Best Anxiety Poems | Poetry

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

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New Anxiety Poems

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

Anxiety a monster by pennell , stephen
Anchors of Anxiety by Sizemore, EJ
anxiety by macleish, maddie
Anxiety by Marks, Hunter
Anxiety by Chiri, Brenda
My Anxiety For You by Capo, Veronica
an ode to my anxiety by macleish, maddie
Anxiety by Gentile, Mike
Anxiety by French, Jonathan
Overcoming Anxiety and Depression by Jones, Jessica
This is my Anxiety by Young, Rebecca
Anxiety by schrody, John
Anxiety Too by Barker, Heath
Anxiety by Barker, Heath
ANXIETY LINGERS IN MY MIND by Emery, Judy
Anxiety by Dillon, Jenny
Anxiety by Campese, Tricia
Anxiety by Bdosa, Vee
Social Anxiety by wadley, kewayne
anxiety by jones, jack

View all new Anxiety Poems

The Best Anxiety Poems

 
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Frozen Noose

Anxiety    (The Worst Noose In Town)

-- like flooding waters, creeping in
I count 30, seconds, holding my breath again
Drowning in agitation, overwhelmed by fear
I try to hide the pressure in hopes I don't pass out
My pores are soaked, from all the perspiration
I feel the pins and needles pushing in
My skin is ruined from all the peeling
At this point, I can't seem to win

Washed out by dead hope and desire 
My soul is lost searching for a shore
leashing, grasping and ripping the chest wide
I count 40, seconds, once nausea can't be blocked
Everything about this moment is driving me mad,
I need to escape, however, my knees are too weak
I tremble while losing control to the emotional distress
My knuckles are pale, detached from reality,
wounds forced with further embarrassment.
Guaranteed failure surrounds my day
Numbness strikes my very essence - I can't move!

Lost in a room, 
Therapy - even so I feel singled out


HAPPY VALENTINES (it can get the best of us)  
---------------------------- love Linda


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2016

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Depression

Unending darkness floods the skies alone in dreams my heart must weep no words are spoken or even cried such silence lives where shadows sleep My pleas just echo off the stillness my tears find no comfort as they fall my hope stands as a martyred witness I pin no exit from this pall Turn your head and spare no time leave greater credence to lesser thoughts take what is said in this poor rhyme add to your bed of forget-me-nots Think only of what should have been No lesser loss, this mortal sin.


Copyright © Charlie Smith | Year Posted 2017




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What I Have Done

A heart filled with nothing
A mind that thinks not much
A soul that runs on empty
A body that craves no touch


Is just an empty walking shell
With an attitude that cares less
Is just a person with no will left
And a life she's made a mess


Copyright © Brenda Chiri | Year Posted 2017

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Anxiety

This is what it feels like to have your heart racing 
and not knowing when or if it will ever slow down.
Your fatigued body can not keep up with its rapid thumping against your chest,
you’re winded after climbing a flight of steps. 
Just the thought of tomorrow leaves you gasping for air,
only its not refreshing like the first breath you take 
after being plunged under water.
It’s tight and sharp
as if your lungs are collapsing in their cage 
like two popped balloons hanging lifelessly in your chest.

This is feeling like your socks are filled with stones
and the world is zipping past you on roller skates. 
This is being a day ahead on your calendar,
never learning to live in the moment
and letting your life slip under your shaking feet. 

This is storing your past in the corner of your closet,
hoping the clutter won’t occupy the space for your self confidence,
but every now and then it likes to creep out to remind you it’s still there. 
This is remembering the time you fell off your bike in fourth grade,
or when you were tongue tied in front of your crush at age thirteen. 
You can piece events from your life together through flashbacks
that will come when you least expect it.
A flood of past emotions, still so vivid and alive,
rushes over you like a monstrous wave in the ocean
that sends you off your feet and spits you back out,
salty and heaving for air. 

This is living in a dream state,
one you wish you’d wake up from
so you can feel the ground beneath your feet. 
This is instability of the body, heart and mind.
This is learning to walk again,
carefully thinking through each step so you don’t send yourself falling.
This is questioning yourself constantly,
wondering if everything you’ve set your heart to is worthwhile,
because, afterall, your mind has been impaired by your drowsiness
of nights staring at a dark ceiling,
not knowing what is holding you from rest.

This is operating on fumes,
slowly disintegrating into just flesh and bone,
losing your focus and strength to your clouded head
and aching heart. 
This is worrying so much about what has yet to change,
that you don’t have the conscious to take a look at what is changing,
to see the nothingness that you are slowly evolving to.

This is trembling hands,
this is stuttered words,
this is the inability to unclench your tense fists.
This is independence.

This is holding yourself at gunpoint,
and not knowing which side to surrender.
This is being the enemy
and the survivor. 

This is telling yourself, “It’s going to be ok”,
but not believing in the words you use
to try to soothe your rigid body. 

You don’t know if you will be ok.
You have lost control over yourself 
before you had the chance to try and grab the wheel. 
You’ve become so attached to what is to come,
the thought of what has captured you may never cross your mind. 

Maybe one day you will learn that there is no use in trying to run from the beast,
for it will shadow your every move. 
And maybe one day you’ll learn that to stab it would be a mistake
because you will find yourself with bloody hands and a dying heart.


Copyright © Kaitlyn Fox | Year Posted 2015

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I got a letter from the devil

(Hello, my sweet friend!)

Speaks in unknown tongues 
Nevertheless it will consume
Ask for food, 
A sweet drink 
The hunger and thirst are real
It's pitchfork aims at my free will 
Seeking and freaking through my pages 
It's been ages since the impression was gone 
Sloppy wording crawl under my hide 
Notification triggers my finger and thumb 
Bang! The evil one exists
With a second-hand letter 
It believes, it should never be forgotten

Numb as Novocaine can be 
I watch and interpret the riddles in every line 
Living and breathing art, 
I'm echoing the same nightmare 
How dare, the devil seeks to be fed! 
Screaming and remembering 
--the demons that linger in its head 
Too much to read, 
I have major troubles with your disease 
Lunacy of the universe 
Open Obituary, you are a curse
Like a transparent note from a fatal fax machine 
It's a calling, unbearable to describe 
Take from me, after I am deceased 
Like fire, it burns, cancer in every star 

Lies to 
Greets to 

My eye twitch 
My soul hurts 

I'm not feeling well 
Take care, 
Leave me the HEll alone


(-*-)


Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2015

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Contest Surprise

 I wrote a poem for a contest
    And it got some great comments
 I thought it was one of my best
      I felt very confident

 Soon the contest was judged, the winning list came out
       Victory was not in doubt
 I scanned the winners list from the middle down
        I thought my poem would have placed
 But I soon began to frown 
         My name wasn't there ....It was as if I wasn't even  in the race!

     Can't win 'em all I guess
            No need  to stress
   But when I went to my inbox and saw "Congrats on your win"
          I thought they made a mistake
   So I scanned the winners list once more
          Then suddenly I stopped...
      I was surprised for sure
          My name was the first one on top!



Copyright © Joseph May | Year Posted 2014

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Change The World

I imagined this world a far better place
Hunger and sadness removed every trace
The wars had all stopped there was peace on Earth
Joy accompanied every beautiful birth

People all listened when wise men did speak
The bold and the beautiful were equal to the meek
Status was less important than truly being kind
People were not hurtful when they spoke their mind

Strength was measured by the good we would do
We thought of the many and less of the few
Work was a pleasure no longer a grind
By doing what we loved we nourished the mind

We chose here and now we didn't live in the past
Time was less fleeting each moment did last
We enjoyed all the people who were part of each day
There was time for relaxation we learned how to play

From my imagination I learned more as I thought
Things might happen slowly but they can change a lot
The best way to begin is to be a better me
To not think of other people as my enemy

Force has never worked it has led to more hate
What some think is inevitable doesn't need to be fate
You may think me naive yet that's not the case
Fear is the enemy that we need to erase!


Written April 12, 2016
For Dan Kearley's Contest.





Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2016

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Naked Subjugation

Last night I wandered past your total disregard
And walked forlorn 
Stark insecurity amplified
Still I walked , my usual forebearance uncomplied

Upon furthermost the distance between us  elongated
The sustenance of forgotten stores inside me generated
I was venerated - nay subjugated
Of these morsels congregated
And fed me through those inkblack nights
In dewfall of the quiet
Inside unheard the rebel riots

As my breath became a billion
As my fears that I embraced
Loosed themselves and fearing fled
Melting in the murky bellows
Did I find my standing there...
Naked but for meekness laced
Forgotten was my fear
I needs you dId not anymore
Nor your disregard this doggone day 
Not dejected as before
Only sin has me surrounded
And soon encircled dissappears,decays
Unclothed in limped insignificance
Nothing said ...
So still your body lies


Copyright © Jannie Breedt | Year Posted 2017

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Charlottesville

I saw Nazis march yesterday
upon the streets of Charlottesville.
And with swastikas on display
crazed members chanted blood will spill.

I saw Satan grinning with pride
at racial slurs shouted in hate.
And bigots standing by his side
help the violence escalate.

I saw torches light up the night
snaking through the black neighborhoods.
And skinheads looking for a fight,
all they were missing were white hoods.
 
I saw white supremacists proud
of drawing blood and spreading fear.
And a car plow into the crowd
its intentions perfectly clear.

I saw President Trump place blame  
on both sides for this killing spree. 
And a shocked nation reel in shame
at how callous he seemed to be.

I saw what might be the end of
tolerance and democracy.
For mantras of hate replaced love
with smugness and hypocrisy.


Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2017

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With Angels Wings

"With Angels Wings"

The whispering winds, a song they sing

A song of sorrow and of a heart so big 

Your love reaches as far as the eye can see

I believe in dreams because in my heart, you beat

Just as a gentle breeze shimmers every leaf

Your love, in every heart, plants a seed

Elegance, love and hope is what grows beneath

And this is your gift to us....

For safe keeping.

So...if you ever wonder why heaven sings

It's because now you fly...

      With Angels Wings


Copyright © Rob Schulteis | Year Posted 2014

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When Madness Rides on Moonlight

Days pass into the weak, loveless nights. The moon blinks.
The stars swirl beneath Van Gogh’s brush, as he links.
Comet light passes twisting cypresses, a schizophrenic’s concussion.
On and on, the wind twirls the trees, and does not complain,
nor, does the cosmos cringe awaiting reciprocation.
Lightning bugs mimic the stars. Atoms sneer.

Those who spout love and friendship abandon him, sneering.
Their images dance beneath his lids, when he blinks.
Though denied a compass, his soul does not reciprocate.
Through pain, physical and mental, he still connects, links
with the life which absorbs and excludes him, not complaining.
Nights pass without his mistress, Sien. His mind is concussive.

His face trembles torn in the brass sounds of the storm’s concussions.
The butcher, the baker, the candlestick-maker, all of them, sneer. 
How unmerciful, this cycle, this God to whom he does not complain.
If lack of mercy is just, may he not know why? Time blinks.
Thinking causes pain. Only painting connects him, he links.
He accepts art and the pain, as gifts, choosing not to reciprocate.

Voices, the paint, the moon, the voices say, reciprocate.
He chases mice. The cheese plate falls with a loud concussion.
He rubs his gnarled hands across his lids. He maintains the link. 
How? Why? But, the mice eating his cheese only sneer.
The sunflowers shimmer and wiggle in their vase, as he blinks.
Stumbling, he falls attempting to sit, the chair does not complain.

He had thought God clear as sunlight; yet, the paint complained. 
He was not God; he could not capture the light. He must reciprocate.
After all, who was he, but a mere man, ashes to dust; life blinks.
Ah death, le grand mal, no minor concussion,
He must escape, join the celestial spin, and avoid their sneers.
Sick, yes, sick to death of not being understood, not linking.

The brushes call. He prostitutes himself. Oil spills, connecting, linking.
Theo, brother, never would he forgive. Many others would complain.
Ah, Gauguin, His dear friend, he would understand and not sneer.
If God was truly a loving God, surely, he thought; God will not reciprocate.
The mockers who did not live in Dante’s nine levels of hellish concussion,
they will call his actions cowardly. Merciless, they did not live between the blinks.



Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2015

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Come Hell or High Water

She looks out the window and sees him in the distance. 
So much fear inside leaves no room for resistance. 
If she ran right now she might be able to get away. 
With every broken rib she's nothing more than a cliche. 
She was once a strong woman, and could stand on her own. 
Now he's broken her will and more than one bone. 
Run, run, run her mind screams in shear terror. 
She unlocks the door without so much as a prayer. 
Maybe this time will be different and he won't be mad. 
Somehow she has to tell him he's about to be a dad. 
She should have taken that card and called the hot line. 
Her whole world changed as soon as she got the plus sign. 
If she can make it thru the night she'll pack up and leave. 
Somewhere deep inside she knows that's only make believe. 
She's his till the end, come hell or high water. 
There's nothing anyone can do about the oncoming slaughter.

                    The National Domestic Violence 
                          Hot Line 1-800-799-7233  


Copyright © Scott Williams | Year Posted 2016

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Broken In Me Reigns

Broken In Me Reigns

There is a place from deep within
where I hide my hearts pains.
A darkened room off by itself
where the broken in me reigns.

The hinges all rusted in place
where seldom is love spoken.
Still the hurts they come and go
the windows are all broken.

On rainy days it seems set free
those memories all roam.
Then late at night again alone
it seems they all come home.

There were times much younger then
I couldn't stop them but I'd try.
Older now and wiser too
I hang my head and cry.

For you can't let go of certain things
that life has put you through.
It's just no use to let go
when it's holding on to you.

So if you see I've lost my smile
tears are what remains.
It's just I've slipped off by myself
where the broken in me reigns.

Edwin C Hofert


Copyright © Edwin Hofert | Year Posted 2015

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THE TIGER IN YOU

They always tell you, you are strong, Time and again. While you know they are dead wrong, Through your pain. You never had a decent choice, Had to disappear. No free will, no life, no voice, Just hurt and fear. You never knew the tiger in you, He slept too long. Until he roared you had no clue You became so strong. *** With searing rage you flee the cage, You free your mind, And let despair turn into rage, And then you find There is a world outside that hell For you to roam. Turn into stories you can tell, You can go home. They used to tell you, you are strong, Time and again. And now you know they were not wrong... You beat your pain. *** January 28, 2017 © Darren White


Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2017

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What's In The Urn

           What’s In The Urn

Strangers offered me to join them in a drink
I met them on a mountain edge while skiing
They seemed like friendly normal people then
So what could happen in a simple cabin?

Finding that which is not there or vanquished
What is there that cannot be perceived?
Placed upon the mantel piece are ashes in the cabin
Brass vase, a receptacle for lost souls sits in repose

A death vase to glare at over cognac
By the sober flames cast by
A fire place glow observed in action
Liquid spirits pour out their poison

In the cozy living room inside the cabin
Drinks alone cannot remove this feeling of distraction
The urn is piercing through my soul
People belong in cemeteries you know

With all due respect for the dead
Scatter them at sea when they‘re deceased
Not paraded around in gloom to cause unease
Or as a center piece for living rooms 

I’m not relieved to find it is a lizard on the shelf
To be exact, an exotic iguana family friend entombed 
And to assume that fact makes this matter optimal 
I beg to differ on that point and voice my opinion later

There must be a plot of ground outside 
Or toilet somewhere to flush it down
But better left unsaid, as they are bereaved about the death
And I am their invited guest

Iguana tried consuming the family’s cat
Another favorite  pet I guess
It is surmised, that’s how it met its end
Wound up expired inside the urn
                                                                              
The receptacle was there and going nowhere on its own
I swear it follows me from room to room
By embers glow and ash, shadowing my every move
A brass smile casting off the urn, leaving me concerned 

I could not take my leave
The container followed me
So I waited, fixated on the thing
Is it coming back to life to eat more bugs or me?

Finding that which is not there
Is easier in the dark                                                                                     
Rising to the occasion of the day that breaks
I must escape the premises to continue skiing 

Into the frozen world outside I fly
With no discernible signs or paths to lead or learn
I get away, no time to say good-byes or find my way
Never again will I say; what’s in the urn



Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2014

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Wind Whispers

Near the cliff's edge he stood
poised and composed. Wind swept dust
whirling ozone mingling thyme,
tickling his half-clogged nose.

Seagulls screeching,
gliding, soaring, diving,
harbingers of electric storms.

A mistral wind blew cold and cruel
black clouds formed low, forbidding.
Lazy lizards scuttled for refuge 
Sparrows hid in lowly carobs
Or flew into the stately pines.

The wind spoke suddenly.
Gusts whispering dread.
An urge, a whisper, an invitation
echoing sirens of old:
"Be free, fly, liberate yourself."

Below, the sea in turmoil,
no fishing boats in sight.
No one but he dared face the storm,
the storm he feared 
was inside his tattered soul,
a sea of torment.

The birds and creatures of the wild
found a haven, but he had none,
no solutions to the inner storm,
except to dive and join the sirens,
in the perilous seas below.

written 12 September 2007
Many people died here.  It is a real picture of Dingli Cliffs in Malta.  
I never dare to go near the edge.

For contest
Placed 2


Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2015

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Going bald



As biology goes, I'm surviving,
a few aches and pains and a cough
and I check every morning when in the bathroom
to see if my bits have dropped off.

Now, father time knows where I'm living
and likes to make regular calls
which I know by the strands of my hair on the bedding
that have come from my head and my nose.
(Yes, I know what that last line should be, but it's  a family website)

The condition called male pattern baldness
is feared by men everywhere
and even I've tried all of the creams and the potions
to try and save my bit of hair

A comb-over like Donald Trump has,
using all of the growth that remains
was still not enough to stop that awful tapping
from every time that it rains.

I even tried growing my eyebrows
as long as I possibly could
to comb them straight upwards and over the top
but that didn't look any good.

A  hair loss clinic was suggested
so I phoned them and gave my details,
but I bought myself one or two different fedoras
quite simply in case all else fails.

 Then the hair loss clinic gave me an update
which I wasn't expecting so soon,
they'd found my lost hair on a Camel's backside
in a market just outside Khartoum.


Copyright © Viv Wigley | Year Posted 2016

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Light On the Devil's Chord - Day 7

I…breathe again…
Meditating on flowers of my pasture, plucked with my eyes,
Resting…open, like buds blooming, and resting…

“Take me…” he said weakly, so softly in my ear…

I greeted the demon with the warmth in my eyes, 
Upon opening them to its crippled form before me,
It was shivering, shackled, face caved in, razor teeth broken
All night I had heard his screaming, his pains, and his revitalizing hurt

As the Devil crouched near, 
His hands clenched in the blood of his minion...
He turned his head grimacing, 
Shrewdly interested in the exchange

The sad, sniveling creature touched my hand and squeezed it,
His breathing more hoarse and heavy
Bloodied tears and muck falling upon me liberally

“Do not be afraid of the light, 
As your brothers hide cries shuffling in their fight,
The touch of deliverance is often strewn with thorns,
And to the onlookers, the dominants, scorned…

Rest your weary head upon my shoulders,
For there I shall sooth your devastating tremors,
Your rough skin upon the softness of sympathy,
Your eyes burning in the pains of my empathy…

Rest on this day from the indulgences you have absorbed,
From the faces of the damned, the bruised, the abhorred,
His antagonism over your life has weakened your will,
Bleeding hearts still beat, as his stubborn mind goes still…

The Sabbath day shines against the garish evil,
To reveal the good that remains in the slaves of suffering…”

Our Prince spat the ground in fury, 
Cracking his neck from left to right

“The Sabbath day, resting in lies, rankled in syrupy mess, 
Believing is deceiving all this feral trash we call friends,
His happiness upon a time that mocks all those who stray,
Those who dare to bash the head of a pompous, polished day
May I shove each heart into the rash-spent furies of my consternation,
To rest assured, all that the day soon brings is the madness of insanity’s ascension
Never was there one as sickening, as the one who stabs us in foolish hope,
Into nothings who can never attain joy, who only scramble to appease…and mope…”

My eyes, which were so focused on the miserable demon,
Who had finally fallen asleep in my arms,
Color returning to his acquiescent form,
Averted once again to the demoralizing Devil, with severe pain and with severe love

“The sleeper, the slave, his submissive energy you crave,
Though you do not think you deserve the ease of his save,
Rest is in your ability to submit,
Not to prove, or prevalently profit,
Merely to observe where happiness must grow,
The heart recalls the blessings beyond what we think we know…” 

And to that, he sang with me, tension and rawness in his bravado…

“We in this realm shall cultivate each other,
In the strange company of one another,
To sing desperately with passions unrest,
So that in separate ways we may perceive our test
This demon sleeps in the arms of love,
It knows not the smiles and cares from above,
Let us be challengers for challenge’s sake,
In secret endeavors, this art supreme we make
Drifting darkness will always subsist and applause,
One who struggles to yield, for the relief of this pause…”

Singing on, he crushed my voice with the deep recesses of his own -
“A war awaits as long as these duets fail to defy…
As long as my meaning is subjective to your flair…”

His dark eyes, like black trenches, impasses of despair
Stayed irrepressibly open, staring into my motionless soul
I breathe…to stay alive . . .


Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2015

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Just Do Not Be

Just Do Not Be



Waves of sadness overflow my heart
I tumble, no care at all for a new start
Buried under autumn leaves
I hug the soil, knowing deeper so much the sweeter to be

I hear a voice over looking me
Don’t be like that!
Get up and carry on
Enough of the silly sadness lets move on…

I am anxious I say
Why they all ask, what’s up your craw?
Not a thing, why nothing at all
Then don’t be like that, DO NOT

I think of ropes, of tall building and fires
I think of ending it all, got no desire
You think I enjoy this feeling that death holds
The answer is always, don’t be like that

How can such educated ones be such fools?
Do they think we choose the sadness, our ugly muse?
Do they think we chose the darkness and always lose?
Shaking with anxiety, I can hardly but move

Don’t be like that echoing in me ears
See a doctor about all these fears?
All I see is the empty glass
Wishing it full, with two more pills to blast

No one really cares about you
I am sure for me this is true
When I was dead, after months I was blue
A year later someone opened the door
I kid you not, they looked and stared
Why did he have to do a thing like that?
From the depths of hell, I laughed and I spat

Before the killing of a thousand deaths
I broke a leg and walked slow at best
They all showed concern, said what can I do?
If they can see the wound
Apparently they may care for you
I replied with a bitter taste in me insides

Don’t be like that





Epilog


I only wanted someone to care
I pulled the trigger
Cause I followed the dare
Now tiss I, covered on the wall
Hasn’t a care in the world
Why none at all


Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

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A Talking Door - Mental Hospital 1

I sit with the wall against my back. The wall refuses to move despite endless requests.

The door opens and closes its mouth, it wishes to say something, but nothing comes of it, only its letterbox chatters ceaselessly and without any deep meaning to it, drops hints every now and then.

The wall is annoyed with the door, but I am fed up with the noise. I stand to try and look out the window, but...
This place hushed in shadow.  If only I can remember where I went this night, they did throw me in, away from light.

I roll up the walls like a Persian rug, smother the clatter of the metallic letterbox that tries to say goodbye in a thousand words.  I hear its muffled apologies.  I see a hundred neatly white, folded paper sheets fall at my feet, covered in coloured sentences.

I throw shadows at the wall, words at the door, colours at the ceiling; demons increase my estrangement in the small room, then the walls suddenly turn soft and white, my arms are bound behind my back.

Fog dissolves in faithful whispers. Demons grow faces and white clothes. Mouths with broad smiles talk in tongues (heard, understood), carry syringes and multi-coloured pills. 


And day begins.

***

May 1, 2017 
Copyright © Darren White


Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2017

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Tired Tears

                                                  Tired Tears

                                                           
                                      Who am I, in*** this corrosive
                             eye to cry these******** traveling tears.
                           For I will defend****(  )**** my will to mend
                     the oceans of many************years.So I fly away
                                  with skies of*********gray to soulful
                                               saving**** spheres. 



                                                           I
                                                          Am
                                                         Lost
                                                       In a sea
                                                      Of falling 
                                                     Toxic tears
                                                    Loosing logic
                                                  Of internal fears
                                                   Send me home
                                                     To embryos
                                                         Dome

                                    A
                                   Bed
                                  That’s
                                Inner safe
                               For this old
                              Sensitive waif
                            Lachrymal death
                             One last breath
                              The salty sea
                                  To bury
                                     Me


                                                   No 
                                                  More
                                              Tired tears
                                           For I have gone
                                           To a brand new
                                             Distant dawn
                                              That I may
                                                 Spawn.
                                                    ...
                                                 ^^^^
                                              ...............
                                          ^^^^^^^^^^^
                                    ....................................
                            ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
                                             
                                



                                             DEC.24.2016
                                     Cutting Words - Contest 
                                    Sponsored by: FJ Thomas


Copyright © Winged Warrior | Year Posted 2016

Details | Anxiety Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Reunion

In the beginning it is just a lovely cloud Collin comes across her in the coffee house One of his friends calls his attention Look, your mom is here, let’s go elsewhere A descent of birds pecking at his brain The cloud he keeps looking at for quite a while The face and the figure look like his He goes to the toilet to look into the mirror The semblance he sees is a puzzling wonder The birds dance and sing in tumultuous chorus His friend confounded when he is told Collin does not know who his mother is He had been adopted when he was just two The lady too looks at them off and on When a bridge comes up none can say The next few hours he passes in a daze Is the quest for four years going to succeed Is the cloud preordained for the sudden rain Or it is just a fortuitous resemblance But then isn’t it an exactly mirror image Returning home Collin scrutinizes himself again In the mirror he finds the same chiseled face The same desirous dreamy eyes, head full of hair He recites poems and talks to himself Same grace radiates from the daffodils The plant with the flowers hangs in the air The charm and the fragrance are irresistible He craves to rush forward and hug it tight And flood the flower with crimson kisses The scented air stays elusive nonetheless Collin says everything to his adopted parents They are very glad and cooperate to get to the truth There would be no problem in living all together Collin laughs and says very forcefully The twenty two years old son is no more an introvert When the magnet works in the very stem cells The eventual fusion is inevitable obviously She takes him to her apartment She lives alone her husband dead No shadow of children nowhere in the rooms Thousand wasps biting inside his head The pain is traumatic for the hidden truth Light and dark interchange day after day Poems of love keep churning the two hearts Drama outside and a flood within The day DNA test confirms the gene The two intermingle to a river serene ______________________________________________________________ August 8, 2016: For the Contest: Long Lost Family Sponsored by Silent One


Copyright © Probir Gupta | Year Posted 2016

Details | Anxiety Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Love Strike

Upon shy reach,
His fingers touch mine—
Quickly though, they move away from me… 

I bite his lips,
Crushing his coiling coy
And snatch his hands back onto me

I am a cobra…
I dance to the beat of his anxious worship


Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2015

Details | Anxiety Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Christmas Dance

 
Someone saw me dance
in the town's square
covered with white snow
around the decorated pine.
 
The lights blinked brightly,
pseudo parcels hang here and there,
music murmured muted carols
as midnight slowly neared.
 
On top of the pine, a star
was shining strong and silvery,
all around the branches green
tinsel sparkled joyously.
 
Beneath the tree, a manger stood
reminding me of days gone by,
when a poor couple arrived
at a small but crowded town.
 
There was no place for them.
The child was born in poverty,
in the town named after bread.
Is there a place for Him now?
 
Someone saw me, but went on
alone towards his dreams.
I danced unaided around the tree.


Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2015

Details | Anxiety Poem | Create an image from this poem.

AN ELEGY FOR A NEW BORN

In the world  of all comforts,
In the world of absolute care and affection,
In the world of motherhood.
Ten months I was basking, in my mother's womb.
Happiness running down my spine – I thanked God,
His blessing in disguise, rather he in disguise – My mother,
Who is she? How she will be? - I don't know,
Am I her replica? Am I her miniature?
I struggled day after day to open my eyes.
To look at her dazzling beauty and to admire her.
Her hands were made to carry me,
Her arms were made to hug me,
Her shoulders were made to bear me,
My mother, the only person on this whole earth to love me more than I do myself.
I longed to see her face,
Why this ten months vigil? Why not now? My heart bumped!
Days rolled and months passed.
I kicked my way.
A pat on my back,
I cried, it was tears of happiness.
Where is my mother?
Place me on her hands, let me sense her breath,
Let that be the first air I breathe.
With great joy oozing out I slowly opened my eyes.
To see her eyes which is longing to see my eyes.
Mom! With great excitement I gazed.
But it was the blue sky that welcomed me to this new world.
Where is my mother? Where is she? Is she not carrying me?
I searched for her.
Then where am I placed? I looked around.
The cradle squeaked.
Sudden fracas and turbulence hit my ears.
In a fraction of a second I was surrounded by people.
Nobody like me and nobody liked me.
I moved from one hand to another.
But I never smelt my mother.
My mom was missing.
Did she leave me?
I was in a fix.
Yes, she left me.
What made her to hate me even before I was born?
She left me alone in this callous world.
Abandoned me,
Branded me an orphan,
Made me languish in pain,
Agonize in vain,
My day turned dark and despondent,
My life turned bleak and impotent,  
But still my heart longed to see my mother.
I can never in my life hate her.
Because I was in her.   
My ire was directed only at God,
He wrote my fate,
He took my mom, what more can I ask,
Nothing can replace her in my life.
I said “My God my first and last wish,
Give every child the power to see even before they were born,
Children like me, who are so unfortunate
Can see their mother's face at least from their womb.

BY
MADHUPRIYA SHANMUGAM


Copyright © MADHUPRIYA SHANMUGAM | Year Posted 2016