that I know this will perish, oh my heart will stop the night of the red dance... Prayers are heard yester night, the song is loud, making the clouds tremble and dance, darken eyes, you see the sky full of darken eyes, you lay at night to line the clouds and you make pitiful devils out of the big galaxy above you, this is not the end, I am the man who writes down your prayers, who writes down each tear numbered by deceitful plague, bring my eyes to see the skies, please break me free from this night, from this cell, cold and chained, far away, we keep on trying, breaking the trust of our friends, no one will save us now, is not now, I don't need the time, I am dead to you and I refuse to be your slave, engrave my eyes in this decayed kingdom of fallen messiah’s, please give me time to fear your wrath, please give me the signs of victory, I want and need to know how much you feel for me, I feed you with my blood, now repay


Details | Prose Poetry | |

- A Meeting With A Ghost - 1973 -


Several years of my childhood I spent with my aunt and uncle
who lived in an old rectory in Northern Norway
It was a hard time, much work, little food never time for play or entertainment
My aunt and uncle were strict, we had to work for food

When I had some time to myself, I spent time at the old church yard
or in the woods close by - No other children to talk with
therefore I spoke loudly to myself
The old church yard was my secret world
Old gravestones that were far over a hundred years old
People who were forgotten long ago, no flowers on the graves
The man who we called "Gravedigger", was always serious and rarely smiled
but he was always kind and often had time for a little chat

Earth was sunk and often I found bones, buttons or needles on the ground
"Gravedigger" said always put them back in the ground and I did as he said
One day I found a shiny white incisor
I didnt put the the tooth back into the soil - I took it home with me
This happened in the fall and it was dark early
It was dark in the castle room at the rectory
I did not dare to light the candle
It was my work to rekindle the fire
As I fumbled my way after the wood I suddenly felt like a light stroke
on my head - looked around me and listening
I whispered "is there anyone here?" ..... No sound, no answer
In silence I sat ... suddenly felt someone stroking my hair through
Ice cold fingers which had a nasty smell
Now I was really scared
I hurried in from the woodshed with wood and fired up in the fireplace
Stuffed my hands in the pockets it was still so cold
There .... I felt the tooth from the cemetery
Looked at it from the fireplace light
A powerful knock on the windowpane I turned to see
You will not believe what I saw
A face pressed against the window, a face that I had never seen before
He had red hair and lots of beard
The face scared me ...
He started to laugh a scary laughter with open mouth
Now I could see ... he lacked an incisor
I walked a little closer to the window,
but then the face in the window diseappered

I felt I had done something wrong
Decided to go back to the graveyard with the tooth
The darkness and the fear took me as I approached the gate
The laughter came back, he stood there waiting for me 
I placed the tooth gently down at the gate
He just looked at me and laughed again the frightening laughter
It is many years since this happened to me
but I remember it like it was yesterday
One autumn night many years after I awoke with
a cold hand on my forehead
I heard the laughter, saw his face and red hair
long beard .... but he lacked no teeth



 - A story written by A-L Andresen 1973 :)
   (17.01.2015)
   Copyright © All Rights Reserved



Details | Prose Poetry | |

Aging Got Worse


                 ~ Doctor Save Me ~

              Help me aging got worse they say
                           sources of problems are solutions find one 
                                            my beauty is wrinkled
                                                         my heart stopped blinking
                                                                   don't shrink my hopes
                                                                              I`ll sink hurry think
                                                                                        & Save Me.
                                                                                   
                                                                                      Therese Bacha
                                                                                                24/4/2013


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Fear Unleashed

Shoulder less as the head of the hoodless horse men, I serener and call this portfolio ''fear unleashed'',

Minted and fresh like a sonnet of delay time, 
I smirked and crowned it face up and blind, 
It renewed as connection to you.
Panic without a distracted, I ask what is this strange feeling.
Like a rotten apple at its core, peal from inside and out backers, 
And send to its career. It's the 'Scented of News”. Why do I question this cry, what sweet wine could miss this pour (poor)   of a this cup, 
Of this most conscience days off wedge and fetal, 
I ask fear to look me in the eye and tell me what do you see? 
Do you see love do you see hate tell me what do you see. 
The hungry of the blind could tell you this snore of a wound, 
The Ambition of hungry separates the food (fool)   from the hungry, 
The ability to succeed left to stump at choose of will, 
Not stepping on steel, I seek the hungry! ! !, This vision have push me toward my fears and The light doesn't fade it merge to gray, and it make me question my existing? .... (Lost) 
   
The lost, of my love once of not knowing the color of my first born, One's stir the heat in my belly,
That; scour the core of the scent of rotten apple and cure the descended with a decision? Like a literally to a clock it time to untwine, as I seek redemption green and yellow what a mixes
Of blue in the face, oh what symmetry of colors, I cry, better yet morrow in my tears to apply to the college of my choice, will it self make a dream appears, found guilty and appear I feel refresh and the hand that I have been giving. It remind to be played 
Like cards of hands how will I finish on top or stacker tip top....?

Hands to a dagger and flack jacks to a successor, will, this inflate an ego of a strange memo left to be babbling, I guess I caught the Saddle.
Maid to captivity these here days, this here bless it day! Is the day I apply to college and will forever be know? To; be as “Fear Unleashed”.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Wolf Within Me

As I look up at the sky I see the moon is high

I feel the wolf deep inside he is trying to come alive

As the pain begins to start It feels as through I am being ripped apart

My joints start to bend and break 

Soon the wolf will be fully awake.....



Details | Prose Poetry | |

What lurks within

What lurks outside the window?
What lurks on the other side the door
What lurks inside this stone cold room?
What lurks in this silence?
Some beast cage
With the window
To see the happiness the world brings
To watch the sun set
Unleash its havoc
Under the moons watch
To return by day break
Back to this cold room
Back to the window to watch
Scared of what lurks just the other side


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Gods and Devils

Gods and Devils

And on the saddest day,
“Men” created “Gods”
bestowing upon them
the power to terrorize “men”,
reduce them to subservience, servitude.

“Men” worshipped these “Gods”,
begged them for fulfillment, forgiveness,
petitioned them for mercy.
Blamed the “Gods” for all things
good and bad, holy or evil,
for all that happens is
“the will of the “Gods”.”

“Men” fear their own “Gods”.
Cower silently, heads bowed, as those
who “represent the Gods” pass -
Grovel before the power of an
unseen “God” – before a “Man”.

The “Gods” created “Devils”
as a defense against the “Men”
who created the “Gods”.  Declared
that all who questioned the
validity of the “Gods”, and their
powers, were -  “Devils” -
therefore a manifestation of “Evil”.

Thus, the “Gods” and “Devils”
created by “Man” have conspired
to hold “Man” hostage, to punish
“Man” for having the audacity
to create such “Gods” and allowing
these “Gods” to create such “Devils”.


1/7/2015

Submitted to – Gods and Devils – Poetry contest


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Suicidal Voodoo

Chase the voodoo to sleep. sleepless freaks i see in the silver screens blocking the vision of me. there's no choice but to eliminate hate inundating the mind. please mute the voices haunting the airwaves making me blind. the big bad budding burden flashing red lights at every intersection. stealing away the insight i try to gain by using time for reflection.

It's a mess the way i test myself with deranged prophecies and bleak scenarios. replaying horror flicks in my head. blasting screams in stereo. all too often the worm hole shoots me to a mid evil castle of torturous devices. impaled in dreams that seem to be broadcasting punishment for succumbing to the world's entice and vices. but other times i fall victim to a good old fashioned "day-mare". people notice the self conversations and can't help but laugh and stare. I must say it's becoming difficult to blame them. if i can't learn to shake this voodoo, it's true my future's looking grim.

What do I do? they're gonna end up arresting me! Toss my ass in a padded room and throw away the key! and get this...as i worry about getting sent away, the paranoia increases inside my head. i reach for medication increasing odds of ending up prematurely dead. I may be crazy, but don't take me for an idiot fool. and don't haze me about where my faith is, cus' this could just as soon be you. and i've learned enough to know that each and every one of us will die. and you may take me as insane, but me not taking my own life's got nothing to do with having a fear to fry. 

This is exactly why i choose to write as my mind fills up with crazy thoughts and throws fits. it's a therapy for me to try and work out all the kinks that make me sink, instead of cowardly throwin' in the towel n' calling it quits.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

sober

                                            s o b e r...
The fuse burns the skin; 'till years disappear in the sear. Those scars allow us to be who we are - - - urging us to bleed truth- - -  so we can speed through the blues----- fueling us with the go, the giddy up to show, with each blow we grow,---and we Leggo our Ego -------just so the doubters we encounter shout louder and louder--- tho' they ain't got a clue as to who... or what we're about, or the journey of pain ballooning our veins with insane clout-------- and we wish upon a trouble free time to be near, yet it's far...- - - like the stars in the sky----...---sobering the view...while we drink the abuse------Still, the lit fuse burns the years till our fears cry.-____so hopefully, we learn from the scars when our tears dry.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

An End to Aloneness

In my life I often feel I am alone; alone in my thoughts, alone in my musings, alone in my day-to-day movements and unsatisfying activities. I move like a ghost through hallways and down sidewalks, unnoticed and, at times, gratefully so. 
I do not wish to be eternally alone. I long for togetherness. But despite this desire for a real connection, I find myself regularly retreating from that temperamental beast that is human interaction. 

“Come on now, sweetheart. Don’t lower your head. Don’t look away. Look up! Smile at someone! No! Don’t go back into your bedroom. Don’t lock the door! Why are you doing this?” my brain will plea. 

I can’t help myself. Aloneness is comfortable. In being alone, I don’t have to worry about anyone but myself. I don’t have to please anyone else. I can think anything I want, wear anything I want, listen to anything I want, and laugh at anything I want. 

And still there remains that nagging desire to be loved and wanted and needed by somebody. I do not know the feeling of being truly desired. I do not know what it is like for someone to crave my company, my smile, my kiss, or my touch. 

                                                                              But I would like to…

I cannot make someone love me or like me or want me in some primal way. It may hurt, but I cannot make that handsome boy want to hold my hand or brush my hair back behind my ear. I can only struggle on. I can only work within myself. I can only try every God damn day to hold my head up, keep my eyes fixed ahead, a give the world the best smile I have. I and I alone can bring myself out of the safety of my bedroom and into the bright world that lies beyond that locked door. 
	
I often find myself alone with nothing more than my thoughts and the ever-strong glow of a computer screen. But no longer will aloneness be the constant in my life. It is true that never having known the caress of a man’s hand on my thigh doesn't make me any less of a woman, but I fear that if I stay confined within myself much longer I will begin to become less of a human. A flower cannot grow if it retracts its leaves and petals every time it feels the warmth of the sun or the kiss of a gentle spring rain.  
	
And I want to grow. I want to grow so tall and blossom so big and beautifully that every place on earth is touched by my shadow at some point in the day. And I will grow. I will push myself and share myself with the world, and finally
							                                 finally
								                                   finally
know the closeness and comfort of love and honest, unabashed companionship.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Fooling us All

Dumbing us down
no wonder we don't know
unaware for so long
feeding 
on what's been eating us

"but the bait tastes so good!"
we say
drooling diabetes down lazy lips
entranced
by high definition devices
all the world's shiny entices

and then there's addictions
the medications 
vibrations
frequencies 
they're fingering Mother Earth's atmosphere to
seducing mankind 
with the silence of her screams
raping our nurturer
as we remain oblivious

these elite thugs
conducting violence above the law
fooling us all


Details | Prose Poetry | |

A running chestnut or no - on essay,idiocracy

Altogether unprofitable sentimental but no fool they call him an old sap 		        The taste of knowledge to him is sweet to get more valuable than sap to a tree	   even more valuable than the gold that runs from seven hills					 prolongs the days: but the years of the wicked shall be shortened.				  The Lord does hate pride, and arrogancy, and the evil way, and the froward mouth         the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom with an expected end pure love                  as God gives the increase I have tasted the Lord is gracious				           A strong warning from the savior Jesus He is Lord						   whosoever shall say, Thou fool, shall be in danger of hell fire                                      some may say the old sage is just saber rattling 					             Essayage the shoe on the other foot walking a mile				                   in someone else shoes who has two left feet and one leg longer				          truly your feet are bound to get sore circling around the mountain 	 			    just assaying the metal who is your maker I know mine 					         For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, 						        works for us a far more exceeding eternal weight of glory						 I am not straining gnats just spitting out the the filthy camel 				      Love the Lord God Jesus and every man your neighbor                             all the glory of man as the flower of grass like sagebrush					     God made foolish the wisdom of this world                				put your faith and hope in God and not in men 								 though man's urban inflections change the Word of the Lord stands sure                       Everlasting superior are God's ways than man's momentary dullness


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Winding up my wings

My wings are wound up.
Don’t ask me to fly.
I have locked myself inside the cage.
Without leaving, any reason for my rage.
I feel safe inside these bars…
As I am afraid of  outside unknown wars.
In your vision, my smiles and tears may be invisible.
It does not make any difference for me even if it is quite possible.
Neither do I blame my Lord nor any human being,
I blame myself…
For filling my heart with unfulfilled dreams…
And am frustrated for being helpless with inseparable wings!

By,
Roja Meeran.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Crossing Through The Red Sea Undivided

The calm and quiet serenity embracing a string of fine buildings and a hypocritical weather which seems as if a quarrel manifested between the day and the night say it all as we enjoy the romantic stroll. Our aim is highly achieved if this was official, we would demand a certificate but the environment, our smiles, our love and our world are more than enough reward as we warm our souls and take the slow, gentle pace. the red flag was totally absent as we noticed many of them with tails unwag by-passing one, not knowing it is the scumbag began its vile its voice and energy much more than three angry wives on top of their nag. A drastic lag in our steps of royalty as my darling was taken over with gags. Then comes the full rage, attacks and great disdain to us. They were initially five; but now twelve. Creating a strategy by walking zigzag served fruitless and more like a drag as the voices of hell get even closer. making my wife scared as never before. Just one attack , can attract a deadly feast. Turning us into rags tearing us snag after snag and separating our flesh from body like a slag. That one bite, is now seconds closer with the lead intimidator showing its brag but 'the protector' being my tag; I turned swiftly and immediately going downwards and acting to take a weapon. Then the dozen of cowards impersonated Usain Bolt. 'That's my swag!" was the showing but in reality, I embraced my love passionately, thanking God for such a miracle with a skipping heart and a trembling body.


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WinterBane

WinterBane 
WinterBane 
 
Soltive pre ordained priest warlike additives initially a Jesus Freak becoming cold 
hearted in the winter. Bane has come with hatred of simple minded people. Sexual 
orientation is nill. Macabration indentation on the quilt. A welcome matt with a towel 
for spills. I have a small fortune tied. Up is not an option now. There is only snow up 
there eventually. The water line is nearer the river then the streaming stream of 
water near me on the highway catching all the melting riverlets as they run away 
from home in WinterBane. Some men still have strength but they abuse it think to 
break down boarded ruins tearing down old barns and cornors of old abandoned 
houses where homeless and poor people might find shelter from the rain. Where will 
they find to dwell. Because of wealth they have a large area to heat in WinterBane 
they have a larger of a structure the more expensive in the WinterBane with sleet 
coming down in Sheets of Ice looked like a solid wall of water hitting me Frost icing 
clothing no thing was DRY ice all over me a few moments after I stepped toe out of 
sheltor walking on the SIDE of the road cant walk on the roadway slipping on the ICE 
stepped offroad walking in the treelined. I found what looked like a Najavo Hogan 
brogaded outside there was clothes hannging on branches a Babylon Garden in the 
snow. While the whole city was whited out at degrees zero. The goose has a liver. 
Oh Pâté the liver rules the Goose is cooked with too many alcholic incumbents while 
the minutes of the meeting Read all old activity reported long ago nothing is new 
under the sun. Nothing there is nothing is there nothing in my past has preparred me 
for my future education has failed me for the alcholic eye was ruined for functioning 
in SOciety degenerate reborne. Nothing smelles worse to a man then sex mixed up 
with tobacco and alchohol how can anyone live as porn objects and still survive the 
toll booth smells like whiskey before three pee em it takes the heart to control it 
takes the lust to want. I feared to die for I was sinnor I feared one day to lay 
underneathe the snow ensheathed but then one day has come to eye EYE Fear No 
Snow EYE Fear No Snow I am a man. The snow no longer bothers me. I am beneath 
it all, My soul is not inside of me. It leaves me when I fall. As I lay here 
silently,wating for the trumpet, It will blow! 
I do not any longer fear the snow. 
Copyright © 2006 charles hice


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HIM of Praise

 HIM of Praise 
HIM of Praise 
 
 
 
CharlaXFabels 
 
1one70four4 
 life; broken 
used unwashed homeless tired sad hurt questing for an answer, yes it is HIM 
who loves me JESUS. The answer to every question. ABOVE every other namme 
the HIM who seems so far away and yet eye find the love is still in evidence the 
richness in the finding.  Love is given never taken the takers and the shakers 
come to HIM and get dumbfounded, the poor questors will still receive 
communion.  Live is a mobius stripped not the start of the cradle to the grave 
sinfilled natural disaster somewhere in my timeline lies uninterrupted salvation. 
HIM who loved me also called me to tell his people of HIS namme. HIM who 
loves ewe also needs ewe to call on HIM in fear and trembling YES and then to 
drop the fear of days gone bye and love HIM for YES HE loves. HIM who writes the 
names in BOOK of LIFE loves all of us the namme of JESUS the namme the 
namme is JESUS. HE who brings us life also brings us days then HE adds them 
to our lives. JESUS. HIM of Praise. 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Ferguson

Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem:  Ferguson 
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: August/2014


America,

Hands Up
Don't Shoot!

Young
 black males
are dying,

faster than
seconds
on a
clock,

and
nothing is done

Just
another
young brother
GONE -

They killed Pac, 
In Vegas
nothing was done

They killed Biggie
In LA
nothing was done

They killed Oscar Grant,
In Oakland,
(at Fruitvale station)
nothing was done

They killed, Trayvon 
In Sanford, Florida
nothing was done

Hands Up
Don't Shoot!

Wake up
America!

Open 
your eyes,

see the
pattern 
here?

Hands Up 
Don't Shoot!

Young  black males
are 
being murdered
and 
their cases run  cold -

While
the  killer lives another
day,

to murder another
young
black male -

Hands Up
Don't Shoot!

They killed Michael Brown,
In Ferguson
Will something be done?

They killed Kajieme Powell,
In St. Louis 
Will something be done?

Their
is a 
pattern here -

and
it's Vile
as 
Vomit,

across 
the Red, 
White, and Blue -

Hands Up
Don't Shoot!

They killed Sean Bell
In Queens
nothing was done

They killed Mac Dre
In Kansas City
nothing was done

Hands Up
Don't Shoot!

America,

We Want Justice -



Details | Prose Poetry | |

Sorry I Was Thinking About Something

A man sitting across  from a woman; while in conversation gets close and closer to her face. the closer he gets the more his skins just melts upon and morphs onto her; becoming a human blob of sorts while consuming her. people walking down the street start grabbing their chest as if were obtaining the results of a heart attack; start having upright siezures and transforming into monsters. some elderly fellow answering his doorbell to a man in sunglasses that smiles, just smiles at him. his grin becomes wider and larger, just becoming a face of teeth. golden retriever puppies playing on a grassy field, bouncing around over white small moths and butterflies. two viking brothers sitting at a wooden table talking about their battles of old. a young boy standing across from a microphone on a dark lit stage, with empty chairs infront of him; wondering why he never spoke. A teenage girl whispering to a teenage boy about how fun last night was and she pulls away and laughs for the memory made. a boy dying in his hopital bed playing with his superman action figure, the life supports machines echoing through the halls. a giant hole appearing in the sky, slowly sucking away the color of the earth...
want to play a game?
1 2 3 4 5 6 9
eve ry one is fee ling fine.
stars are bright.
for they burn.
touch them. and see. what. you. learn.
1 2 3 4 8 9 10
chil dren should go.
straight. to. bed.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Sandy Winds Roar

Sandy ‘winds roars, deadly Sandy roar ashore
As the night darken, the people screams no more! No more!
You Ocean whore!
Along the broad walks Hurricane Sandy barreled towards land. ...
Ripping two beautiful little angels from their mother’s hand

 Cockamamie dwellers, fled from their homes 
The high winds were no match for fowl, beast or man

Sandy winds roars, Sandy roar ashore
 Leaving tons of sand;
 On the main land
 Roof tops, the barbed wire, with sharped edges were defeated
 Mortal men lost again to winds of fate.
Sandy winds’ roars, she whistles; she roars ashore.

The long summer of 2012 became a dream
While our footprints fade in the sand 
 
  Our hearts ripped apart
  We prayed in the dark. : For calm and peace
Everywhere she went it was darkness
  Our hearts ripped apart
  We prayed in the dark. : For calm and peace
Please, please! Sandy spared us please.




Details | Prose Poetry | |

HORROR OF MAN

 
A KID IS NEVER A CHILD ANY MORE
HE HAS TO FACE HIS PARENTS DEMONS
THE FATHER THINKS HE CAN BE SAVED BY HIS SEAMEN AS THE POPULATION RATE INCREASES
SO DO THE ORPHANS OF WHOSE PARENTS ARE KILLED BY DISEASES 
THESE ARE THE REASONS 
OF DEATH'S KILLING SEASONS 
NOW I'M BLEEDING FROM WITHIN
CAUSE LIFE IS KILLIN
THE MEANING OF BELIEVING 
AND SUFFOCATING ME FROM BREATHING
THIS PURE POLLUTED AIR
THEY SAY WE ARE THE FUTURE
BUT DOES FUTURE REALLY CARE?
THEY ONLY SEE THEIR OWN WELFARE
AND I DARE TO ASK
IS THIS THE HORROR OF MAN'S OWN DOING
OR IS THIS TORTURE PROPHESIED BY THE SCRIPTURES 
BEING THE BEGINNING OF THE END
OR THE END OF THE BEGINNING. 
MY HEAD IS SPINNING
IN QUESTIONS AND DOUBTS THAT IS DEATH REALLY WINNING?
THEN FOR GOD SAKES WHY ARE WE LIVING?
OR ARE WE LIVING TO DIE FOR OUR ANCESTORS FORTUNES 
OR MISS-FORTUNE PLAYING THE TUNES THAT WE HAVE TO DANCE TO
IF ALL THESE WERE TRUE
I HOPE THIS BE SEEN BY THE FEW...


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Demon Inside Me

I feel it stirring deep inside

Ready for it's chance to come alive

I try and try to get away

But it's hold on me I can not sway

I try to hold the demon deep inside

But it's ugly head I can not hide

I hope for some peace when I sleep 

But even there it haunts me

It's ripping and tearing my soul apart

I know one day it will stop my heart

It whispers in my ear

It tells me things that I fear

It's eating me slowly from inside

Just to laugh when I cry 

I can't chase the demon away

So I just sit and wait until the day I fade away......


Details | Prose Poetry | |

jane doe ll

she  beckoned my soul i sat in fear 
nothing to focus on except writing a tear 
she busted through the window to her surprise
sitting with me was  st john paull 11

suddenly this opened her eyes
it was my identity she was after 
her name was jane i was yolanda
but very plain not vain 

this thief was after my thoughts 
plagerist jane whispered threats 
she wanted my song
i expressed to her 
id been writing too long

she was from tampa and i chicago 
living in tampa and fort myers
 jane was vile climbing through 
my townhome window ripping pages 

from my night stand exposing herself 
to my diary quickly she grew obssessed 
with  my culture in chicago my heritage
 with mayor daley cicely tyson 1971

joseph medill school finally lincolns tomb
i studied in springfield illinois 1969
jane was enraged with my identity
for every page i wrote classified who i was
8000 munchen 90 touring of germany 

she threatened my life
from guns to poison i sat with my pope
a feeling of purity a since of hope 
she would join corruption 

fraudulently  using my name 
threatening me daily
all the same i continued 
to write pant and cry
i gather i shall till the day i die


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Darkness

This is not the words of anesh, these are the words of her 10 year old daughter.

Surrounded by darkness and by the fear,
siting and siting in the room scared to death
as the lighting and rain storms me with fear.
Trying and trying to cry but no water is coming
down my face from my eyes.No summer no spring
no fall not even may,only dark and snow that shows
the darkness in you and me.Nothing to hate but still hating
on,no words will come out my mouth,with nothing to talk
or to talk about.Darkness still haunts me with fear and contiues to,
will it ever wear off,what should i do or say to make this fear stay
 away.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Fear Please be Gone

To the death I fear
To the lost I sealed
Though sorrow be it gone
Your loves God was never be wrong

Poor love of family tree
Lack care of happiness unseen
One live coming through
One soul passes too

I live like a ghost
A soul without host
Through the night i sing
In this part I'm rumbling

Fear, please be gone
Fear, mend this wrong


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Fred the Legend been sighted part 3

It all started one Halloween..no one knew what it would mean...could it ? was it? just a 
dream ? Follow the " Legend of Fred " series and you'll see what I mean...



Everyone’s asking where is Fred..?

Has anyone looked under their bed ?

I’ve heard tell he disappeared on this night filled with fright..

Many said he was taken by the things that go bump in the night…

But things of this nature don’t happen around here that much….

Has anyone out there seen a little red headed clown ?

He has a red nose and a smile turned upside down…

The chocolate and sweets from his trick or treat…

Still lays scattered all over the street…

I know he wouldn’t have gone on his own..

Cause he came from a very happy home…

Some say they’ve seen him, running down the street..

Yelling at the top of his lungs….

Hey everybody it’s time for “ trick or treat “…

So on that night when you go out...looking for some fun..

Remember the little red clown named Fred..

And all the things this poem has said…..












Details | Prose Poetry | |

Woke up from the nightmare

I woke up from the curiosity
And slipped down from my bed
I crashed down my left leg
and too injured my head

It needed so much aid
So I decided to 
get it fast
And I ran to the door
Got out from the 
room as vast

It surely was so serious
It made great a pain
Made me bleed when I 
Stepped out in the rain

I was going to shout
when it came in front
It was the blackest night
and there came a grunt

And I was stunned to
Hear that type of sound
And I ran violently
From the night made me bound

And slipped down from my bed
I realized it was a dream
And again crashed my head
And saw another dream

(Jamshaid Ghani)
25-11-2012


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Flowers of the Forest

A howling gale blows along frost bitten trenches and men curl up damp and freezing,
No such thing as a real sleep, if it wasn't the cold or the noise, it would be fear,
Each man lays where he can away from the stench of death, alone with his own stench,
Gales sing through the barbed wires, we lay shivering, dreading departing darkness.

In a night daze I am home, my mother puts logs on a blazing fire it spits and cracks,
The sharp knives of the east east wind are buried in my head it aches and it itches,
My mums voice plays over that I must be careful, I laughed as we marched away hero's,
Laying deep in ditches, knowing fear deeper than man has ever known, where is my God.

Ashen faces, haunted eyes, trying hard to think of anything to stop thinking of here,
Previous bad times are now my goods times, if I ever go home I will never moan again,
As I say my prayers again on this cold bitter night, each holy word is a rasping sob,
My lips quiver as I mouth words to my Lord, my saliva falls onto frost frozen ground.

Soon bugles will blow, fewer men will stand than they did yesterday or the day before,
Each cling to life, gnarled hands frozen into bloody fists, fear and hate the new day,
My muddy brown brothers sip steaming tea, soon shells will be fired towards the steam,
Maybe one day I leave here but never forget, this I swear by the flowers of the forest.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

rage

it dosen't come with age,its in a cage trapped inside dont let it out your mouth without a doubt 
it will destroy us all,if we fall for rages tricks, envy, jealousy,anger love is the answer to keeping 
rage locked up , i know i let it out it tried to destroy me, but ive been set free love saved me


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Beast

Rage is in me it's alive
It's like a beast tearing from inside
The beast is me it's time to die
I am fighting to survive
The beast haunts me in my dreams it's in the shadows taunting me
He is tearing me apart it has hollowed out my heart
My voice is screaming in my head it does no good for I soon will be dead
Vengeance is tasteful it raises it's head
It's eyes are yellow and full of the dead
I am falling and there is no end
The time now has come for me to part
It has ripped out my lonely heart
Down and down and down I go at least i got to keep my soul....


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Fear

Some of them;
Fencing their fear by lies;
they know not,
but demolishing their fragile clay: 
Stone by stone,
Thread by thread.
Then walking through their way,
having nothing,
But sword of gloom
and Psalms of curse.