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Best Poems Written by Aaron Mcintosh

Below are the all-time best Aaron Mcintosh poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Details | Aaron Mcintosh Poem

The Hero I Don'T Deserve

Hey, my name is Aaron and I am kinda a modern day superhero

Now I know what you’re thinkin’

Okay, this guy? A hero? Like with powers and skills?

Nah but before you think further hear me out.

Yes… I don’t have money like Stark or Wayne

I don’t have a back story like Peter Parker and definitely not a love interest like Mary Jane.

I don’t have a super serum or gamma radiation to explain the chemical imbalances in my brain

My super hero name is not catchy or personifying.

Normally it comes along as,

“Dude”

“Brother”

“Son”

“Dad”

But you see I know how it feels to not be able to save the ones you love most,

To always try and do the right thing but still fail the ones closest to you.

When other's worlds are falling apart I’m always the planet they land on

Now what I do have is a secret identity,

Hiding the pains and struggles I bare to bare the problems of those who can’t themselves.

While Ironically not wanting to put the burden on someone else because I feel I’m strong enough and the traumas others go through are way worse than mine.

My super powers aren’t swinging from roof tops or having my fiery flaming eyes glistening,

Mine are as simple as loving and listening.

Never judging and forever being understanding,

Fighting the villains that are your biggest weakness that have no effect on me.

You see,

Depression, Anxiety, mental tortures

Family traumas and mental disorders

Those of which I’m immune to like superman to bullets,

Now I do have a kryptonite.

losing site on the ones closest to me because I go out of my way to try and save others.

Because even though my life is impossibly knotted,

If I can still manage to untangle someone else’s and hopefully inspire them to be the light they want to see in this villainous world, then I know I have done what I’ve been called to be,

To be the hero I don’t deserve.

Details | Aaron Mcintosh Poem

I Miss

I miss the remedies of our past selves,
I miss the extract of blight from the tip of your lips.
I miss your abstract sunrise tumbling down your shoulders,
I miss the offset emeralds looking outward.
I miss our blaze that once caught the world on fire,
I miss the passionate extremities of our youth.
I miss the quite afterthoughts of the nights spent together,
I miss the way you removed me from my paradox.
I miss our alikeness, our kindled spirit,
I missed your final words.
I miss,
I missed.

Details | Aaron Mcintosh Poem

Social Status Effect

Miscommunication, is fabrication of reality
When actually it’s a matter of perspective.
She was a standout, with a name similar to yours
With pure intentions, painful convictions but losing to her own dispositions.
Deprivation of her moral mentality structure crumbles
Caused by misadventures of her past life
Blighted with horrific memories
Tragic upsets that shake the very foundation of her soul.
Lead by the goals of our society
To keep the mindset that anxiety… controls you
But who understands?
Those who demand you to over expand your capability of toleration to your demons?
Pharmaceutical apprehension to be your companion in this never-ending struggle?
School systems have programs
That program you to say
Everything’s okay
Just get over it and move on
But you see there is no off switch to pain
No preset to reset her experiences
The hand that she felt
A seatbelt that would strap her into a horrible roller-coaster ride of misery
You see, there is something wrong with this picture
Its missing something
Someone…
You?
Maybe everything that she needed was a frosty before third period on a March afternoon
Or maybe, an almond milk macchiato on finals week at Delos across the street
Or even an acquainted silence of tears while she spilled her heart on the dashboard of your car.
She needed a home
No not a bed to sleep in with complimentary breakfast
No!
A resting place
That’s laced with people who care to hear the response of how her day is,
Or how’s she’s doing in school
Or why is there scars on her…
Arms to be held in when she needs comfort.
Sometimes we’re the only savior that people see,
But what saviors are we when we’re preoccupied with our own self-indulgence of social media.
Temporary satisfactions from addictions ever going,
Distracting us from having true meaning in life.
We need to make a stand,
To withstand this generational curse.
Of carelessness of peoples pain,
But first, let me update my status.

Details | Aaron Mcintosh Poem

The Scarlet Rose

To love one so fair, is but a mystery to me,
To be able to charish someone, Tis' a fantasy.
Her hair as autumn as the sunrise, that rises from the east,
Down to her smile as crescent as the moon so sweet.
Shining bright as her personality, so caring, so gentle.
All was bliss until the painful crescendo,
Holding her hand while death leaves his sting.
All the while gazing into her viridescent forest,
Watching the fall consume her spectral spring.
Alas my scarlet rose! may heaven celebrate your harvest,
While the master mends my sorrow.
I'll be spending my days in the garden,
Awaiting to see thee in the morrow.

Details | Aaron Mcintosh Poem

Father Time

My shelter, my Patriarch, that has showed the way for me,
Through great words of wisdom and personal misery.
I see the struggles and trials that he goes through daily,
Fighting the enemy by tooth and nail just to keep from going crazy.
Amazingly he wins by the grace of God,
But it’s the grace of God that keeps him together faithfully strong in his arms.
Disarming the enemy with every testimony ever spoken,
Because through his brokenness he has overcame.
No longer ashamed but renamed by the King,
Bringing forth all of his problems to be whiped clean.
So, with every ounce of strength he’s given me,
I will live through my father’s instructions.
Deconstructing every trap and chain placed in my way,
Because he has set the path for me on this father’s day.
Though there will still be pain,
And there will be storms that the serpent has planned.
But I have no worries; my dad can take it, 
He’s superman.

Details | Aaron Mcintosh Poem

Good Times

Antique couch on a
Maple wood floor that
Smelled as of an
Aged memory. 
Revealing and unraveling
Good incense of sweet 
Years of youth where
Not even death can
Reap 
Old stories,
Timeless calamities,
Ever longing,
Laughing.
Sweet love now
Sealed with
Decades as lockets
Embedded on Front St.

Details | Aaron Mcintosh Poem

The Serpent-Part Two

Realization

Fear is cancer’s preservative,
As Embalming fluid to the living.
And you, oh accuser,
Are fear’s embalming salesman.
You are a snake,
Paradox bound.
Wrapped around the rod that binds you,
Depraved.
Attempting to free itself from its own fault.
Deceiving and deluding all who come near,
Nothing but a false symbol of repose.
Biding its time until the sirens sound.


Grace

I don’t need to focus on death,
Studying it and its slow progression.
Its course is clear already,
But when death is circling close.
That is when redemption finally feels closer,
That’s when Jesus’s glory steps in.
It is a mighty rushing wind,
 Quick and frightening
Ever so fierce to eradicate,
The sickness of chains ever going.
I want to be watching for that glory,
To set my boy free from this purgatory.



Resolution

So here we are,
The air is emptier without his laugh.
But yet our hearts are full,
Though, with a different drink.
Now this ride that I was on is now silent,
So we sit here in this new silence.
And long for the music to start again,
And for the disc to spin again.
Even if it means going round and round for years,
At least I would be moving.
And he would be laughing in heaven,
But in this space.
His silence is because he is drawing his breathe,
And now I know love.
Empty and full, all in one moment.

Details | Aaron Mcintosh Poem

The Serpent-Part One

Memories

I dwell on so many events of the past,
So many things I’d like to do.
But so few words to say,
Pondering what he loved.
Playing with the leaves fallen from the branches of the willow
“Rees”
In bath tubs and lakes or in rain clouds above
“Wah-wah”
And warm wet tongues and soft fur of
“Dahs”
Who am I to him?
“Dah-dah”

The meeting

Whenever they ask detailed questions,
I’ll nod my head.
Devouring and digesting every Latin word,
Hoping it will stick to my ribs.
If I ask enough questions I can get my mind around the serpent,
So I can choke the life out of it.
I’ll ask all the right questions,
It’ll impress them with the way I handle all of this.
If it were like the movies I’d be emotional,
Throwing chairs across the room.
Begging
Wanting a different conclusion to what the white coats say,
I just want this to end…


Sinking

Four months given,
I’m tempted to despair.
Because self-inspection leads me to conclude,
I shouldn’t expect much of anything.
Drowning
Under the ocean,
Silent and warm.
The sunset looks pretty from here,
Vibrant orange glow set on the waves above.
It’s better than the silent colors of this hospital,
Blues and greens
The people who choose the colors that heal.
Green for life?
Blue for comfort?
Purple strips to hide the stains.
Horrific cries
Wanting to hold him close in my arms,
To take this misery away.
Glowing particle emission, with such harmonious discord,
To keep death at its bay.

Details | Aaron Mcintosh Poem

Inspired

Inspired…
It feels good to me,
To be alive in oneself, to be set in actuality.
Free from worldly expectations and corporational thoughts,
Able to set goals for oneself, let loose from wrought.
Distraught, and set into motion by the world’s needs,
Told how to live one’s life through social media and news feeds.
Agreed fear of change when change is the preset,
To reset, everything our parents raised us to become.
To change us into a social class clone.
Indifferent, numb...
Overcome, Victory!
It lives again, in every man’s heart,
To revive what has been torn apart.
Like water, rushing to bring alive the right,
Insight to be more than staying up on these sleepless nights.
Enslaved to an addiction, with emptiness as chains,
Explained by syndromes, fancy medical conditions. 
Convictions no longer ashamed of the change of the reanimation of his title.
Idle regurgitation of all the foul slang and the hate and the pain.
No longer conformed but transformed by his Name.
To be set free, to be…
 Me.

Details | Aaron Mcintosh Poem

Letter To the End Game

Hope, that sounds so familiar to me,
I remember whenever I was a kid and it was so new to me.
Something fresh when the world had color, 
Now everything seems so dark and bitter.
Considered walking with Jesus? Used to be all me, I used to followed him faithfully.
Now look at me? Without an ounce of faith left,
I can't believe how long it's been since I've slept.
Left without ease and these torturing thoughts going through my head,
Embedded, wishing I was dead, Lifeless how I feel,
Just without a grave to lay my head.
What are you saying Aaron? Have you lost your mind?
 Man, that's the only thing that talks sometimes.
Wind chimes of voices that rots inside my head with its own thoughts.
 Wait, thoughts? Its own? That can't be right,
 You know what? I'll just leave it alone.
No rue anemone like the walking dead, except this is real. 
Dealing with being dead inside, following the crowd, they'll be by my side.
Besides, I just want to be like them, you know? Fit in with the crowd,
Drowned, lost in the beam of flask.
Masked by running my life with how the world’s current flows, 
Now that current has come to a halt,
Distraught, drowning all alone.
What about getting stoned? That'll bring you higher than those thoughts.
Yeah maybe so, change might not be bad.
Man was that sad, sitting against the wall,
Above the law, turning up on school nights.
Despite just sitting there pathetic, with no might,
No will to face the truth, no authority to face the facts.
All this is just an act in the theater called hell,
Jezebel laughing at me, sit as a jester in chains.
Restrained, no longer a threat in the Devils eyes,
Hypnotized, trapped with no out.
"Salvation”
What was that that I just heard?
Birds of white echoing down the road long ago,
Back when I was younger. 
That Hunger, I remember now, the old preacher talked about, 
"Salvation,"
There it goes. How can I come back? Until I heard the voice,
"Redemption"
Preemption of that which was familiar back then.
It became clear to me.
I was the victim, of deaths and sins sting.
I was the sheep that put him on the crucifix. 
I labored in sin and he took my shift.
Holes made in his wrists as our spots were switched,
Enriched by the last the letter to the end game.
Tetelestai,
My savior has set me free.