I said a lot to myself
Without spitting any words.
I created the world where
Talking is a waist
But thinking is a curse.
No body heard me talking
But I said a lot to myself.
I traveled over mountains
Even the skies were beneath my fit
But soul and flesh was there with
Everyone.
I've seen a lot and I kept talking
But no one heard me, until I was quite.
I felt craziness in me
But I realized that I'm not
Alone in this curse.
Most people failed on this subject
And end up in a ward with high walls
but I've mastered the art of soul
Searching.
Continued with the conversation
In my mind.
Laughing is norm
And silent cries filled with hope.
Questions asked but
Answers are minimal.
All I can do is to overcome
Overthinking be normal
Like everyone and every body else.
Overthinking is a curse...
The fog filters through, tall bare trees
Hovering in woods, above ground
I listen close to hear a sound
Perception is with one who sees
A mastered creation right here
Scenery, plants and wildlife too
Every day brings something sweet, new
There's no-where to go, it is near
Beauty in the hills, fields and sky
The sunsets paint colors to see
As the birds sing their songs, carefree
The rivers are roaring nearby
The strength of the mountains rise high
Quiet lakes bring comfort to shore
All this waiting outside my door
It calls to me and I reply
Heidi Sands
12/27/23
8 Syllables
(C)opyright
Mastered Puppets
Of the voices thrown and never shown their cries travel well
A starving sewn with a bitter bone of their life a quiet quell
With larval lips that are losing grips where echoes only dwell
Their smile drips as they use their fingertips in a yielding yell
Left alone with a grunting groan their silence slaved to seal
Ruling the hunger zone a thirst on throne with a musty meal
Voices held captive and anguish adaptive with souls of steal
Their reality refractive with dreams inactive they still congeal
Mastered and strung with a tangled tongue they begin to pray
A heart hung and death unsung, wounded words they convey
With tears they wash as the sorrows squash their moral display
The sounds that swash in their postured posh soon fade away.
June.18.2018
Ventriloquist Poetry
Sponsored by: Anthony Slausen
I had mastered her hair, her cheeks
her arms, her legs, her lips
but, ah, her eyes! her eyes! her eyes!
her eyes! God, I’ve never cried this hard before!
The card house crumbles!
Mastered,
understood,
and read,
he could,
compress,
and spread,
at will,
any bill,
in known,
areas,
impressing,
listeners' arias,
with his hands,
on the mantle,
he could assemble,
and dismantle,
with equal ease,
often without,
charging any fees.
When hardships in lifetimes are unforgiving
The lessons it gives is decisions worth making
I’ll learn this and master the gift of living
Unselfish and always prepared for the grieving
Of ever present humps without shadows forsaking
When hardships in lifetimes are unforgiving
In teaching the secrets that lead to believing
That the goals make the journey worth undertaking
I’ll learn this and master the gift of living
Crystalloid nightmares with frail hope deceiving
Rainbowed hearts varied in degrees of breaking
When hardships in lifetimes are unforgiving
Kaleidoscope dreams of creation retrieving
New found ideas from cold minds flaking
I’ll learn this and master the gift of living
Shattered on transparent glass my mind keeps misgiving
Some rocky pasture filled with thoughts, there for the taking
When hardships in lifetimes are unforgiving
I’ll learn this and master the gift of living
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.