Pierce
this
vale of
far darkness
with the flame that lives
within your ever moving soul.
The wish of a star can never be told in silence
but if they could speak I'd imagine they'd wish upon a soul that someone might tell them
'sweet star burn bright at night! Burn free and clear and show us the way to our own heart's desires'… at least I can dream it that way for my milky way.
And if the stars wondered what I might wish upon them, I'd whisper so softly 'I want to know how brightly you burn up close and happily do call me Icarus that I, too may meet my fate at the hands of unbridled joy!
If I have but one dream:
It’s it’s to make the Master AI have the best detector for good music! “BURN UP A HOLE IN YOUR ATMOSPHERE! THE DARK DAYS OF SUMMER ARE FINALLY HERE!”
I don't know about other planets, but life on earth's a b*tch.
The irony here is oh, so rich.
We're addicted to oil like it's heroin,
and we'll keep using till it does us in,
but climate change just isn't fast enough,
so, we'll all burn up oil fields to show we're tough.
In the distance I hear the Indianapolis 500
or maybe it is a truly aggressive muscle car
it is traveling south west
her fierce engine sounds remind me of my red mustang
my purple trans am, my powerful 442.
Cars that would burn up the road
racing worthy
I smile remembering my life pre-mini-vans
I'm vain.
I thought myself as great but then,
What of all the disdain?
They are saying different truths than what I believe to be true,
What does that mean?
Your truth burn away my flesh, burn up my soul.
Nobody matters to me anymore
Forgive me, I've become a heartless ghoul.
I rode my first rice burner bike
beyond the wild blue yonder
going solo the only way to go
on a red 50cc Honda
as being part of a bike brotherhood
was never in my repertoire
and moving on in Hawaii
my next was a 650 Yamaha
my last tho' fairly fast
in fact still quite nifty
on the hills of San Francisco
was a black Suzuki 550
if a motorcycle means personal freedom
of the road stretching out ahead
why do so many feel the need
to ride in packs instead?
Holy, is the man to the flame
Calmed in its presence of evil
His passion fuels it brighter.
The man lights up in flames
To muster the chaos away.
The man self-immolates
His own cause for his own end.
He controls the flame to her end.
If she fought for passion
He tied her hands.
If she healed the sick
He called the village to spew shame.
If she was made unpure
Throw the fuel at her feet.
If she dare to speak
Spark the flame.
If she even have a brain
Watch her burn up in flames.
Her soul is made to burn
For the security of a man's soul.
I don’t fidget anymore.
I used to play with my ponytail holder on my wrist.
Things dissolve.
A harsh, acidic dissolving.
I used to like playing guitar.
But music makes my ears burn up.
My fingers start to burn up too.
Like things that fly away from earth.
I don’t fidget anymore.
Ever since they took my ponytail holder away.
I never wanted anything back.
I feel things.
A harsh, acidic feeling.
Fizzing and creating mini realities.
My hands never came back from that.
It’s like I don’t have skin on my skin.
I can’t fidget anymore.
They took them away.
Even though my guitar is still alive.
It’s just buried with me.
I used to like things.
In this reality which seems sliced up.
I don’t fidget anymore.
I feel things like vibrations.
Vibrations like-
A factory which destroys stuff.
And that factory exists.
Where I used to hang out sometimes.
beach bodies burn up
summer winds scorch sundresses~
who has seen the rain
As the fires burn up our forests
and the deadly floods ravage our earth
All the traitors inside of the WH
give America new fascist birth
Our brothers and sisters patrol us
with the weapons of war that we made
As the songs they once sang about honor
about freedom and liberty, fade
They are building an army against us
search for people of color to blame
Armed with weapons of war in our cities
hidden faces are proof of their shame
As Republicans lie to the people
some reporters reply with a wink
And the viewers are all left to wonder
what was truth, what was lie, what to think
This is now a complete insurrection
being led by commander in chief
And the GOP Sedition Party
falls on all like a blanket of grief
We must all tow the line for our freedom
march together and then stand as one
It is now our time to be heroes
show the world how democracy’s won
Twenty-four days before Christmas in 1958 there was a huge fire
at Our Lady of the Angels, a Catholic grade school in Chicago
Eighty-seven children and three nuns died in this fire.
One of the children who passed was Mary’s little sister, Karen.
She was to be a first grader forever.
Mary was in the fourth grade at the time.
Mary spent years trying to forget that day, the worst day ever.
The frantic nuns, the commotion, the smoke, the frenzy.
Waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting on the sidewalk across the street.
Watching the school burn up, wondering where Karen was.
A sister who never came home.
Mary felt shame for leaving her.
She had wanted to run in there and rescue Karen.
But the adults restrained her.
Her family waited for hours hoping for a miracle.
Watching the front door, praying Karen would walk inside.
She never did.
Eighty-six other children did not return home either.
Probably led to heaven by the three nuns.
I remember those summers as a boy,
When the sun shone down from morning till night.
That sun on our backs brought us so much joy
And we laughed at those who’s skin was still white.
We knew nothing back then of UV rays,
As we lay on the beach by the ocean.
Sometimes we burnt on the hottest of days
And Mum applied some calamine lotion.
But now, of course, the scientists advise
Avoiding UV rays and CFC’s.
Each year the temperature will rise.
The human race will soon be on its knees.
Our planet will burn up, as likely as not,
As Cole Porter put it, “It’s Too Darn Hot.”
They are far and away
Separated from the day
They light up the night sky
And by morning light, they say goodbye
They do not make thunder sounds
They watch over us, all around
One astounds us in the morning
Another gazes at us in the evening
There are millions making the stary nights
Turning the darkness into the light
We often look up to those heavenly stars
And declare our dreams from distance far
O morning star, may God light up my life
O evening star, may I be free of fright
O stars of night, you dispell the darkness
O stars of night, you also minimize sadness
O stars of night, so quiet but yet with so much to say
O stars of night, kings and queens under the canopy
O kings of the night, I've seen you falling without causing fear
O queens of the night, it's because most times you burn up in the atmosphere. *
So did we make it work?
Did the stars that we wished upon bless us?
Or did it burn up like a shooting star?
Or did we count them wrong?
Did we measure the width of the sky?
Is it wide enought to hold our dreams?
Mine and yours, together.
Well even if it didn't
Then let's meet again
On the day when
The sun is cold and the moon spreads warmth
And this time we'll count the stars right
They said: be a little more.
Then they stepped in their spaceship.
I never saw what planet they landed on.
Or maybe it was a comet moving quickly.
Be a little more-
Like a five star chef.
Like a drummer in a band.
Like a crowd pleaser.
And a people pleaser.
You’ll never be an astronaut though.
But,
Maybe you’ll burn up in space all alone.
There’s nothing else out there.
They can laugh all they want.
But nothing is audible in space.
Or I could just be:
Friendly.
Kind.
Helpful.
Fluttering around.
Doing little things.
But then they said:
Be A Little More.
The person in that space pod.
Who lost it.
But picked up playing guitar by herself.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.