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Best Fear Poems

Below are the all-time best Fear poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of fear poems written by PoetrySoup members

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New Fear Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Fear poems are below this new poems list.

Fear not by Heemstra, Robert
GHOST OF FEAR by Trifiatis, Demetrios
When Love Becomes Fear by Harvey, Eugene
FEAR OF FALLING by Rodrigues, Kim
Fear is a Lie by Lakebrink, Adam
My Worst Fear by Chansarkar, Sara
A fathers fear by One, Silent
Watery Grave - My Worst Fear by Teagan, Becca
MY WORST FEAR by ALLISON, JAN
Worst fear by S , Kit

View all new Fear Poems

The Best Fear Poems

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AM I

AM  I ?

Am I Just Standing Here, or Am I Just Dead?
Am I So Full Of Fear, I Lost Myself Instead?

Am I A Nobody, that you can't defend me?
OR
Am I Just Invisible, and you really don't pretend.

Am I Blind, Or I Just Don't Wish To See?
The Love I Cannot Find Is Right In Front Of Me!

Am I Hearing the Truth,
Or Have I Just Been Deceived?
Who Can I Trust?
Who Can I Believe?

Am I So Mad I Just Can't Understand,
Or Am I So Sad I Need A Shoulder And A friend?

Is It Just Me, 
Or Am I All Alone?

***

I wrote this poem 22 years ago
I was pregnant, scared and alone:-( 


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013

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Teddy Bear-

My sweet little Teddy Bear...
Mommy gave 'YOU' to me
Now I never sleep alone at night
The comfort you gave, when God's sunny eyes ran out of light

You are my sweet little teddy bear... 
You kept me company throughout the years
I hugged you, when my eyes were full of tears
Loving you, squeezing you
We both express many joyful dance of cheers
Together we sang lullabies, without you singing one single word
We drank from the same teacup, whispered about the pretty birds
Now listen, as I mumble extra words into your ear
My sweet Teddy Bear, you are always here

We snuggled every night staring at the star frame window
"You held my hand when I was lost in my own imaginary limbo

My sweet little Teddy Bear...
I'm 11 now, and my mother loves me dearly
Sadly, she felt it's time to find me a daddy
Little does she knows, my daddy visits every night in my dreams

Shhhhhh!!!
Now her boyfriend visits my room and tells me not to scream
Little Teddy bear, I never showed you fear before I fell asleep
Little Teddy bear, tonight I do not want to count sheep
Teddy bear, now I hold you closer and tighter than before
Little Teddy Bear let me cover your ears, from the screeching door
Little Teddy Bear, he said he would hurt mommy If I tell anyone
Little Teddy Bear, I know you see and hear everything!!!

by; pd
You're A Little Kid Again (contest)
The View of an 11 year old


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2012

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THE BROKEN DOLL

Walls of silence hold,
 Me prisoner,
The child held within,
 Cries out for release.
Relative solitude comforts, 
Not the tortured soul,
Inward coiling withdrawing,
 Deep inside. 
Shedding its outer skins,
 Protective
Layer thus preserving its,
 Inner being.
Innocents shroud lies in ruins.
Gentle spirit, cast aside wings,
 Damaged appendages.
The fallen angel kneels in,
 Shame,
Shadows before mankind.
Unanswered prays rest upon,
 Deaf ears.
Muted sobs, echo on stilled,
 Winds breath.
Hardening to stone, the
 Chilled heart
 Reflects frozen repose.
Forgotten amongst mine own,
 Kindred,
Childhood symbolizes a betrayed,
 Victim’s refuge.
Small fragile hands reach out,
 Into nothingness,
Hollow space grasping into,
 Oblivion.
Chained shackles twist,
 Imaginations warped view,
Somber tones cloud troubled,
 Thoughts.
Amidst life's trials, I'm aimlessly,
 Adrift,
Without any form of stability.
I, alone remain shambles,
 Wreckage.
Displaced and damaged,
Beyond repair.
A broken doll thrown away,
By those who should have, 
Cared for her the most.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN


Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2013

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Thirty-Eight, Cancer Poem: For Sharon

Thirty Eight ( Corny Cancer Poem) For Sharon

Hallmark has a million cards in their catalog
And not one of them says,
Life Sucks
American greetings had nothing that says
Thirty-eight and  Never coming home
So I hope it’s not too late to write this poem


After your eighth round of Chemo,
The Doctor says the best medicine is prayer
Any Pre-med drop out
Or High school Health student
Can interpret what this means
But it still just isn’t fair-


           Still who am I to be a pessimist?


And I apologize for screaming at your surgeons
(Telling  them to stop comparing 
your tumors to fruit)
For telling them you aren’t a damn fruit stand
Even for tossing those fruit diagrams 
In the Hazmat can

Sorry if I let things get out of hand

Tomorrow they get to pull out
Their zapper instruments
And shoot at your cells like you are
One of those Nintendo video games
Over and over again
And I get to sit in the waiting room
Hoping the red cells surrender
And the white ones win

  
And Tylenol has a zillion dollars
And can’t even find a cure for cancer
Bayer pharmaceuticals has no answer

And if you die at thirty-eight
I’ll probably boycott Tylenol
For the next twenty-three years
Advil for the next twenty-two
Blaming both of them
For not saving you


Forty calls to Bayer pharmaceuticals 
And not a single one returned
What kind of heroes are they
When they aren’t even concerned?


And I’m pissed off at Obama
And Dr. Phil and Oprah too
And all Nationally syndicated talk show host
Who are talking about who slept with who
When they should be talking about 
YOU


I’m also ticked at a thousand Nazis
And twenty millions gangbangers 
And eight-hundred serial killers
Who have working organs
When all you need is just one-


Still I know you wouldn’t even accept it
Even if there was a law that said you could
And you would say something corny like
God loves bad people as much
As he does the good

And i wish i could snatch 
half of my lymph nodes
And give them to you
But no Doctor would approve the surgery

So what else can i do
Except write this silly poem for you
except watch you lose weight and hair
And listen to doctors suggest prayer

And more chemo only means
More Hallmark moments at the hospital
And more crying, more dying
More doctors and chaplains lying


But mostly I’ll never get to figure out
How it took you thirty minutes
At Build-A-Yogurt in the mall
And they only had six flavors-
Even after I told you
Chocolate Coconut Sprinkle
 Was really the best of all


Tonight your children get to sleep in your bed
And pretend You’re coming home
And I get to cry for them and finish
This corny cancer poems


Copyright © Poet M.e. | Year Posted 2015

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THE HOUSE OF SPIRITS

It looks like a simple brownstone building,
Not much different then any other but it’s residents,
Are of the haunted kind, not made of flesh and bone.
In every window a wind chime stirs, gently caressed by
A chilling winds icy finger tips, after all this is known as
The house of spirits.
Witchery or voodoo’s domain, it is a place of salvation for
Spiritual challenged, listen to the beautiful music they make,
Singing within this their walled cage of brick and mortar, these
Ethereal victims lost.
Here in peace they wait for the light to find them, a waiting chamber,
Of the lords misstep souls, those whom walked off the righteous path,
Yet are not without redemptions wanton of need.
Wanders of limbo’s astral plain, seekers whom roam blindly until 
Finding a doorway threshold, then crossing over, into this the house
Of spirits.
A corridors slender passageway, a way stations layover for those tired
And weary travelers to rest until their final journey’s end comes for them,
Sanctuaries power house of the supernatural.
Behind these red doors dare not the mortal flesh clasp the gilded knockers,
For within are things of the unspoken variety, creature protectors waiting at
Bay for the stray intruder to wander forth upon this sacred ground.
Angels kindred brethren whom seek out evil, destroyers patrolling the
Darker shadows for night stalkers whom wish to feast upon the forsaken.
But light’s white power is a mightier force to be reckoned with, and vanquished
Will the devils spawn into the depths from which they came, into the bowels
Of hell shall these demons be thrown into the blackened pit from which they came?
In the twilight’s ethereal hour, a mid-ways breaking point between light and dark,
A shimmering glow strikes this standing watch tower of abandonment’s forgotten,
And heaven’s flood gates are opened unto them, calling these the lost upwards
Towards nirvana and at last know true peace.
It looks like a simple brownstone building,
Not much different then any other but it’s residents.
Are of the haunted kind, not made of flesh and bone.
In every window a wind chime stirs, gently caressed by
A chilling winds icy finger tips, after all this is known as
The house of spirits.

BY; CHERYL ANNA DUNN

 


Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2014

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Mirror Mirror

Your reflection is a liar
It makes no confessions 
The image reaches within
Cold fingers claw at your mind
A mirrored smile
Taunts you
Haunts you
No words spoken
Yet you hear screaming in your head
You reach out your hands
Palms joined on glass
No warmth transfers as you touch
You stare at the illusionary you
Looking back from his backward land
A place without air
Yet it is you who cannot breath
Together you bang on the glass
Cracks appear
You cut your right hand 
Blood trickles down his left wrist
As he licks it off you taste it on your lips
There it is again
That smile
Perhaps it's a smirk
What does he know
Fear rises from within
You turn to walk away
Hair rises on your neck
The sound of shattered glass
As the pieces of you fall
You were never here
All these people you used to be
Shards of glass upon the floor

Nathan's Mirror Contest

Kind of freaky it matches one of your pictures, I wrote this a while ago.


Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2013

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DARKNESS of the LIGHT

*   DARKNESS of the LIGHT   *

Those that fear the dark,
Have never seen what the light can do.
In this grave, I will leave no mark.
Knowing the tunnel light, is the way God scr3ws with you.
I have no soul to sell, 
Someone jacked my free ticket to hell.
I lived all my life on the verge of a broken dream.
My will locked behind this iron cell.
Only he can hear me scream!
My own prisoner in this bottle shell.
To fear the dark is the devil's scheme.
Watch me as I remove my own shackles from my limbs.
Towards the light, I will never redeem.
A full flavor laugh, 
For he that fears the darkness, and walks the light alone.

              ~SKAT~


Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2010

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- Haunted Beauty -

 

The family had just moved into an old castle in Scotland; 
mother, father and their only daughter, Emmie, that they loved so deeply. 
Emmie was only 12 years old, and so innocent and beautiful. 
One night, she was woken up by a dripping sound; 
an echoing sound of water drops in a sink; 
rhythmic and terrifying. 
She sat on her bed, and suddenly appeared a free floating arc of strange light. 
It's that time of year again: Halloween night. 
Doors flew open and shut; strange voices and footsteps started. 
She was so frightened, that she almost threw up. 
Emmie made the sign of the cross, and plunged into a thicket of thorny wild roses. 
Terrified, excited and ready to run out of the house in 20 seconds, 
she overheard whispering words: "All beauty must die." 
The voice was so deathly, that it sent chills through her spine. 
It did not make it any better that it sounded too close to her ears. 
Her nightdress being torn by rose thorns like papers in a paper shredder, 
she ran as fast as she could; not back to the old castle, 
but away from the creepy voice, and strange events 
in the old castle. 
Exhausted, she searched for a place she could find rest 
"All beauty must die" the voice visited 
her unceremoniously once more. "What do you want from me? 
Is it wrong to be born beautiful? " 
she asked, wondering where she got her courage from. 
The energy to scream or run departed her, 
the moment she saw a woman dressed in white, 
levitating in the air, and moving towards her; 
a horrid face that carried the night's darkness, 
looked decayed, with worms crawling out from it. 
Remember this is a true story about Emmie; 
she gets chills just remembering the events of that night…… 





Contest: Halloween Co-Writes, By Diane Locksley

Poem Written by: Teddy Kimathi and Anne-Lise Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved 


Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2014

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Didn't Don't

Somebody keeps pulling on the rope to swing the bells
           didn't don't       
           didn't don't
They toll for me.

Don't touch it. Don't say it. Don't do it. 
Don't doubt it. Don't think. Don't ...

Somebody handcuffs my steps,
determines my boundaries.
Before I fully understand free will
there is a slap on my head
            and phosphenes like stars
            command my orbit.
Before I recognize differences
there is a slap on my hand
            right hand, not left hand,
            never ambidextrous

Time out
its isolation without trial
to learn
to fear wrongdoing 
to allow them to remote-control my existence,
conditional on demand, frightening.

An aborted freedom escaping
into the sewer
trying not to get it on the seat
attempting to prove an alibi 
                    for being alive
No one cares, not even myself.

Somebody pulls on the rope to swing the bells
           didn't don't       
           didn't don't
They toll for me.
It's dirty. It's ugly. It's bad. It's poo. It's sin.

commitments, commandments
salvation, damnation

Sometimes
deception makes them ring in a low tone.
Sometimes
I do what they say, 
 and not what they do,
  and not what I want,
   and not what I think.

Through     fragments     of     this     duplicity
                                  and     this     duplicity
I would be able to rebuild myself and Myself
into another hypocritical being;
the intentional perversion of the self proclaimed truth,
the liar paradox to reign
through tricks and cotton swabs.

When the remorseless hours run counterclockwise,
I would be happy of imaginary experiences,
consistently depurated, consistently believed to be true.
             
Would I dare to examine the society in which I've been educated and raised?
Would I dare rip my skin, my flesh off of my bones?

How could I blame them? 
How could I possibly judge them?

Social order and obedience 
in confabulation, in conspiracy, in complicity

Somebody will keep pulling on the rope
to swing the bells; they will toll for me:
the one who guards his own cell.

Cause I'm the jailer, and the convict, and the crime.

.



Copyright © Ruben O. | Year Posted 2012

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Lonely Dreams

I never knew following dreams could be this lonely,
But up on the hill, looking back, thank God I'm not the old me.
If the tears will fall, let them be;
I believe this is God's plan, follow your dreams.


Copyright © Kevin C. Martin | Year Posted 2013

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Fear Not The Wind

Fear not the fierce wind, o gentle heart
Though it may rattle the eaves
And give no ear to its whispers with nothing to impart
But shallow promises that hang, like dried, parched leaves

Listen to its mournful wails on the way to some distant shore
Leaving in its trail, the harsh rawness of a chill
And envy not; give pity instead and be sure to keep no scores
For the warmth of a gentle heart is by far, richer still

For who can fathom the baleful howls invading valleys below;
Billowing across the fragile earth and her boundless seas?
Is it in anguish that it protests; who can really know?
Or is it a mere expression of a mighty power that seethes?

Yet, judge not, o gentle heart, but like a blade of grass amidst a storm
Lay calmly into the wind; rely not upon your strength to stay strong
~*~



Copyright © Annalise a.k.a. Audrey Haick | Year Posted 2012

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Hermaphrodite - Part III


?Just a stutter-step, and I over-think it?

I ask you how are we breathing underwater?
The question is the shadow of a nightmare
appearing as an Octopus -
its tentacles wrap around us,
dragging us towards the edge of an abyss.

I tear open my rib-cage,
I am fever, high-temperature fever,
licking the Octopus with the tongues of my heat.
It lets go, retreats into a crevice.
You are swallowing water with the fear in your eyes.
I shouldn't have asked that specific question -
brought it into existence.

I kiss you, push breath into your lungs.

Upon seeing figure-eights wash away your doubt,
I am now suddenly breathless.
You give me back breath to breathe,
offering us strength to breach the surface.

The Ocean is Sky; Sky is the Ocean,
Night is Day; Day is Night.
?Is this flying, or walking upside-down. Sideways?

"Look down there, can you see the Evergreen tree?" I ask.

You say nothing. Just breathe. The fear is gone from your eyes.

I close my eyes, open my eyes, 
close my eyes, open my eyes.
There is no difference, a shutter-frame of eternal passages.
We have done this before                             somehow,
flown through the doors of deja vu.

"The tree doesn't need to be sacrificed into paper.
But, if cut down, at least spread its seeds."

Why did I say that? It felt so natural.

Waves. Surging, vibrating waves.
Now, it is flesh for feeling,
breath on breath,
an elevation of sheer simplicity within sweat.
I can barely contain myself,
but when I do, again, my belly becomes an earthquake,
unleashing seismic waves
from the centre of my core....

Hermaphrodite
_____________________


Even though you already appear to be sleeping,
I feel you awake inside,
but so calm                       peaceful.

We breathe, exhale, inhale,
your body gently pushes against my chest and belly....

....before I fall asleep,
I spy the Cardinal hopping along the branch of an Evergreen tree




.


Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2012

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Careful Cursive

I write each letter by hand in careful cursive. 
I want every sentence to be pretty,
to look feminine and delicate -
to soften the ugliness you face everyday.
After each line, I let the ink dry.
You don't deserve smudges.
You don't deserve any of this.

My words are foolish, 
full of meaningless descriptions
of meaningless events. 
But I can't sit here at this polished desk -
in this cozy room in this quiet house 
on this peaceful street
and write what I'm really thinking.
I can't be selfish.

So I keep writing my careful cursive
on my pretty stationary.
I keep sending my meaningless letters
into the ugly world - to wherever you are.
And no matter how many times
I open the mailbox, I'm never prepared 
for that hideous stamp,
that heartless phrase:
"Return to Sender."


Written: 1/27/2013
For Michael's "Boomerang" contest


Copyright © Heather Ober | Year Posted 2013

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Mother -- Come Home





Sitting with her now
       Watching 
How did she get so old?
       How did I get so old?
So many pills
       Green, blue, white, red, yellow, orange
All kinds of shapes
       Round, oval, oblong – big and small
A tackle box with markings
       Monday through Sunday

We talk and laugh . . . then
       A knock on the door!
I’ll get it
      A police officer – young, clean shaven
As I open the door
      I jokingly yell . . .  He’s here to arrest you mom!
Sir, I do need to speak with your mother. . . 
      What, Oh . . . come in

Mrs. Meade, did you hit another car?
      Her face showed confusion, concern . . . fear
With a trembling voice . . . No officer,  I    dd i d        not
      I followed the young man to the garage
A scrape, red paint, a missing mirror
     My heart sank
Thinking to myself – is she lying?
     Or does she not realize what she has done?
Does it matter?
     The time has come . . . 

As I hug this frail old woman
     Shoulders shaking, tears soaking my shirt
I whisper in her ear
    Do not fear . . . everything will be OK . . . . I love you
Standing there I realized 
    Our roles had changed 
Come my darling 
    It is time for you to live with us
Happy Mother’s day
    I do love you! 









David Meade
May 10, 2015
Love Generously 


Copyright © David Meade | Year Posted 2015

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Lover's Knot

A wistful smile upon her face,
Belies the look I need to trace;
For love needs not cruel rejection,
Instead it longs for sweet perfection.

Reaching out to touch tomorrow,
Leaving all that causes sorrow;
Looking forward with such yearning,
I find joy at your returning.             

Let me taste your scent once more,
Bring back the dream we had before;
Have no fear and fear no scorn.
For buds of love will soon be born.

On your cheek the morning blush,
On your brow a fevered flush;
Like berries sitting in the cream,
You light my soul and fill my dream.
                                                
Let me quench your thirsty lips,
And taste the juice of honeyed drips;
To caress the languid eyes that sleep,
And join with mine that need to weep.

I need reach out to touch a star,
To know for sure just where you are;
For body language is understood,
Giving and forgiving all it should.

When fingers knit a lovers knot,
And find a stitch that they forgot;
Then all things that transpire,
Will feed the flame that lights the fire.


Copyright © elizabeth wesley | Year Posted 2011

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The Fear Of Death

The Fear Of Death

Why is it that our death we fear?
What is this dread when it draws near
We think of it we feel so bad
Somebody dies and we feel sad
No matter what the creed we follow
Our fear of death each day will grow
Because we have not got a clue
As to where we’re heading to

We find religion of some kind
Then think we’ve left our fear behind
Yet ‘have we really’? I ask you
There is no way of knowing true
The terror it still lingers on
Belief can never make it gone
Cause Truth can’t come through mind so dull
First we must make ourselves whole

The only way we can be free
Is to take a good long look and see
What were really all about
Then maybe what we knew, we’ll doubt
Could be we are a stream of life
That flows forever with no strife
Shells can fade, and there might lie
Yet nothing can destroy the ‘I’

13 January 2016


Copyright © peter duggan | Year Posted 2016

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What We Had Was Only a Tale

Here’s to a love that never existed!
And to the departing you insisted,
Let me give in to all I’ve resisted
It is true through our frivolous trail
Our lives were but a tale;
Though if I hadn’t thought of it
Pure hearts indefinite,
Not mattering even then,
Would I ever believe again?
We never win, we never fail
For what we had was only a tale

I’m lost within a dream never dreamt
Inside a slumber never slept,
And I caress the intricate design
Of the world I can never find
How vast! Yet still it is dying
Fading into the nadirs’ binding
As I fill the world with crying—always crying! 
Oh world! Can I ever bring myself to hold 
The warm nothing growing cold? 
Oh world! Can I not take away
The love I gave with my will today?
We never win, we never fail
For what we had was only a tale 


Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2012

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Our Boogeyman

Listen to poem:
Our Boogeyman


There is a boogeyman within
this home of ours, we swear he's here!
He comes and goes to mess with us
and bring about a silly fear.

It happens if we're here or not; 
he seems to go from room to room
to keep us guessing why we see
phenomena that brings such gloom.

It has to do with lights, you see,
the kind you touch to turn them on;
somehow this boogeyman knows how
to toy with us, and whereupon,

we find our touch lamps brightly lit
in rooms, we enter while we're there. 
But worst of all, to find them on
when we've been out, and such despair,

to wonder how that comes about??
For sure, it doesn't make much sense.
Do boogeymen have fingers that
can generate capacitance?


Sandra M. Haight

~4th Place~
Contest: Boogeyman
Sponsor: Nayda Ivette Negron
Judged: 06/02/2016

True Story!

"Touch-sensitive lamps almost always use a fourth property of the human body -- its capacitance. [kuh-pas-i-tuh ns] The word "capacitance" has as its root the word "capacity" -- capacitance is the capacity an object has to hold electrons. The lamp, when standing by itself on a table, has a certain capacitance. This means that if a circuit tried to charge the lamp with electrons, it would take a certain number to "fill it." When you touch the lamp, your body adds to its capacity. It takes more electrons to fill you and the lamp, and the circuit detects that difference." http://science.howstuffworks.com


Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2016

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Trust

It's so simple,
So basic,
Yet we lack it.
Interaction is nothing without it.
Unable to make a bond because the fact is,
We've missed the point.
The point that connects you and me,
And not just on a family tree;
That connects us all from A to Z,
And not just on eHarmony.

Trust.

Where did it go?
Or did we even have it years ago?
Afraid to go on the right track,
Because we might get stabbed in the back.
Locking our doors and checking it twice,
Like we're Santa Clause on a Christmas blight.
Putting a lock on our phone for protection,
Because your friends may use it as a weapon.
Hiding what belongs to us,
Because we lost our trust in all our lust.
But trusting each other is a must,
Because you cant spell trust without us.

Trust.

A firm belief in the reliability,
Truth,
Ability,
Or strength in someone.
Can you think of anyone?
I am sure you can,
Maybe the one that holds your hand.
But for how long?
I'm sorry but it's true,
People can back-stab you.
But this can change starting with you,
Because if you trust people,
They'll trust you.
You may get hurt but at least you'll live,
With your heart on your sleeve and something to give.

So let's break this cycle of deceit and start this world anew.
It doesn't start with them,
It starts with you.
Trust someone and you will see,
How great this world could be,
For you and me.
It's not that hard so don't make it be,
It's only the fear of the possibility,
Of losing everything.
Don't fear,
Trust.


Copyright © David Neuman | Year Posted 2014

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I Need Your Help Daddy

I’m tired
I’m Physically and Emotionally tired
I don’t want to be the strong one anymore
I can’t this time
I don’t know what to do Daddy
I need your help down here

I can’t get back in control of my emotions 
I’m having a hard time dealing with your absence
I’m having a hard time standing by myself
I need your help Daddy

I’m broken and lost without you Daddy
I need your will to want to carry on
I need your strength to over come this
I need your strength to stay standing
Your courage to fight back again
I need your help 

Please Daddy I’m at a loss
How am I suppose to do this
I need your guidance 
I need you to guide me back
To whom I was before
I need your help Daddy
I need your help








Copyright © Sabrina Niday Hansel | Year Posted 2013

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Behind Those Beautiful Eyes

Behind those beautiful eyes,
So much anger,so much mistrust,
Always expecting the worst,
Always conversing about the bad
things life has to offer,

Behind those beautiful eyes,
So much hurt,so much pain,
Bottled up bad experiences overflowing,
Crying to be unleashed,to be released,

Behind those beautiful eyes,
High expectation,countless plans,
Many things to still achieve,
So many things you still haven't done,

Behind those beautiful eyes,
Is a body,searching for comfort,
A mind,searching for peace,
And a heart searching for true love,

All behind those beautiful eyes.....


Copyright © Richard Palmer | Year Posted 2012

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Marionette Master

~Marionette Master~    

All my dreams evolve around my wooden floor
Candles and clowns the show must go on

~~~~

The Moon slowly moves its way into my room
Dust pushes through my window making shadow puppets on my walls
The talent on my walls dance, scaring my sweet dreams away
No cradle-songs tonight
Dangling artisans’ fingertips scratching down my core
Exquisite observation, an alley down “Death Street.”
Panic rattles my bone, 
Stuttering a taste of ma' ma' ma' mama' off my lips
Grandfather clock ticks with every pull of the string
Invisible jellyfish puppets swaying their feelers that sting my site
A superior skill eating away at my fear
I can’t breathe, 
I can’t move,
It dangles!
What can I do?
Carved Marionette figures locked in my head
A game in which trickery and deception are the main events
Staged with an evil sinister mask, sanctioning my nightmares. 
No one to rescue me from the danger of this bedside playground.
The puppeteer engages to provoke me with my own dolls.
A dramatic performance throttles my mind ……. 
I cannot come out from under my blanket,  
I cannot run,
My hands cannot reach the circus print lampshades!
A shadow show played in slow motion!!!
Realizing the moon can pull a world of strings with its own light

***

Suddenly, boney fingers from the sunrise show me the way…
I look down until my toes touch the cold wooden floor
I creep and creep,
Then I flick on my lamp.
The purple walls swallowed the orgy drawing inspired by the mooned night
A huge diversity of graphic illusions of puppetry in my room vanishes in one click
Mother please no more Pinocchio in my lullabies! ;-) 


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2012

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My Heart Sobs

I'm till struggling to connect with you...
It feels strange that you are actually here, and so near..
You...walked past me a couple of times,
Your eyes were glistening, sober, serious...
Rushing by as if something deathly important lie ahead
In that moment, I could hear my heart thrashing in my throat
A victim in a prison, desperately closing those eyes from the fear
Wanting...to reach out to you....
But not knowing how...

How will you ever know the tears I have shed?
How will you ever see the love and care in my eyes? 
Maybe we will never know what we could be...
Maybe I am lost in uncertainty's sea

But, please...
Don't walk by me...
No, not anymore...
My sorrowful soul holds its breath when you do...
And when you are gone again...
My heart sobs...


Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2014

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Paranoid love

Tell me that this fear is just paranoia in my mind, 
we're not straining, we're not struggling, 
we're not sinking, we're just fine. 
I'm not perfect my dearest, but damn have I tried, 
and I'll try harder but I know I'll have the same results every time. 
Do you want me all the ways that I am? 
With all the struggles and the tears and the clinging to your hand. 
I fear your getting further and Im left on the shore to stand, 
watching you in the distance with a bullet in my hand. 
Tell me all this worry, its just clutter in my mind, 
tell me not to worry that we're doing just fine. 
Cause Im scared to run you off and I feel Im falling deep. 
And Im so frightened of these thoughts that its getting hard to sleep.
All I know is that the heart wants what it desires, 
because of you the match inside has turned into a fire. 
And I feel the broken glass thats sticking from my skin, 
Wondering if you'll remove the pain or push it back in. 
My hearts frantic wondering if you feel the same, 
pleading and begging for more than just a saying, 
but to feel and to see that im not alone, 
with being in this love thats overwhelming. 
Once I told you that we didnt have a spark, 
but you were lighting up and I was sitting in the dark. 
And this fire, this blaze its wrapped in desire. 
Im terrified to lose you, I think I might die or, 
maybe disappear from all the pieces falling out, 
im going crazy but when i open my mouth, nothing comes out, 
and I cant explain to you why I just need to hold you close, 
why every time you leave Im scared to let you go, 
why these tears are building up behind my eyes, 
all I know is that the heart wants what it desires 
and it desires to be your wife. 
So tell me in my panic, that your words are true, 
tell my my dearest what I mean to you, 
tell me that this paranoia is all within my mind 
we're not struggling, we're not sinking tell me we're just fine


Copyright © Jay Loveless | Year Posted 2013

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BEFRIENDING FEAR



To release me from anguish, let's talk, Fear... I leave, yet your shadow follows me, a darkened coal blowing unto my mind like an invited guest from another realm. The tremor holds no clues but mirrors my image in you; realizing this now--I befriend those vicious whispers, and embed them in the sand. When confronted with a blink of light O Fear, you turn from rage to cowardice; I walk away, never to come back... rain tumbles, yet each drop shines. Feeling empowered now, your hunts lose as my soul claims the night, I’m no longer a pawn. Regina Riddle's Didactic Poem Contest 12/5/2014


Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2014