Everlasting vicious circle Breaks
Up again,
Only to slip into the dark.
I wait for hands to pick me up,
White-knuckled and holding on,
Until I finally fall in
The circle never breaks.
Steady for a second,
Then the floor gives way.
Gripping tight until my palms ache,
Up again.
Off balance, but not alone.
Someone pulls me from the shadows
and plants my feet on solid ground.
I hold on, eyes toward the light,
breaking the circle to become my hope
Trapped in a emotional collapse
Just waiting for the next relapse
I’m trapped in this vicious cycle of
addiction
Dying from a overdose would be
my prediction
My emotional scars run wide and
deep
These locked in traumas I’ll always
keep
Thinking I could achieve something that
I could not
Hurts me deeply as my soul begins
to rot
Everyday I’m consumed with unrelenting
emotional pain
I try to keep it hidden but it’s becoming
hard to contain
When every bridge has already been
burned
Trust is something not easily earned
Everyone’s motives become so
unclear
Not knowing who to trust is a constant
fear.
When every smile holds a bold face lie
It’s just easier to shut up and just comply
Wake up
Don’t get up
Procrastinate
Hours pass
Self-hate
Wake up
Once upon a blue moon
I worked in public school
and it was scary.
So are great horror films.
I once felt that I was in one.
I got out, alive.
I told a previous running coach
whom I don't care to
filter truth from:
stop running in vicious circles,
and make running fun again.
Listen to 'Baker Street'
by Gerry Rafferty.
Watch the last scene
and the ocean scene
from 'McFarland'
the movie.
Cry a little
and run a lot
and live
when living is alive
and you mean something
(if only to yourself).
When people read poetry
they only read words,
powerful, and hopefully
thought-provoking,
and if better,
memorable.
Otherwise,
they are only letters arranged
in hopeful meaning,
superfluous ones.
Few will read these
slant lines,
buried beneath a shadow
of Hemingway’s fame.
That I had an audience
and people attended
plays….
I remember James Barrie
and his ‘Peter Pan.’
He was, as I am,
a broken man.
Don’t forget
Homer.
To forget the greats
is to forget history.
Let’s not run
in circuitous
figure-eights
forever.
Vicious eyes' light treads not on cautious lane;
Darkness befooled trust's will and cover sane-
Treasured joy embraces tears...
Lies fair; affectionate cheers
When dead living faith lacks comforting gain.
Life is a vicious cycle of climbing the pyramid scheme and getting to the top
When will she ever learn?
That mending a broken glass
Much like a broken soul
Then give it back to the breaker
Will only ever result in the same situation
Haven't years of sitting in a physics class ever taught her anything?
An experiment done in same unchanged circumstances
Will always result in the same conclusion
The conclusion in this case being:
It doesn’t matter if hopes and tears are shed,
Immeasurable trust won’t save her in the end.
The multitude of hopes
That something, anything might change ever
A hope to which she holds no control over
And a thought to which she’ll always be last
She allows it
To be broken and devoured in pain in a vicious cycle
Over and over and over
In hopes, faith?
That one day, maybe some day
It’ll stop hurting
Not stop breaking, not merely heal
But ever so simply, painstakingly stop hurting.
I'm a man who you should not admire.
I am dangerous because I'm a vampire.
When I bite people on their necks, they become vampires as well.
If they're killed by wooden stakes or sunlight, they will go to Hell.
I kill many people by drinking their blood every night.
People try to run when they see me because of fright.
But I'm too quick for them and when I suck their blood, I drain them dry.
And if I see you face to face, I will drink all of your blood and you will die.
Some people just grabbed me and one of them just drove a stake through my heart.
I've been a vampire for four hundred years but now I'm about to depart.
When I became a vampire, I thought that I would never expire.
The world will be better off because there'll be one less vampire.
Death life’s’ adversary
Cruel selfless all about me
Discriminate no bounds
Grim reaper swallows
Another soul washed away
A child is born
Life is carried on
Love and empathy
A sad lover’s song
Dark closes in on
My hapless heart
An empty end
A fruitless start
Death life’s’ adversary
Cruel selfless all about me
Discriminate no bounds
Grim reaper swallows
Another soul washed away
A child is born
Life is carried on
Love and empathy
A sad lover’s song
Dark closes in on
My hapless heart
An empty end
A fruitless start
The lump in my throat compelled me to believe.
that once there was a time of festiveness,
which has now turned into a vicious rhythm.
The unrealized desires are reduced to tears,
where the laughter of childhood turned into subdued smiles.
The severance of your own begetter,
aches just like dry spells in a well-plowed field.
One's good spirits become a cage of gloom for the other.
They thought they were emancipating, but who knew they were culminating in something that hadn't even commenced yet.
Ahh, So True Life Is A Vicious Game
Where dawning meadows truly dance anew
A pretty princess once cried out my name
Twas a hot summer so bright and fancy
I was foolish lad but playing a game
So romance died and I lost my Nancy.
Morn and I decided to give her a call
Sure you know to do the ghastly ole deed
The crow gave call and done was the deal
I never saw her face nor her salty tears
Ahh, so true life is a vicious game
And oft it hurts looking back through the years
Hurts like holy hell now, man tis so real.
I was foolish lad but playing a game.
Ahh, so true life is a vicious game
Robert J. Lindley
Sonnet
NOTE.
Remembering my youth oft brings memories that cause me deep regrets from decision I made in my wild youth. Scars that cause me pains today. But one must bear the pain of past decisions. Life is how you live it.
He weaves coincidences
and makes up stories,
He creates stories
and makes up myths,
He spins tall tales—
Is he a poet or politician?
He loves with a passion
like a man on a mission…
He lies truthfully,
The truths he ever tell
are nothing but lies,
He fabricates true lies—
Is he a priest or a philanderer?
He’s suave, he’s savvy,
As the Satan would snatch sinful souls,
He steals your thoughts stealthily
and flirts with your alter ego
corrupting your subconscious —
Is he a saint or a savant?
~03/19/23
~Contest: A Simple Poetry
~Sponsor: John lawless
“ VICIOUS VIOLINS “
VOICES FROM SOMEWHERE I’VE NEVER HEARD BEFORE
HARMONY FLOWS SMOOTHLY MAKES ME WANT FOR MORE
IT MUST BE ANGELS SINGING FROM HEAVEN ABOVE
THE WORDS SWEET AS HONEY SOUNDING JUST LIKE LOVE
LIKE A MAGIC CHIOR UNDER COVER OF THE NIGHT
DANCING FINGERS HITTING EVERY NOTE JUST RIGHT
HIPNOTIC VIBRATIONS LAY A WARM SPELL ON ME
SUREAL SWIRLING SOUNDS SET MY SOUL SO FREE
THEN TEMPO RISES QUICKLY LIKE A SCARED SCREATCHING OWL
BLAZING ELECTRIC GUITARS TRY TO KEEP UP SOMEHOW
SPARKS FLY OFF THE BOWS IN AN INSRUMENTAL FIGHT
AS VIOLENT VIOLINS SET FIRE TO THE NIGHT
THE EXPLOSION OF CONFUSION QUICKLY PULLS ME IN
AS SOUNDS OF SALVATION HAVE NOW TURNED TO SIN
MY WAITING EARS ASAULTED THE SOUND I’M WAITING FOR
THE MELLOW SOOTHING MUSIC I WILL HEAR NO MORE
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.