NaPoWriMo
NaPoWriMo Day5
Ancient
Shorts
Ancient powers forever lost
Mourn their passing
When time stands still.
Wander over hill and dale
March along the river's edge
On no occasion to be found.
Again, sweet song sung by the water
Beauty's incarnation to see the light nevermore.
NaPoWriMo
NaPoWriMo Day4
Adveristy
Shorts
Termination inbound on the day
Ruminating over the cause
Sudden pain caused by fellowship
Heartstrings hand-plucked, wrought with strife
You take a bow, adversity on your fingertip
Perfectionist performance, chimerical display.
NaPoWriMo NaPoWriMo Day3 Echo Shorts Response Poem
Looking down from the edge of the world,
I hear screams and a cry for help;
Wanting to reassure a tormented soul, I replied with a soothing tone,
An ache in my heart as I embrace it's suffering;
You found peace and comfort in yourself,
Leaving me behind, I fade away with a sigh;
I am always with you even if you do not see me,
I am always here for you even if you do not hear me.
NaPoWriMo
NaPoWriMo Day2
Eloquence
Shorts
Many of the greats in poetry are said to be eloquent beings,
Well-versed in language as well as the human mind, soul, and heart.
Their legacy of distinct impressions;
Such aureate diction surely leaves the world a more vibrant, colorful place,
But at times I wonder: Do THEY leave this world more vibrant?
NaPoWriMo NaPoWriMoDay1 Carcass death time
Death and life,
Time slips past
As one ends, yet another begins:
Carcasses are left to rot,
While their counterpart is all but forgot.
Yet why the difference in care,
Between mortality's apprentice
And life's most fair?
One moment you are sitting still,
the other you're not. The worst
moment for anxiety to hit is
probably when you least expect
it. Can you expect it though? It
waits for you to be weak, or to
be your happiest self. It strikes
when you feel nothing and then
your whole world comes collapsing.
Anxiety, holds you hostage in your
own body. Sucks your soul and
keeps it that way, lifeless and
unattended. It's the feeling of heat
in an air-conditioned room, the dip
in your heart while taking a dump,
the paralyses induced when you
hear about that one trigger that you
just discovered is triggering.
ANXIETY, the word is enough to
render you inactive, perplexed,
agitated, sad, and all the other
emotions you can't name. This
blank document writing itself
and bringing within it the anxious
scrolling while the heart still dips
and beats in tones not understood
by me.
The walls piercing through their plaster,
as if watching me, mocking me, there
are four. I'm locked in a room and my
demons are feeding on my mind. The
bed shakes sometimes, and sometimes
it refuses to move, it holds me close
and screams that it'll never let me go.
I'm locked in a room and my demons are
feeding on my mind. My bookshelf sits
there, waiting for me to run my fingers
through it like I used to, but I don't have
that childlike enthusiasm left in me like
I had in November. I'm locked in a room
with my demons who never let me sleep.
I'm locked in this room with my demons,
and they are feeding on my soul. I'm
locked in this godforsaken room, seeking
an out and these demons are sucking the
life out of me. I'm locked in this room
awaiting my sweet release.
Breathe in...
...2
...1
...Breathe out
...4
...3
...2
...1
Repeat
Can you breathe?
The air passing you by, the
moments too. The undesired
quest of knowing and not
knowing. The inability to rest.
Can you smell?
The bodies, rotten and dunked
in blood, with no one to pay
heed to. Then waiting in despair
with no one in the waiting.
Can you taste?
The salt in their eyes, the misery
imposed by the system. The
horrible, sour, bland flavor of
a failed regime.
Can you hear?
The screams, the wailing, the
howls, their cries. They are still
waiting and screaming. Can
you hear them?
For those who alone did trot,
waiting for a miracle to come,
they often are not looking too,
for a sign to pass them by. Done
with the world, evading their
shadows, holding it by the helves.
For they don't need anyone to survive,
they are whole in themselves.
In the quest of knowing and not
knowing, the remembering is
what baffles me profusely.
For I shall never know
what it holds for me
and what it holds
against
my solemn
self.
Can you hear the music
echoing in the streets?
There are voices too doleful
to take no notice of.
Can you hear them scream
and crying in the streets?
The voices now deafening
destroying the credence.
Can you feel their voices
calling out for help?
The agony, the distress
still calling, but now it's too late.
I've come to a halt. My body
doesn't want to move, it is
breathing out air, inhaling and
exhaling but moving, no. It is
done, I am done, my brain, my
body, every nerve in my system is
done. I recently watched this
show called “Feel good” in hopes
to feel good myself, and it hit me
like an epiphany, how comedy
often masks the complexities
of nature, we call it mental health.
So, now that I've watched
something that was supposed to
be feel good, and I don't feel good
after it, I think that the feelings that
are resonated by my mind, my body,
will go unnoticed. I don't know how
to feel about it and whom to talk
about it. So, now, my body is in this
state of self loathing with an ounce
of anxiety because I wanted to watch
something that'd make me feel good,
but instead I watched something that
made me miserable.
As she stood there, waiting.
Waiting for a sign, a reason perhaps,
I'm glued to the television, knowing
Her world is about to collapse.
The pain in her heart, is mine
too. Her eyes all cried out, staring,
directly at the camera, I can sense it
in my bones, it's obtrusive, glaring.
I hear she screamed when she saw,
the pool of blood and people oscillating.
Her whole world destroyed, in a moment,
truly vile, nauseating.
I'm a mere spectator, in this dysfunctional
world. Forcing my thoughts, evaluating.
And there she is, fighting every day,
running, crying, dying, alternating.
I move around my house, helplessly.
For I only know her pain, not understand it,
hating the world, the people, everyone,
for the crimes they didn't commit.
Will she get the justice she deserves?
I do not know, but I do know
that tonight, we'll both won't sleep,
we'll both see him, alive, breathing, a shadow.
It so happened some years ago,
a story of the past it seems,
the room was wide and huge,
absorbing the echoes of her screams.
Her tale is told in those corridors still,
where she roams, almost as if free,
the ghost of her bolting/shutting doors,
what happened that night, I couldn't foresee.
Loud banging waking up the dead,
calling them to join her quest,
the dead following her in the night,
In that hostel only dead did rest.
I hear her sometimes still,
in what I believe are dreams,
I swear I saw a light on the ceiling,
of her, sorceress supreme.
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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.