Sonnet Self Poems

What with vainglory vanity and pride, 
I once asked my ego what makes it go: 
It’s not me who’s on a vainglorious ride, 
Nor arrogance...

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I can't really write a sonnet
But if you want a limerick i'm on it
And if I had to write without rhymezone
My mind would have blown
Therefore...

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In depths of solitude, I stand forlorn,
With shadow as my sole and steadfast friend.
By society shunned, from kinship torn,
I ponder on life's edge, its bitter...

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Don't compare yourself with others 
For neither high nor low,cheers 
Up standing for the sun in the sky
And looking down at the earth for why

Being...

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Tight stretched skin, not unlike leather parchment
Adorned with scars and burns and such carvings
Among the colors, red ink's enrichment
Envelops a file cabinet's burnings

Advice from the...

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Inevitably, tears of love, of sorrow,
tears that stem from my heart, flow
whenever I think of your sacrifice,
the ultimate payment of a high price.
You were a...

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Do tell, when seen, the sight of answers
The ones that are sought deep within.
Away now, dig graves deeper 
Unearth the bones, the memories of pain...

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Gladness, sadness, soulfulness, and loneliness often foam.
The inner irritations that erupt like volcanoes
Unexpressed emotions, like ghosts of the passed away, roam
Urge to break all settled...

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My mind and heart roam, like a cloud, gales, and breezes.
As part of the Brahma, like stardust, I'm spread and shattered
In the nerves of the...

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Fighting against external enemies is natural.
Isn't my fight against myself a Herculean task?
Desires and drives that decrease me into an animal
In my predicament, my consciousness...

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In the looking glass, a reflection pained,
A self-portrait, a visage marred and strained,
Unrecognizable,  sight hard to bear,
Time-stamped emotions etched, lines of despair.

Pain and loneliness,...

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I like to paint myself. Should I be a face in the crowd?
Shouldn't I be the one fondly holding my head so high?
To be poised,...

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The day my mind folded over the highway. 
in sunny Florida citrus surrounded me 
the breeze was just right as oranges danced. 
with lemons scents...

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I'm an artist without a muse to capture 
Painting with no brush or sense of the soul
Sparking fire without a fuse or ember
Still I perceive...

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Critical thoughts not said out loud.
Rumbling sounds heard through the crowd.
“Who are we to judge him?”, one said.
Discerning thoughts all in my head.

Judging is not...

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