The Villian in Someone's Eyes
Walking through these chapters of familiar fires.
Are you responsible for someone's clinging to
Old versions of you?
Villian in Someone's eyes.
Ongoing condemning and manipulation on evaluating
others.
Most people don't understand themselves, So let
them continue to misunderstand you.
Some actions are preceived as villainous acts
because lack of control.
She's not backing down yet She's her own advocate,
Accept this role and continue to protect your peace.
Set boundaries keep moving forward in this illusion
of assumptions of being a villian in someone's eyes.
Why do I paint myself the villain?
Why do I see everyone else as a saint?
What makes them so great?
I know I make mistakes,
But don't they?
Why do I paint myself the villain?
Why do we think others do no wrong,
But we ourselves do?
What makes them so great?
The mind knows how to play,
and make us 'feel grey'.
We try to feel better and seek perfection,
but we are running from correction.
Why do I paint myself the villain?
Like Alaster Moody,
You never fail to surprise me with your various sides.
Like Klaus Mikealson,
You hurt, but you care deep down.
Like the white witch,
You desire to concur, yet you haven't figured out how.
Like the mad scientist,
You tend to experiment with your feelings and end up tangled.
but for every villain there's a redemption.
And yours too would find that ray of light.
Because, all you have to do is let go and cherish what you have rather than trying to push everything away.
We are friends, becoming more intimate
Staring as the campfire is popping and cracking
Watching the tiny glimpses of yellows and oranges
Trying to peer through the greyness that was once a log.
You are telling me some things you would never tell me
In the day time, or without the wine but it is a cold night.
We have finished the bottle, just you and I, becoming closer.
I watch your face distort herself. You look weird, strange, unnatural.
You are suddenly a monster, someone I do not know.
In the shadows of the woods, I suddenly feel terror.
I have shared some things I wish I had not.
Perhaps you feel the same way also.
Thoughts of a mass-murderer come into my head.
I wonder if I am hallucinating, or psychically picking up
On the real you. You are in the middle of a story when you stop
Staring at me hard.
I guess you know....
When first freed from mother's skirt, still arrayed in white,
dew kissed, peach sweet, blush cored, I dove into
love, Persephone pierced; where ox-eyed daisies grew
within a field abreast a Roman ... in daylight.
Dry merlot overcast the blooded spot on site
where passion flowered upon the box stitched blue
quilt Grandmother with constancy had imbued.
Yet, youth was not enough to make the man contrite.
An omen ran through red bee balm, a hound of black
long-limbed, loosed to pursue the brazen few who dared
to lay unabashed in sunlight, the farmer stared back
from the porch; he saw them run, saw yarrow in her hair.
Ill fated yes, but first love is honeyed and that is a fact;
nothing's sweeter than a maid undressed in open air.
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.