Best Existed Poems
It existed, backwoods,
Since the peaceful childhood;
Where only tranquility,
Warmth and tenderness
Bordered our intentness.
However getting into life..
Absorbing experience,
Getting well-known to what's novel,
Taking hard fortitudes,
Contributing all accessible chances
Attempting for a better eventual,
Leading for a self-satisfied grownup,
Are snatching it from me.
Whatever authorities were,
Hard decisions must be picked up.
Requesting luxurious serendipity,
Requires much sufferance
And acclimates the envier thirsty,
But at least confident,
For assuming it in a misty finality.
Chest pounding like a wild horse
Consoling my heart with a bunch of lies
Before me lays a battlefield
Disguised as a paradise…
Nothing in mind, nothing to fear
Making my move, the weight I bear
Silence lingered, but they didn’t mind
Lost in their own talk, my offer silently declined
Pain suppressed: the agony of rejection
My presence was realized
Yet, the pain did stay.
Their smile was endearing,
But the radiance wasn’t directed my way.
Our smiles stay fixed, but my heart was in shambles
Taking my step back, my conscience trembles
None shall realize, other than that girl amiss
My presence wasn’t welcome, so I returned to my bliss…
Standing by the doorway was an angel with a gentle smile,
My sunshine, my cure, my cheery mistress
She is mine and mine only.
An enchantress and a tangled frustrated mess…
She was my everything; my hope in despair
A rescue from my quarantine, my only light in this nightmare
Nobody can taint her; no mistakes, no flaws
Her laughter was addicting; and only I could be the cause
Passion overflowed: the obsession with fantasy
No one could understand my love, for none really tried
Tore it all apart, my love was forbidden
Completely destroyed; my once magical land
My carriage turned into a pumpkin, about to be ridden
Never did she return, as I fell into chasm
Nothing remained but life’s brutal sarcasm
The solitude of my fate was decided; my end listed
Remnants of the world I created: the world that never existed
Before words existed, when humans could not speak..
They would fend for their children, smile gently and wipe them clean.
They would kiss their mate, and give them a look..
Before language existed, that's all it took.
When words of anger didn't exist..
To bring a border in between.
Yes, anger could still be shown
But real love could always be seen.
Back when compassion, effort and
Simplicity meant everything.
Now people need words to try and show that they care..
They forget the actions to show that love is there!
Words are great but cannot always tell the body what to do..
Sometimes all words offer, is not what is true!
When love is real, it's something you will feel and not hear..
When love is real, the word "love" you will no longer endear.
You'll be in awe, baffled, never to find the word just right..
You'll realize that language isn't what bounds hearts tight.
Before language..
Love was an instinct, and to understand
We didn't need these words.. Now all that we have
Is a population of adjectives and adverbs..
Before the angels were created,
Before the earth was formed.
Before the sky wore its night dress, spotted,
With shining stars snooping and giggling here and there,
Whispering and spying on silly lovers here and there.
Before the sun put on its golden robes,
Decorated with the rays of happiness and joys,
Its warmth engulfed children with their toys.
Before spring spread its green blanket,
Green blanket of Basel, grass,
Colored flowers and birds’ nests.
Before autumn spread it‘s roasted leaves,
Creating a path of romance for lovers, those,
Who wished to finish the path of love believers.
Before winter spread its white blanket.
A white blanket of soft flakes teasing children’s cheeks.
Whiteness of hope, forgiveness and forgetting the breaks.
Before summer started its long days and short nights.
When the castles of sandstone were built,
When the Boats and blue waves danced on Mermaid’s flute,
Before spirits embodied their corpses and gave life to them,
Before the memories gathered in the box of mysteries,
Before luminous water run over the scratches on lands,
Before the myriad treasures sunk down deep in the oceans.
Your love has no time no doctrine; it existed deep inside,
No one can separate it; no one can uproot it, as it is eternal.
Somebody starts everything
As a conflict
And makes it a compromise
In front of bribery
Election canvassing
Demonstration or strike
A long way to fight indeed
For truth and justice
Which is already existed
Before we arrived at this world
Why
Spring will never wait
Frolicking with its blossom
Flirting with its bloom
On such longs days
Before the sun rises
As it peaks at noonish
To stars racing the moon
To set again for tommorow
My clouded mind escapes
Ventures into daydreams
Sweet you
To let my mind wander
To forget such days
If only
Sweet you existed
I existed when no one returned your calls
I existed in ways you don't seem to recall
I existed when you came home late
Stench of rum and sweat
I existed when you left me alone
many times
alone and irate
I existed when you took pieces of my soul
Puzzled at my addiction
I grew cold
Darkness surrounds me
Envisioned light
As demons knocked at my door
I conceived Him
Envisioned Life
Envisioned 23 years in one night
As I awake
Scorned and reborn
I rose in existence
I existed in his pulse.
No Rules Ever Existed At All
This was actually part of a dream I had last night and woke up thinking about.
This sentence is exactly what was in it: "It is difficult for something disorganized
to promote organization while being disorganized."
The following also came out as I was thinking about it. Does a poet have to write poetry to be called a poet? What comes first either a poet who writes rules about how to write a poem and rules already created to regulate what constitutes a poem?
What if I were a poet who was whimsical
Would what I write be highly predictable?
And to many might it seem to be so cruel
By saying poets will never need a rule.
Now that I am a poet who is fully grown
Is it okay if I have a style of my own?
Even if my poems seem to be confusing
For certain purpose can you still be using?
Heard of poets who during periods ponder
How far you must go to be out yonder
And when you want poem to be very best
Does it really require having to take a test.
My poem could be called saying or a quote
How much time would you want to devote?
To determine which one you want it to be
Do you really think you have the ability?
After having thought about this for a while
On your face may we begin seeing a smile
Or as a great poet may it personally appall?
When we said no rules ever existed at all.
James Thomas Horn, Retired Veteran
The Father knew you before you existed, knitting your face
Now seems some got this twisted and fallen into disgrace
Knowing when one doesn't exist, knowing you complete
The One who is in our midst and one day you will meet
By Him that time is already set for we shall all pass away
This is just where you place your bet and how you play
For it is His Rhyme, His Reason and Jesus His only Son
Not knowing when it's your season and this life is done
Those choosing not to believe are liable without excuse
satan so loves to deceive standing there with his noose
All contained within His Word which is simply ignored
To many this hasn't incurred in not feeling so implored
His Creation so impeccably great that all creation can see
Each one picking their own fate even if you don't agree
God has placed you here, gravity works even if you doubt
Thus let's be clear, only with Jesus will you win this bout
Matthew 18:20 (KJV)
“For where two or three are gathered together in my name,
there am I in the midst of them.”
It is two a.m. I am totally non-sleepy
Do I consider a sleeping pill? No.
Three twenty. I am impressively awake, watching TV
At 4:15 a dog licks my face, waking me up.
I am on the couch, not comfortable, so I move to my bed.
Both dogs move with me.
We wake up at 7:41 a.m.
I used to leave for work at six
I love this feeling of sleeping in
Retirement is incredibly easy
I cannot believe how hard I fought it
Now I am living a life I never knew existed.
A life that is showing me how to really live.
EINSTEIN’S DREARY
People are always asking why
Why do you yearn to set afire the sky?
They ask my empty voice for a rapid reply
Yet they might as well ask me “why I can’t fly?
In the center of every hollow sentence is something they imply
And after all these years they still ask why I like to get high
It’s a simple equation much like two plus two equals four
And I like taking drugs because too many people are a bore
They either are bores, whores and all cause me to snore
They all know facts and figures but I know far more
For instance I know that if a person says “I’ve never cried” it’s a lie
And “no” despite your inane question I cannot fly
So stop asking me for advice, solutions or the key to everlasting love
That’s a question you must deliver to someone above
Einstein’s up there and can spoon-feed you the answers you require
While all I yearn to do is set the god-damned sky on fire
© 2011.…Phreepoetree
In the black throat of space, words spiral,
Charred syllables drifting like moths to no flame.
Every book, every prayer, every curse
Finds its way into the bone-dust of stars.
I dream of archives stitched into the dark,
Veins of memory pulsing through nebulae—
All our hands, bloody or tender,
Catalogued in the frost of dead moons,
And liquid methane.
The universe hums like a nuclear engine,
Its shelves sagging with unsaid apologies,
Maps drawn by trembling conquerors,
The taste of fruit extinct for a thousand years.
We vanish, but the sentences remain,
Tattooed in light, spinning past the last horizon,
A chorus of vanished throats still singing,
Though no ear will ever hear them again made whole.
In arms with each other encircled
In lovers’ battle, cousins under the same blazing sun
And we hate them the same as they hate each other
Can’t change the sun or move those storms were just waves in an ocean of hate.
And we are dieing to be accepted by those we drag in the mud
Behind station wagons, and hung, and burned their sacred places
For fun, with guns like words and bullets handed like bread to their children.
And safe with towers to the ground we just rebuild our hate
Right hand world service, left hand holding bombs for babies
Not our children I know the future it states black ashes will rain from heaven
And we are not the same, blended and they still hating us, left us behind, to die in
white, nothing holy
That cross we burn here in front of their homes is the same one we place on
their foreheads to save them, burnt in their flesh
Freedom
And I am Christian, Muslim, Hindu, and Buddhist, Jewish
And we love and kill the same breathe of life in us just as we will do you cousin
America is atheist no religion yet we send our brothers and sister with right hand
bibles and left hand guns Ak-47 freedom
Freedom and we love our cousins; my cousins marched with assault weapons
before them in the oceans of American pride.
Freedom before us as a truly free nation….
And she knows the truth about them all
Unheard, but aware of the future of this earth
Mother……………
What if you never existed,
What if I never knew what love feels like,
Your love was my home and now that you dont exist I live in a house where all the windows are broken and a clock which still strikes,
Will sitting near the lake no longer be fun cause you used to sing for me whenever I was sad,
Will the silence no longer be sweet cause you won't be beside to hear me through it,
Will the stars no longer shine as I won't be having my moon beside,
Would I be able to look upto love the same way I look up to you in my each and every thought,
Will all the memories we created will fade with time or will you carry them to the other world finding where am I....
~Riya?