I was meant to soar
your love is smothering slowly killing me
~ won't you set me free
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: 2nd place 2025
There’s a feel of heaviness around me
Weighing down my body and mind
Restlessness consumes my very existence
With this cloak of despair I can’t unbind
What brings this downfall upon me
What is the purpose of this misery
Other than imprisoning me in my life
The reasoning for all this is still a mystery
My life has been taken away from me
I’m floating like a cloud in a sky despair
How long must I be made to suffer
Will there be an end to this nightmare
This rancid darkness that’s overcome me
Has shown me on earth there’s a literal hell
That will capture your mind to torture you
And your captures you can never dispel
This mental prison they call depression
Will relentlessly make you beg and plead
You desperately want to get away from here
Alive or dead regardless as long as you’re freed
Don’t think too hard.
They sting behind your eyes.
Sharp swells
from the recessing snake pit.
Faces warp, wrap, and real.
Knotted limbs
of trying tapestry.
The marriage of scale and skin.
Remember to forget.
My soul was not to keep.
A window woe.
Through eyes not mine, I see.
Take from me
what was yours already.
Prisoner.
In shadows deep where chaos grips my heart, A whispered cry is heard from the darkened cells
A child once laughing beneath a sunlit sky, Now lost in the darkness of despair.
Fear crawls like a serpent in the night, its scales revealing the demons I bear
I drown in thoughts that bind me to this cage, a battle fought against silent screams as shadows twist around my mind. I wrestle with the darkness, afraid of what will happen when I close my eyes
Each tear is a river, each sigh a struggle; my mind wrestles with the demons that dance in front of me, mocking me.
I fight against the tide, but it pulls me in deeper
When silence envelops me, I become a prisoner of such deep calm,
That I hate the quiet that strips me bare, yet love it all the same.
It strips everything of meaning, people, voices, even myself,
And I begin to see the world through lifeless eyes, as if nothing matters,
As if everything passes in a cycle of which I am not a part, an endless loop.
Emotions seem pointless, noisy and weak, like lost echoes,
I don't want them, I don't feel them, I don't need them to fill my soul with noise.
All I desire is nothingness, to feel nothing, to be nothing, to disappear into the silence
In which the world would drown if we all stopped making noise and tumult.
I don't want comfort, I don't seek healing, only the silence that swallows you whole,
That washes away every thought, every emotion, every name I've answered to,
Until nothing matters anymore, because nothing of what was remains.
It's a journey to a realm where silence is an ocean that gently envelops us,
And where existence is just a shadow dissolving into eternal, mysterious quiet.
I am a purple prisoner of poetry
For when I can’t write woe is me
Darkens my sky the flowetry
Enriches my life the soul of me
Some do drugs roll with me
I just do hugs go with me
Grasping the love of a sheet
Of paper, pen and ink is peace
Muse is a turquoise tool guides me
Ideas are precious jewels inside me
It’s an affliction of discovery
A kind of mission red recovery
Righting what is wrong you see
Writing poems sonnets songs to sing
Some are like the ivory breeze
Others crash into onyx dead sea
One hopes to be indigo inspiring
To tickle brain cells cherry firing
To leave readers denim desiring
Or perhaps even enjoying inquiring
In the jail of a black bipolar mind
Where hell is back and forth in time
Words can be a key or lemon lock in crime
Can be of forms free or form that rhymes
Needing readers to read gives me a high
Hoping that you see a message from divine
Captive of spells by all rhymes and verses
Seized in tangs of thoughts and emotions
I gain joy, love, comfort, strength and wellness
They rob my stress and tensions.
As ink spills down from my deepest blood streams
I release my imagination with thrill
All my hopes, wishes, aspirations and dreams
all freed by the tough handcuffs of my quill.
Poem is a sanctuary of my peace
A cloister where I ponder and meditate
Another calm place to pray on my knees
I feel, slavery of words is my fate.
Devoured by my passion of poetry
I’m like a craving monster, so hungry.
Bound by the chains of poetry, that’s me
Words swirl in my mind continuously
However hard I try to flee from this cell
The prison of poetry won’t bid farewell.
I write of nature’s infinite splendour
The more I see, the more I’m in awe
Wonder of the sky, sunrise or sunset
Trees and flowers with magnificent effect.
I tell of birds singing sweetly on high
Children’s laughter as I’m passing them by
Of animals, treasures of planet Earth
Folk who just want to love for all they’re worth.
Now and then I am prone to fantasise
Taking readers with me on carpet rides
To places I know I could never see
In the wonder of imaginary.
Tales of happiness and tales of sorrow
Wherever my muse is wanting to go
A prisoner of poetry I’ll be
As long as there’s rhyme, and time left for me.
Alphabets gather as words unravel
the passing and returning of moans;
lines of phrases inflame the arteries
of beauty, angst, love interwoven
by imagination's pining.
Tingle of words… fragrance of vowels…
caress of verses enter the soul, as if to dive
into the very basin of layered expressions.
On a fresh scroll baring my bones
and rawest of mood,
I enter a daringly new dimension
with a theme that reels my senses
that ink and quill ravage fleshed pages
As poetry makes the eyes hungry.
My bars the words, the prison guard my verse,
Rattling the staves of this poetic cell,
I struggle vainly, locked up in this jail.
Yea, thus is my predicament, my curse.
Oh, how jealously, you smirking blank verse,
I look upon what freedom guides your quill;
For formal phrasing does of me compel
Stubborn structures—the styles which I rehearse.
But, boldy bumbling, art is now arising!
Walls becoming my score, and tallies tones, ?Confined to meter, bound by rigid rhyme,
I yet find measures full of surprising
Motifs. The modern poet at sonnets groans,
But I, I do believe they’re quite sublime.
"Some words show up fast, some want to sit and play with us. What can a writer do???" By Poet
I like to write so my words in poetry can live,
letting my imagination come to life with jive.
My ink will not be bound but alive,
for my ink not my blood must write to survive.
Watch out for my crazy and fun imagination,
it makes up my whimsical writing foundation.
Some days I even find myself using meditation,
the ink and paper will show my new creation.
I write for the reader,
I want them as my very best cheerleader.
As prisoner of poetry my words fill their reading feeder,
then they can become a poetry eater.
I'm a prisoner of poetry
Chained to the curse of the verse
Locked in the labyrinth of lyrics
For my better or for worse
I'm a prisoner of poetry
Captive to words and notions
Jailed by the jubilee of jingles
Confined by my emotions
I'm a prisoner of poetry
Restrained by the rhythm of rhymes
Immured by the mad myths of metres
Thoughts tied to my Muse's crimes
I'm a prisoner of poetry
Shackled to enchanting runes
Fettered by the freedom it gives me
Bound to literary tunes
I'm a prisoner of poetry
Liberated by my writes
It hooks me, holds me, helps me, heals me
With my Muse, I touch new heights
I am a prisoner of poetry,
counting syllables as I rhyme,
Hoping ink will give me wings,
as I pour silent screams
through sleepless nights.
I call my muse to awaken my senses,
To write one last sonnet,
incensed with roses and longing…
Allergic
to the truth
Immune
to virtues glow
One infection
plagues my soul
Whose cure
— my sin forgoes
(Dreamsleep: December, 2024)
His love incarcerates her heart
Like a prisoner captive in shackles
Inescapable
All consuming,
Overwhelming
Like a magnet to its metal.
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