Pastel pages turn and turn,
colour mix turning to burn.
Foster baby cries its first,
bursts of today taking its turn.
Every shade will have its season,
every fire will find its reason.
Blister pack locked it in,
soaking up packets of sin.
Last moments in the soup,
regaining a sense to recoup.
Hold the light against the glass,
let the colours drift and pass.
Nothing owed and nothing lost,
only the turning, only the cost.
Past the future round and round,
pure chaos in master the sound.
Beauty in the knowing.
Everything showing.
The pome was sweet
Never wanted to quit
Might've thought so
But never acted on it
Had a million seeds within
Each akin to some thought
Some were in the plates of others
Some were left inside to rot
Pome wanted to recite and sow
From poems to seeds it had
Had no column not a row
To write and hence the skin got bad
Pome was sweet red
Seeds were stiff white
Some had the juicy coverings
Some rotted and lost their might
It was sure just red pome
Not the granite deep in the crust
Pome might look stiff outside
It's nowhere near the rocky rust
It tended to become like granite
Pome tried, pome failed
It mended itself day and night
And finally it realized
The rotten seeds are futile
Not every seed should go in plates
Not every pome gets an eater
And it's okay to not to elucidate
Pome is now different
Tend not to worry about rotten seeds
Pome accepts the partial sweetness
It now trim or just pass by weeds
Closing eyes listening to my surroundings
With words in the mind that can't come out
A feeling of danger sinking under water
Grasping with an intent to.follow the words
Help, please help I need someone close
The feeling of free flowing fall, or just an abyss
Deep rooted in our chest craves the moment
The relief of one consciousness driven down
The ora of ones pain becomes all
The worst of all it becomes that experience
Shake, shaking deep within tugging the soul
Pain rivals through and through instinctively
Opening the door to a new life and goal
But when you open your eyes
Your pulled back to reality and begin
Begin to do what Humanity is suppose to do
BREATH!
I sit, I relate
I try to connect
Something's wrong
LOVE can't affect
Everything's present
It seems in tact
But sorrow and grief
Makes anger react
That's misaligned
My finger can't land
Where's the space
For hearts to understand
No accountability
For wronging others
No responsibility
For hurting sisters and brothers
Presence of growth
Looks exactly like a weed
Where fruit should exist
There's constant need
Yes, there is absence
The place where capacity should be
Is caked and filled
With the care never received
...now, NO...is finally known
Written by Trudy Schrader on 06-17-2026
Without a doubt, thought is food for the ego,
which dwells in duality as does our mind,
so poised in staid silence, gently letting go,
leaving all our conditioned beliefs behind,
sliding into the heart, pure like morning snow,
doing nothing we become divine aligned.
Oh hermit, freeze the frame of time and be still,
whence blessings in-pour and voids within us fill.
I was doing so well - thinking I'd made it so far;
But now I feel as if my body is once again stuck behind bars;
Why did this happen - I did everything I was supposed too;
As my health deteriorates so fast - it's left me feeling so blue;
It seems as if my life will forever consist of unbearable pain;
As my once "well managed" life has now been flushed down the drain;
I was just starting to get my life back - it's so completely unfair;
Realizing the medications have stopped working has been hard to bare;
Knowing that I have lost my life again makes me breakdown and cry;
Acknowledging Im back at square one released a beast that tore me up inside;
I had so much to achieve such as college and volunteer work - where'd it all go?;
I've lost everything I worked so hard for - and why I wish I didn't know;
I feel as if my heart is broken - that I'll never function or be well;
As my chronic illnesses grab me by the throat ands drag me straight back to hell
It's the knowing .....the knowing you weren't coming back...it didn't make it any better
All of these questions circle round in my head
they are the barriers that keep me from bed.
Sat here before you, I’ll lay it all on the table
keep me from guessing, if you are able.
How long will it be, till the chosen one is me?
Are there roses just around the corner?
What is his name? Does he diminish my pain?
Are we bonded, but not by trauma?
Do you see an office, adorned with high profit or at least a better place to be?
Will I stop feeling that I’m watching the ceiling and waiting for it to collapse, on me?
Can you diagnose wealth, or even good health?
Do I get a place in everyone’s race or will I forever be miles behind?
All I need, just a few promises that what once was dull, will shine.
Will I get that something that I can call mine?
Will the clock stop racing and I’ll finally have time?
Will it just hit me, one day, all at once?
Or need I be patient, wait for years that were months?
As much as I know, it’s the seeds that I’ll sow
that will allow me to escape wilted blooms,
I just need an inkling of your wishful thinking so I can expect a change of tune.
Love, it is like trying to nail Jell-O to a wall/tree,
or trying to catch a big yellow bee.
Love is like wearing your heart on your sleeves,
never knowing them or ourselves or thieves.
What happens in a jungle at night
when you leave the winding path
in the evening in a thick forest?
What scenes wild animals create—
what dreadful shapes move in the dark
among birds and trees,
you never truly know.
How terrible the wind may sound,
how silence presses
on every living soul.
The green leaves of the trees
seem to fade to yellow
under the weight of dark shadows.
The whole night is alive
with strange, unheard sounds—
a whisper of twigs,
a flutter of wings,
a rustle moving unseen.
It is like when you sleep at night—
you never truly know
where you are,
where your soul travels.
Yet when morning comes,
the jungle turns gentle and bright.
It looks like a fairyland,
full of life and quiet blessings.
Nothing seems strange;
no trace of the fearful night remains.
Just as when you wake in the morning—
refreshed and peaceful,
unaware of the storms
that passed while you slept.
Perhaps we do not need
to know everything.
Some shadows are kinder
when left unnamed.
Keep moving toward what matters.
Much happens around us,
yet entangling ourselves in every mystery
can shake confidence,
make the spirit fragile,
and disturb the quiet of the heart.
the dark unknown waits
nothing moves, nothing speaks, yet
my heart pounds louder
not for what I fear may come
but for what may still brood there
a closed door whispers
more scary stories than truth
could ever reveal
imagination breeds ghosts
more heinous, when less is known
fear lurks in shadows
cast from vague, flimsy sources
never once revealed,
always the thing imagined
too dreadful to be real
Not knowing is scary,
It’s unnerving.
I wonder everyday where you are
And how you’re doing,
And if there’s a new me in your life.
But you said there’s no one like me.
Was that a lie?
It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve lied.
The scars on my limbs are the only reminder of you.
Such a sad thought.
That only way I remember you,
is through my pain.
The echoes of your voice,
the things you’ve said to me.
They seem to ring through my head,
like a bell rings in a church.
You never truly loved me,
you loved the memories we had.
The good times we had.
I hate myself for that.
I let you take advantage of me like that.
Something my mother would never accept.
Something my father would warn me about.
I don’t know.
Not knowing is scary.
But I know I’m right.
Thats what scares me.
...In stretches down to my own life,
childhood back in the 80s,
all the amusement parks once here,
very few are still to see.
The western town has stayed quiet,
I think they still rent it sometimes;
and there’s something say in the sight
of long derelict waterslides.
I still remember their theme tune,
lost tribute to pleasures no more;
and down the road a kiddie park
where they once had a diving horse.
The last ones hit the hardest since
they come from memories I have,
I see their shadows when I walk,
knowledge of the past like a salve.
Like three times that just coexist
within this one place, I do find
myself seeing and endless chain
shaped by a succession of minds.
The richness adds a weight to things,
a depth that still somehow persists;
history means you walk with ghosts,
not the kind you fear, but cherish.
in ever-increasing streams light beams
truth of cosmos where we exist
joy a fundamental quality
holding love’s frequency
to express harmony
removing errors
knowing rises
in silence
visioning
ONE
MIND
victory obtained
flow letting outcomes go in wisdom
My first connection
Arrived in her despair
Comforting another
She asked, "Who's there?"
From that instant
Of LOVE revealed
Life has been graves
Where identity was concealed
I thought you were him
I blamed you for his lack of care
He couldn't endure truth
So I left him, there
That space between shattered and hope
Like a breath of wisteria
Honeysuckle delight
You touched the part
That had no more fight
Cooking with Mama LOVE
Feeding hungry souls
I entered my sorrow
Identifying abandoned holes
Walking with Daddy LOVE
My words resurrected
His heart opened wide
Attention, graciously injected
Space between connection and desire
Every relationship tested
Every strand between hearts
Stretched, broken, bent
Waiting for community to start
Where? A definition
Cultures, whitewashed tombs
Fighting for resources
Threatening eternal doom
Worn out from grief
I never asked to bear
But your presence
Uninvited, standing right there
Flush with my cross
Written by Trudy Schrader on 01-04-2025
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.