I have always been alone
I have always been the lonely one
In the corner, quiet and silent
Inside of dreams to come
So with determination
I build and build and build
Wealth is the only scorecard I know
Now, it’s amassed, and I have it all
So with pride and confidence
I do what anyone should
I must purchase a possession of my desire
I read in the paper of a sale very fine
A Garage sale of many old antiques divine
Within it all is treasure so very deep
A broken heart of golden hopes
I am not sure how one goes about
Such a purchase, of infinite value
I am succumbed with depression and sadness
For all my wealth
I have not the currency to buy this heart
So I burned my money that very night
I learned, there is another currency of delight
I wrote words and music and poetic verse
My Snow White she refuses to awake
Even my heart at the bone it shakes
Vaso the empty vessel of life
Learned there is no currencies at all
To acquire a broken heart
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016
The easel beholds a half finishing painting
The paints beside have all hardened
Pain reflected in the partial emptiness
Staring back at that gathered crowd
The sun melts on the canvas page
Creation explained in elapsed rage
Notions and pleas from dried paintbrushes
Strewn across the almost barren floor
One to the other in whispered voice
I wonder if this would have been his choice?
Empty wine bottles twirling in light
Beside the dead body, a painting just right
There lies Art
His final painting
His last prose
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2017
Falling down into
a dense, tangled mood
darker than the skies
at the midnight hour...
Leaving me caught
in infinite space
by hands on the clock
that grasp me and pull
to where the time goes...
Out of the blue
water washes the stagnant clouds
drop by clear drop
and the persistent wind
brushes them white again.
All the while, specks of light
appear to shine...
Hues mixing as pastels swirl
with shades much deeper,
diluting them down until
the blues begin to fade away...
Thoughts are suspended
for the moment,
only to float in midair
and out of the blue.
Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2016
Listen to the silence
the silent ... nothing
Silent screams of pain
loneliness that is currently
and loneliness luggage tomorrow
Slowly creeps into darkness
shadows as an eternal companion
The total feeling of emptiness, disappointment and sorrow
A longing for tenderness, touch and love
The butterflies are gone ... they've flown their way
Left me here alone - abandoned the covenant of love
Tears fall like silent thunder
Loneliness and fear behind the mask
The mask falls when the tears come
The silence of tears and sorrow
Swollen, teary and red eyes
Trying to catch a ray of angelic light
A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2013
It’s okay to leave the dishes in the sink,
to wash your hands with sanitizer instead of soap.
Your mother will joke
about how it doesn’t get your hands clean enough
but when was the last time you listened to her anyway.
It’s okay to cry today,
to use your sleeve instead of tissues.
It’s okay to take that thing that hurt you
and throw it out of the moving car,
just don’t go back to pick it up,
it’s not lost luggage,
it’s buried tumors.
It’s okay to hate God today,
to change his name to yours,
to grab the headstone with your mitten covered hands
and try to knock it over.
Throw the snow at it,
the roses have died.
It has been too long since the passing,
but I give you permission to hate God today.
It’s okay to break into the liquor cabinet
and medicate peacefully,
to drink too much sometimes
and not know where you’ve been
because you’ll eventually find yourself.
It’s okay to walk alone sometimes,
sort your thoughts,
to clear the air with air,
and dry the wounds with salt.
It’s okay to climb into bed early
and stare at the ceiling,
to just tell yourself that it’s okay.
Bold lines are taken from the poem Letter From My Heart to My Brain by Rachel McKibbens
Copyright © Katie Pukash | Year Posted 2013
If you are lonely watch the birds
In their freedom of flight--
Feel the warmth of the sun
Kiss your cheeks and smile
Visit the shore and listen to
The waves sing sweet songs
Close your eyes and smell the
Fragrant flowers of spring
Transport yourself through
Time’s great abyss
In memories of streams that
Flow with a youthful glow. . .
Dive in pools of aqua waters
Through your mind’s eye
Delight in the breezes playful
Mood as the trees sway in tune
Listen to the purr of a
Contented cat in your lap
Write a letter to yourself
And promise to answer. . .
Better yet write a poem,
One that will linger long
In someone’s lonely mind.
Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2010
Decades stretched a cord, across years,
up the stairs, and around chairs
coiling beyond the door of one small room,
groomed by the sun, of a Saturday afternoon...
I am floating on a sea of a hardwood floor
Prone, on my back, upon a lavender rug
Examining the nail of my left hand thumb
with a phone at my ear, a smile on my face
while you've glady expressed, how you've aced an exam
I confess how I've missed holding your hand
only linked to your kiss, by a small ivory phone
With a ring on my finger, to bind young love
Blinded in the eyes, from an innocent throne
Invitations in the mail, and a church on hold
There was a cake on order, and a brand new world
You were glued to my ear, I was wrapped by a cord
that tugged on the wall, with long-distance words
Light from the yard is scored by the blinds
but, there on the floor, prone on my back,
I'm bound by the cord that tethered our lives
Linked to your voice, where a future was wound
Hovering over the sea of cold hardwood,
I had a pillow of shag, of that lavender rug
The days would stretch shorter and our vows, on hold
till the cord became stronger, watching years unfold
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2013
Stop for a moment
And look past my face
Ignore the smile
And look into my heart
For it is there
It does exist
You just never bothered
To see it.
Lust in my eyes
You think you see
Look through the windows
And open the door
The joke that I tell
The wink that I give
The hair that I brush
Is not me.
Barriers I make
I put there to stop
People like you
From bruising my soul
You see what you want
And not what is real
Inside this bright wrapping
One who can feel.
You say stupid things
Like I am so pretty
It’s my parents I’ll thank
I owe you nothing
What I see in the mirror
Is of flesh and of bone
I don’t need that
I want to be loved
For how I would you
Not the car that I drive
Or the clothes that I wear
But for the care that I hold
And the passion I feel
The want to caress
When you walk through the door.
So before you approach
Please ask just one question
Is it me that you want
Or just my reflection?
The first would produce
A most bountiful love
The second, this mind
Just might be too much!
Copyright © Nicola Byrne | Year Posted 2016
This desk with its scattered papers,
blotted ink and unsealed envelopes…
passages penned and tossed
in the confusion that lives and breathes in my mind…my heart
Distance frames the walls of
the addressed…since canceled
Splintered dreams on the edges are worn,
time has shaved the moments…the places
on broken calendars swinging freely
of lost dates scratched within the numbered boxes
Sorrow carved in the fine oak grain
by an empty pen with dulling point…dented
Poetry sits meaningless
with rhyming phrases of hope…wishes…love
begging for but a brief visit,
only to be discarded between reams of teardrop leaflets
Verses formed deep within a vacant heart,
a lonely space, emptied by the loss
I write in an absolute mist,
fog induced renditions of another’s touch,
formulating in the same words…always the same words,
repeating in the darkness that sighs in rhythm of a flickering candle flame
Over and over,
echoing the halls of this barren heart
Shadows drain the breath
of hopeless desires…built on manicured dreams
within a world collapsing in shredded
prose, and fractured fingers, still writing
I am lost
Copyright © Chris Green | Year Posted 2016
Lonely is, the empty beach at dusk where sea gulls cry.
Lonely is, a road with snow, but not a single track to be seen.
Lonely is, the crowded street, feeling lost among strangers.
Lonely is, sitting on the park bench alone with people all around.
Lonely is, many other scenes to walk through, to be found.
Because lonely is - in the heart – where it resides from loss.
Lonely is to weep alone, to wonder who will understand.
Our hurts so deep, too deep it seems for anyone to care.
The times when maybe for some, there is no love at home.
So it takes courage to try new things, to find the trust again.
To give pieces of ourselves in ways to make a difference.
To not give in to loneliness that emerges from the ‘inside’.
Because love is waiting ever so patiently to open the door.
Copyright © Heidi Sands | Year Posted 2017
The Color Missing
Red, black, and blue are the colors of our work pens. Red is the color of the blood we spill on other people’s mistakes. Blue is the color of the songs we sing on tax forms or pay stubs- every page has a secret melody. Black is the color of the streets we fear most. Black is the color of our signature of approval. Black is the color of our death.
‘But what about the Green pens?’ I ask. They say ‘the ink is too hard to see.’
Copyright © Jacob Reinhardt | Year Posted 2013
sometimes i talk to myself,
my mind is racing,
i dont know what to do...
so hard to explain.
depression isn't a stage
or a faze some kids go through
it shatters you...
i saw it all.
she cried silent in her bed,
blood stains covered her favorite jeans,
her every shirt,
long sleeve ofcourse...
she suffered through it all with few people to call friend
and more to call enemy
even more to say where quite dissappointed....
her first name in school,
not started by a bully
or a mean rival,
but by her sister,
and it echoed through her soul,
repeating in her mind... over and over again,
like the ripples of still water
when a pebble is dropped
flash frozen in time
over and over again...
It was the first name they gave her,
millions where created over the years,
some repeating again, just as the first had..
gothic they called her,
emo, fat, ugly....worse things.
but in her mind, things where worse.
everything was repeating,
over and over again,
finally she believed it.
she asked for help, from everyone
tried to explain to parents she wasnt well,
got called a psycho for asking to see a theripist,
not from a teacher,
not from a class mate,
but from her own father, who wouldn't, couldn't,
believe there could possibly be a thing wrong....
finally, crying, she confessed her bloody secret to a teacher.
rather then giving her time,
she is sent back to class crying her eyes out, as if she wherent going through enough...
she is sent to the principals office a few minutes later, after breaking down in class...
the princlipal says she needs help,
sends her and her dad for a risk evaluation,
her dads crying as she shows him her cuts...
they walk into a hospital room,
it smells of chemicals and hand sanitizer,
the lady at the desk gives her a smile.
then she goes into a room with a lady,
her cheeks are sunken in and shes wearing way too much makeup,
the girl is gaging on her perfume,
and she looks really intimidating....
her dark brown hair looks dead and flat
even though its a bit wavy,
and she wears somewhat of a mocking frown.
asks her all these questions,
is mommy beating her?
is daddy raping her?
is she doing drugs?
is anyone beating her?
did anyone molest her?
oxcarbezapine, trazadone, citalipran, clinazapam, colonipan,
valium, lithium, more.......
and thats what they gave her,
some numbed the pain
some brought it out
tearing through her organs,
she became an addict by the time she was fourteen....
over dose after over dose
some for pleasure
some for pain,
gashes on her legs getting deeper,
this time she didnt tell a soul,
not even those she had come to call friends....
wakeup she screamed in her head over and over again
as she dropped weight like it was nothing....
you cant controll it she argued as things became worse.
at age fourteen she attempted suicide,
she didnt quite succeed.
the medication took away her aappitite....
she liked it
she hated her body
felt out of controll
found a new way to cope
as she shoved tooth brush after toothbrush down her throat
to keep her body from nuitrients...
as she whent weeks and weeks spitting food into napkins and making excuses
I ate at my friends house....
spoken as a whisper
heard like a sentance
echoing in her mind over and over again,
along with that word, all the words,
ugy, anoying, stupid, fake, worthless, nothing...
one bite she would say
rocking back and forth
craving nothing but food
her body racked with hunger pain
one bite and there she was again
over and over and over again
back to a toothbrush
this time she sees blood
she saw her ribs
she saw her bones,
it wasnt good enough,
she almost died, again....
choking on this deep dissappointment in herself,
gaging on everything they where pushing down her throat,
their words, and their insults, their criticism.... their drugs
all shoved down her throat like candy
and just as she was was trained to do she swallowed despite the bad taste
or the hurt
or the fact that at the rate she was going she would be dead soon...
and you know why?
because daddy yelled
and couldnt accept what was happening
not because he wanted to hurt her
but because it hurt him,
and she let him believe,
because she could take the hurt if it meant he didnt have too.
because mommy didnt want to sit in her room all day
practically having us raise ourselves,
she didnt mean to take anger, or frustration or hurt out on her daughter
she suffered everyday in her solitary confinement,
and from a young age she accepted her bedroom was the cage
her mother had created for herself.
because sister didnt want to effect her the way she did
she was just frustrated
fed up with the way things where
scared, she needed someone to take her cruelty
and to help heal her pain...
because people in school
who where so cruel
had to have learned from somewhere
and she wasnt going to play into their games,
and they knew she was an easy target
because she would never attack someone so weak
and she accepted her suffering was a sacrafice
to help all these people....
to help her dad,
every person who was beaten abused or hurt
and felt so weak at home they wanted to feel strong in the one safe place they had.
because depite the fact she had died inside,
and almost passed away on the out,
it was a saccrafice she was willing to make
so that no one else would have to feel that kind of pain,
and they all inflicted it and broke her down'untill there was nothing left but a shell
of somthing that could have been
and never had the chance
because she would take it and wouldnt strike back,
because sometimes "just taking it"
isnt so much about the weakness not to do anything
but about the strangth not to hurt others the way they hurt you...
Copyright © cassie hellberg | Year Posted 2013
There is one place in this lonely life
where I can run away to on this long, dark road.
Only the moon knows my way home tonight
and I hold the key to this door in my heart.
I see an open book still on the table
waiting for my eyes to read again,
and an inviting, marshallow-soft pillow,
offering to cradle my sleepy head
and uphold me in what dreams may come....
The warmth of home is where my heart is tonight.
(This poem was inspired by the song "Home Sweet Home" by Motley Crue.)
Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2015
Lonely days and nights of childhood
spent in tears, no comfort
wishing for a gentle caress, a peck
aching for the tender words
weary of the ignorance
my heart cries for the child in me
Unjust is the love that singles out a child,
the rest yearn, birthed by the same
as if a duty thats done and then
discarded to climb, no support to be lent
they wander till the end
my heart cries for them
where is the glory that the world sings
of motherly love and care
where is the justice that prevails
the right of every child
they sing of equality, when
at home the child feels unfair
oh ruthless world I beseech
prithee give a care.
© (12 May '15)
* Honorable mention in the contestShow me your spirit' by FJ Thomas on 19 May 2015.
Copyright © poesy relish | Year Posted 2015
In their dreams…
Whisper indoctrinated dialect
Upon my harrowing song
Remove that scented, plastic tulip
Place it upon my oblivious palm
As if we’re in a Sadie Hawkins dance
With petal currencies
I woke up only feeling like a thousand bucks.
A foreign knock-off made of recycled, rubber bolts
Tell me I’m priceless with borrowed, high-interest breaths
Liquidate my potent complacency
To become that symbol of an elitist humanity
Stroke that clouded, diamond tip
With your sensual thumb
Love stamps of approval
After 6 months of quickie penetration
And co-signatures on dilapidated apartment leases
Take me to our creator!
Tell Him I am free!!!
I will stand here in virtual observance!
Wait, where are you going?
Come back to me!
COME BACK TO ME!
My wheelchair’s batteries are fading!
How will I stand?!
Sadly, they never validated their reality…
©Drake J. Eszes
Copyright © Drake Eszes | Year Posted 2013
The moon so bold seems cold
with a halo of midnight glow
I sit mesmerized as the night grows old.
I bleed still, even after all these years
and I wait again through the night
aching in the depths of my soul
that no other seems to know
the Loneliness that has become my companion.
In the darkness we wait and confide in the other
our deepest fears as memories fade
in and out each season of change
the nostalgia tempers the wars of pain
this tempestuous foe of ours
wails at the gates of midnight
howling the warble of humanities last grace.
How the comfort of minds and hearts
turn from light to deep dark in the face
of eternities long time clock...
I ache with wanting, with need and passion
it is a lie that time heals and wounds scar
each night is fresh like the first
when I faced realities shock.
Who can wait with me?
Who can hold this hound at bay?
Who can cherish what little love left in me
and make the broken whole?
I ache to be loved again as the love that burns
and waits inside of me.
Who can comfort this emptiness and fill the void
that so many leavings have left?
Cherish and love to honor and protect
but who can slay these demons that hold my heart in wrath?
Who will walk the sulfur clouds of hell to save my mind
and deliver my world to the gates of heaven
with life, not death bridging the distance of pain?
I sit and wait at the floor of the moon each night
waiting for that bridge to carry me yonder,
this moon who hangs heavy and ripe with the yearning of my soul
with clouds aglow as if I could sweep them across a canvas
with the brush held in your hand
I rage at her as I wait, but still I wait and weep
as Loneliness and I keep each others company
wishing the clouds of that great moon could truly create
a way to find the lost, a pathway to home, lit by the legacy our love.
Copyright © tara jennings | Year Posted 2013
created not by God but man
harsh ridicule he endured
abhorring the mere site of him
people pursued a “monster” in perception only
carrying torches and weapons
angst festered within a tormented heart
sentenced to a life of agonizing loneliness
without committing a crime
abandoned by a thoughtless creator
his arduous trek to find him began
dwelling in caves, crying
hiding his hideous appearance
from a bitter world that rejected him
just one simple hope had he
find a companion to share affection
with prayers unanswered
suicide his only choice to escape solitude
broken-hearted, he faced demise in a conflagration
upon the northland’s glacial ice
cold as society’s treatment, hot as the fury in his heart
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2011
A truth in rage of insult furrows my mind
For it is only an offense given to me by myself
In the mouths of others far innocent than I
I feel the tears trickle down my cheeks
For I have surfaced into an ugly mistake
I am always inadequate in this brain
I try to shine like the advice of grace given
But confidence rarely rears its head my way
There’s a sort of shade blocking its way
A shade that darkens everyday
That very shade led me to believe my feelings are wrong
That I will never belong so long as they are not controlled
I must be careful—for the lines of love and lust run cold
I hate myself truly this night
And no one but myself will give me the right
The very right to degrade my every being
Because you are not seeing what I am seeing
There is no point
My lines run cold
Can I be so bold as to say
I still love with a pang of indistinguishable doubt
All feelings enter in
As my truth blurs and checks out
Your words pierce me so deep
I cannot describe the pain I feel
God it hurts so bad
It can’t be real
Much like the love I have come to embrace
The very love that links to your face
Tears don’t give it justice
It can’t be real
Much like the love I will never face
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013
Caving tears in the moonlight's shadow.
I wash the pain of yesterday's wound.
A shade of happiness drifts in the darkness.
I start to breathe in a crowded room.
I run fast, 'til I reach the horizon.
Eyes glare at me, I have nowhere to go.
I screw up all the pain this heart kept.
I'm giving up, I'm tired to blend.
Kneeling down, I summon love.
I searched for love myself, and I failed.
I am broken, impaired, can barely bend.
Bring me to life, where love exists.
Lay down my soul barely naked.
Grasp the thinnest air, I'm suffocating.
Sooner or later the pain will be gone.
The night will soon meet the sunshine.
Copyright © Aiyah de Torres | Year Posted 2015
Hounds from Hell take their toll on your soul
as you walk the mainstreet of mainstream
and watch Saturn and Neptune dance to a simple tone
of silence in the outer space.
As you sit in the middle of the world
free yourself from the sense of hopelessness,
only see yourself in the mirror of deception
as your reflection laughs at you and looks right through you,
and doesn't have remorse for what it says or does to you.
Hounds from Hell take your soul,
chock you, cut of your air,
the smog and fog blind you in the city of ash.
Hear the hounds from hell howl for your soul,
go now, barracade your soul behind sins and temptation,
Alone, listening to your soul die away,
watch love go away from you, with suitcase in hand,
picture frames broken and collect dust through the sands of time.
Till the cleaning lady comes on Monday, to clean the mess
that you left behind.
You are gone, without a trace of ever returning.
Looks of the Hounds of Hell came for you and stole you from
comfort and warmth,
till the sorrowed heart cracks and pain spills out
and you look at it all spill out over the floor.
The Hounds from Hell have paid a consumable harmage to you,
and your rich soul of sorrowness burns away... slowly.
Fear darkens souls,
innocent souls burn with a new day,
a slumber that has no end
with nightmares haunting every light of hope
there is left in this desolate Wasteland.
Fear and darkness tears a hole in the darkened universe
and we all go to hell to see the Hounds,
who come for us all.
The graveyards fill,
and death guards the tombstones of the dead,
and the flowers burn away on the feet of the dead.
Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013
I sit in your garden alone
Alone, thinking of yesterday
Yesterday the sun was shining
Shining on our perfect moment
For Nette's four line contest.
Being it was four lines I thought I would choose Visual 4.
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2015
The streets are gold and red with leaves
From the autumnal rains
Rain on windows glistens and returns
I wipe the fog from the glass
To see people with broken umbrellas
Walking towards a downtown train
Buses hiss and roar as they stop to pick up passengers
It is a hullabaloo.
Monet paintings reflect my emotions
Eyelids wide shut.
Can a moth make you insane?
It flutters around the flame.
It has a purpose.
Like the people on the street
We are all destined to end.
Yet we keep on going.
Knowing there is an end.
The droplets slowly make there way down
Inklings of death
The truth is not known
But the end is clear
I watch the leaves swirl
They are already dead
A season pasted
A season too early to have ended.
What is it that makes us tick?
The leaves move in slow motion
Lifting up towards the heavens and then….
Copyright © Stephen Kilmer | Year Posted 2015
Sometimes I laugh while reading in the library
Sometimes librarians come over and tell me to be quiet
Sometimes they ask if everything is okay
And always always I answer "yes"
Copyright © Brooks Lindberg | Year Posted 2014
It’s dusky and smoky in the room.
People are talking too loudly,
laughing at a joke of which
the punch line was lost in the din.
I shift my weight on the stool –
the dimensions not quite fitting my shape.
My skirt rides up my thighs.
I leave it there and pick up a stare
from across the room.
Not quite sure if it was meant for me,
I notice a slumped punter
lift his glass in a salute.
I nod and turn reluctantly back
to my half empty glass on the counter.
A cautious tap on my shoulder
quickens my pulse.
It is late and my head is fuzzy
from the G & T’s, but this attention
is most definitely meant for me.
He mumbles sweet nothings.
Well, that is what it sounds like
through his whiskey breath slurring.
He picks up my flimsy wrap
and drapes it over my shoulders.
The touch from another human being
feels good on my naked skin.
I let him kiss me on the lips
and do not protest
when he calls for another round.
I cannot remember when last
someone has sweet talked me.
It is getting very late
and the prospect of being alone
fills me with dread.
In the dark corners of the bar
people are trying to expel
the mutual fear of being lonely.
Persona Literary Term refers to the narrator or speaker of the poem, not to be confused with the author - a narrative voice other than the poet tells the entire poem. The expression derives from the Greek word "persona" meaning mask. When the poet creates a character to be the speaker, that character is called the persona and the poet imagines what it is like to enter someone else's personality. This is an example of a poem where I have used persona.
It usually reflects the thoughts of the speaker and they are not necessarily the personal experiences of the poet, ie the poet places himself in the shoes of the other person and comments on a scene observed. It is a difficult format to write in as as the poet needs to keep in character throughout the poem and it tends to deviate from the usual voice of the poet.
Copyright © Suzette Richards | Year Posted 2013
How can one express the baffling depths of obscurity?
How can one behold to open the shafts of the mind?
I have never been able to solve the mystery—
Of myself. . .
I wish at times that my life was no more
That I could live as another and finally see things right
But I am always stuck in this darkness
And I cannot see this mind in light
There are beasts. . .demons prowling through the wasteland
Searching for any remaining life
And if they are ever found—
They are doomed and consumed
Fear is their downfall and they never fail to smell it
Their ashes remain, dancing with the imaginary breeze
It is silent here—there are no answers
I wish there were answers. . .
But maybe there was never a reason
No answers. . .
Talons extend and clench around my heart
They will never seek me out—they left me here
It is like they knew…I had no reason—that was the answer
I feel the pulse of my dangling life
Alone in the dark, whimpering like a child
I have scared myself, becoming this dragon-daggered youth
No balm in Gilead!
No eyes to see
All I know will never be free
I don’t need anyone!
You are a disgrace—scum of the waste!
You have everything, you ungrateful little nothing
You are a joke. . .
So swallow it all up like the pushover you are
Stand your lowest and trudge right through
No questions. No answers. Just . You.
Or just lie back down into the mush of disease
It has already infected you to the core
Accept who you are, you ugly pestilence!
I hate you
Who are you to be glorified?
Dream snatcher. . .murderer of all things bright
Saturated in what you call light
I see right through—even as the reflections shatter
All of the dead kept you alive—they all matter…
But alive you are the worst there is
False savior—edited attention whore
I never want to see your face again
See, that’s why I hide. . .
Desperation. . .desperation. . .
I sob and cry kneeling in defeat
For once I am right. . .I am right
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013
People seem to hide their problems for a moment
I need some time on my own to kneel down and repent
Can’t wait till it’s all over, when this jealousy fades away
For now, let the sorrowful rain shower upon me this sun-shining day
I’m very lonely in my own skin and I have nowhere to go
So sorry for feeling the way I feel…I just want you to know
That I will be alright, as long as I have someone by my side
Catch my tears before they collide upon the cold floor…in the shadows, I hide
Nothing seems right anymore – I guess I am worthless to you
I need some motivation and some confidence along the way
Can’t stand dealing with me right now, but I’ll live with what I’m going through
No one sees me or mirrors my pain…God, just take it all away
Is there hope to find or am I the one, growing blind?
I feel like a loser when I find myself being left behind
I know, you don’t have to tell me – I was always meant to be a failure from the start
Born to be a winner in spirit, but I’ve lost it all…my faith towards you was my favorite type of art
I need to smile and laugh some, but somebody got to give me some love
I just don’t know what to do, living this lie that is below or above
Acknowledge the words I utter and graze in your own maze
People tell me, “Don’t worry…you’re just going through a tough phase”
How come God’s timing isn’t the same as ours? Sorry to question You so
The thoughts in my head are bewildering…wishing for Your gracious glow
I light up like a computer screen would, but there’s nothing to stare at
Just a worn-out mat, getting stepped on several times by heartless individuals…growing independent like a black cat
Copyright © JW Earnings | Year Posted 2015
people are like stars,
some are younger,
some are older,
some are brighter,
some are darker,
some are bigger,
some are smaller,
but in the end we are all the same.
shining bright with our personality.
dont care about what other people think.
its their own opinion.
be unique,be you.
you are who you are, and who you are is all their gonna get.
so shine like a star!!!
Copyright © mary youkhana | Year Posted 2013
Tragedy is never a sentiment for Time
For it is a phenomenon she merely sees
She pours forth abundance for all that behold her
Even for those of us that scold her
And for naught she was cursed from the beginning
There she is—interminable Time at the fullest!
And we all envy her ever-ringing constancy
She rules over our hearts
Keeping stress in our spirits
Not once does she feel sorry for us
Nor is she indifferent of our failures
She begs not for gratefulness
And accepts who she is with joy!
How ample we would be if we
Like she—were free of trepidation
If only we be like her waters—clear and visible from top to bottom
Filled with untainted approval
What fools we must seem to such a pure jewel as Time
But ah, she is both heartless and kind
And though we hate her peculiar aura
Oh how hard it is do tear her from our minds!
How stressfully beautiful Time is!
Like a wink of venerated bliss
She smiles and smiles
And our ironical faces feel like grime
Still she laughs in mirth
While the world becomes a ball of putrid hatred
Wanting more and more of her
And positively hating her
We that cannot see her began to hate
For we are as visible and low as can be
And we acknowledge her merely to insult her
Though she takes no pang to the chest
For the only gifts we give in return for herself are pangs
That she simply returns to each sender
Hidden is our pride
But ever placed
Is our inscrutable mortality
And this humiliation of our unchangeable fates
Makes us want to humiliate the more fortunate
Thus we regard her only as a concept
As a fraction of a belief—a bellowing ideal
For of course Time cannot in our honey-glazed eyes
Think, eat, drink or feel
We use her—yes! Even abuse her
Not once will she complain
For her gift is everlastingness
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013
The CAPTCHA took me by surprise tonight
Letters became ghouls in my mind’s eye
I listed them—
Noted them; words...begging, crying out for me
CAPTCHA was merely mocked
By millions of viewers on keyboards
I imagined all—
Tears began to fall
How may I help you, CAPTCHA?
Are you merely what they say?
Is there more—
Tell me, I pray
You bewilder my senses with your emptiness
The computer became my way to you
But all I could do—
I began to imagine someone stuck in CAPTCHA
A place where they harbored the weak
They took what they pleased—
Allowed them to speak
Today it was happening and evermore
There was a reason I came to know
I want to know more
I swallowed air and typed in the words
Feeling worthless and absurd
I began to believe—
There was more to this irrational dream
The screen went black and then I was sure
I couldn’t doubt it anymore
The CAPTCHA wanted me—
The letters suddenly blurred and unseen
Let them go
Full of woe
Take me now
Tell me how to
Set them free
Knowing is free
Knowing is free
For years I have copied your codes
Knowing you are there
Crying in the dark pit of despair
Though empty your words are to me
They are all I hear
All I fear—
In four letters on this electric trap
What am I to do?
To follow would weary my soul
Would take its toll
What is this foreign word my dear?
Oh, how can you cut and paste it in my mind so clear?
Close your eyes and count to ten
The victims of the CAPTCHA remain a mystery to us all
Yet still we stare at the codes and merely imitate them
We are zombies staring our lives away
Trapped in CAPTCHA’s claws
Sad, deprived. . .
I speak your language to stop this cruelty:
THEE 2TRUE TH78 IS9X BEF4 HOUR VERY EYES
Though we choose not to see
We choose not to fight
We choose only to IMITATE
We merely copy and paste
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013
Thought that I knew you so well
my heart thought that she
knew you even better
like a change of season
you’ve moved on
twilight comes and lovers go
each brings a change of heartbeats
and it looks like I’m in for
If I thought you would stay
perhaps I would promise to love you more
but it was not me who turned
and it is you walking away with my heartbeat
so now you’ve decided to move on
not a real word not even a truthful reason given
I guess reality is coming through
now that your invisible I can finally see
the true colors of you
Fifteen seconds counted out
one second at a time may be all
that I can handle for a long long time
I went to my knees for you…only you
and you still walked away
could you not feel could you not hear
that I’m now silent and been broken
but these tears are not about you
it is about my lost trust in me
Knowing now that every heartbeat
takes me one breath farther from you
I will pull through for I’m a survivor
time may never erase the empty shadow
left in my heart because of you
I want you to know
…. I need you to know
that I don’t do well
in lonely weather
Dedicated to CD on her rainy day!
Copyright © Michael Poyntz | Year Posted 2010