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Best Poems Written by Ramael Ashta

Below are the all-time best Ramael Ashta poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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chasing cars

one day, I saw a car going by
with my fourteen-year-old self in the driver's seat.
he wasn't even the one driving the car. 
it was hate that was driving the car,
fueling the car,
steering the car,
because the car was a vessel for the thoughts crammed in that trunk
which acts as the engine
the engine was in the back of the car.
that's right; it was the type of car that goes really fast
except when you're stuck in traffic
then you're on the same speed as everyone else.
but there was no traffic
there was nothing stopping the car
the car traveled at the speed of light,
but you see, the thing with traveling at the speed of light,
is that it's hard to stop, easy to lose control,
and time flies away with you,
no matter how little you enjoy the ride.

one day, I was passing by a car wreck
two cars of the same type,
same color,
same age,
the hoods perfectly crushed into each other
the windshields making contact
and I looked at the boy from earlier,
and saw that he had aged four years.

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fear of missing your ''self''

there may be times when you think that everything's changed...
but you look around, and you still don't see anything for what it is...
so you willingly forfeit the hope of what could be, in exchange for the theory that should be.

so naturally, you incline towards your conviction that things simply must be this way...
and anything else that contradicts what has been true since you've been alive, was conceived by the mind of an unborn fetus. 

you don't just want to avoid pain, you want to hurt it back.
you don't just want perfection, you want to make it look easy.
you don't just want to live in spite of everything, you want to work against the world's form and shape, because of the prehistoric theory that it symbolizes true strength.

and what will you do when you have all those things?

you'll always feel like a soldier in a garden.

will you trample over every flower, squirrel, and anthill...

simply because you deem it to be inferior, and that no flower, squirrel, or ant can say otherwise?

life will go on.

so why choose the death of everything,

over the life and oneness of it all?

Details | Ramael Ashta Poem

Fear Of Missing Yourself

MISSING?
WHAT'S MISSING?
NOTHING'S MISSING.
I HAVE EVERYTHING THAT I COULD POSSIBLY WANT.
100 CARS,
$79,119,312,
NO ONE IN MY LIFE TO TRIP ME OVER.
EVERYONE'S EITHER DEAD OR GAVE UP LOOKING FOR ME.

I'LL NEVER BE ABLE TO KNOW WHO'S REALLY THERE FOR ME,
SO I'M COMFORTABLE JUST HATING EVERYONE.
JUDGING EVERYONE.

YOU KNOW WHAT'S FUNNY? 

THERE'S PEOPLE OUT HERE, JUST WALKING AROUND, THINKING THEY'RE GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME. 

PEOPLE WHO THINK THEY'RE ON MY LEVEL, AND THEY HAVEN'T EVEN TAKEN A SINGLE STEP.

THEY'RE ON THE SAME LEVEL AS A FETUS. THEY DON'T KNOW THAT, AND THEY NEVER WILL. THEY WOULDN'T KNOW WHO I AM IF I EXPLAINED IN A POWERPOINT WITH JUST 10 SLIDES.

THEY'RE COMFORTABLE JUST THINKING I'LL EVENTUALLY FIND SOME REASON TO ENTERTAIN THEM, JUST AS I'M COMFORTABLE KNOWING WHO THEY ARE, AND NEVER HAVING TO PRETEND TO LIKE THEM. 
I DON'T OWE THEM RESPECT.
I DON'T OWE THEN GRATITUDE.
WHAT DO I OWE TO A FETUS?

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788 Years

There was a man in the first book of the Bible
The one that we call "Genesis"
There was not one mention of his arrival
Because his story had little significance

The "Harry Pekar" of the ancient times
when people lived many years beyond 70
He was 5'7, red hair, black eyes
And his favorite fruit was tangerines.

He would write songs about the Lord
And write poems about women
Over the years, his soul has grown cold
His scars are sewn up with silk and fine linen

He doesn't mind the empty chambers
He doesn't fear the silence
Because his faith holds him together
Through the never ending waves of sadness

Set fire to the rain, he'll take it with a smile.
He hides all his pain and he does it in style.
His name is Kalsapheth, born in early September 
In the modern day city of Van Nuys 

One fine summer, he awoke in the field
In which he had spent his time toiling away
He made his way to the edge of a river
And as he drank, he saw a different face

A wonderful woman with curly locks
Sensitive and kind, bearing strong resemblance
To some kind of peace, he had long since lost
And now, our hero has found some happiness,

In Jehelshebath, God's beautiful child
Sometimes colorful, and sometimes mild
But all-in-all, she's strong as a vine,
Never felt so strong in such a long time,

And he's never felt so much in such a short time
And he's felt so strongly, he would've had to cry
If he wasn't so strong, so he showed his smile,
A real smile, no one's ever seen in a while

One that can withstand the test of time
In moments of sadness, you'll know that he'll be fine
Because Kalsapheth has no reason to hide,
Through every weather, they stay side-by-side

Set fire to the rain, he'll take it with a smile.
He understands his pain, it was all worth the while
His name was Kalsapheth, till the ripe old age of
Seven-hundred and eighty eight.

He had 27 children in his youthful days
And so many grandchildren, I won't bother to name
He had found his peace, and the LORD took him away
But his song and peaceful spirit will remain

In the words of this poem in a website, on display.
Let the scripture itself remain unchanged
For Kalsapheth took this saying to his grave.
"Let things be, until God brings change"
Amen

Details | Ramael Ashta Poem

fish in a lake

escape 
	is impossible

			when the night strikes
			and the dew frog sinks

		vomit in the pool
		of drying water
		dumping itself into the sky

	mocking the tadpole
	starving them of water
	sucking them into the dirt
	as the sun watches them stumble

dare i say, even leeches 
deserve a better fate than
to dance in a pencil sharpener 
filled with salt and ashes

Details | Ramael Ashta Poem

Achilles Complex

I don't have an Adonis Complex.
I don't want to look pretty.
Even the weakest hand crushes the strongest flower. 

Attraction is fleeting.
Fear is universal.
The only truth is violence and power.

Punishing the self for its weakness
is training the body for strength.
I dedicate my life to forging the steel 

inside of the body, and sharpen the mind
to cause an Assyrian army to kneel.


Breaking and bending and overextending,
pacing around with a vest of iron.
Pushing and pulling and punching the air
as my withering arms cry out in silence.

Faster and stronger and perfectly deadly.
Feared by all and accepted by none.
That is the only life worth living.
That is what I wish to become.

Patience is only a virtue for those
who are comfortable leaving their lives to the dust.
I shall be sealed in a coffin of metal.
Feel free to pray that the chains never rust. 

I can't afford to be happy.
I can't let my hands be slack.
People around me plan on attacking 
every second I'm not fighting back.

And I'll never win, because I deserve nothing.
I never proved myself worthy to survive.
I bear only scars and holes in the walls
The only proof I was ever alive.

I can't let myself be a flower
I must break the strongest hand
I must summon primordial power
that even science can't understand.

Attraction is fleeting.
Fear is universal.
The only truth is power, and this torturous rehearsal.

Where weakness begets violence
The only option is to kill
I don't enjoy it in the slightest
But it must be done, even still. 

My wishes and my wills
are of no concern to nature.
Why drown in teeth as the victim
and die none the braver? 

My genes do not define me.
I break anything that does.
my own body will fear me.
I make it so, just because. 

And only when it fears me
does it do as I command,
which is always and forever
as every creature on the land.

Details | Ramael Ashta Poem

51st street

i saw a lighter on the ground
i saw a kid throw his happy meal out of the window of a car
i saw a stray cat rotting next to his missing poster
all of his stray friends trying to guard the body from rats

every killer, every sinner of every kind
i find them here
on this street

i saw a squirrel on the ground
ran down on the road, buried in dust
I saw trash on the ground
filling up the storm drains, we can't keep up with the flood 

every killer, every sinner of every kind
i find them here
on this street

any living thing with a bit of hope inside
is 99 miles away
from this street

i saw a girl, held against the wall
she was being arrested by the cops
a fallen angel, but nowhere near as saintly
someone I knew, but who cares, really?
i saw them throw her in the back 
i watched them drive away in the opposite direction of my home

every killer, every sinner of every kind
I found them here 
on this street

any living thing with a bit of hope inside
is on the opposite side of the world
from this street

the difference is like night and day
like home and away
it's different here, from where i stand
and that's how i know

i'm not on this street
and i'm never coming back

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Dove and Crow's Song

the birds in heaven
weeping still for your lost soul
peace cannot survive

in this needled cage
where desires rot like trash
singing, ringing noise

trumpets loud ablaze
sins of pleasure well erased
gardens have returned

but what flower knows
the warmth of the shining sun?
wherefore can we sleep?

wherefore is this peace?
let it dwell within us all
those who go too soon.

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Sixty Fangs: Part Two

I remember now!
His name was the Crenshaw Cowboy!
He was the one who told me I descended from kings!

This is why I jump over the fence
Why I kick the fence
We pillaged and burned
Doing only what we needed to survive
So that we could one day tear the fence down and make peace

Or maybe I'm wrong and death is the only way not to kill.

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I am Pagliaccio

The drums...
The cheering...
The singing...
The dancing...

I tire of it all.
I may be Pagliaccio, 
But without the paint and powder...
I am a man.

I am not even Canio...
That name is lost to me now.
Canio loved his wife, Nedda.
The clown you see knows no grief.
The poison in his heart diluted in his blood.

Surviving through the song that anchors me with purpose.
Driven by hatred, greed and bitterness, I sing...

(He wipes his tears)

Ah.....

(His eyes light up, he opens his mouth and smiles. A new song fills his his twisted heart, and he is struck with joy)

hahahaha! HAHAHAHAHA!!!!! HahahahahaHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!! 

Laugh, Pagliaccio!!

At the joke that is love...!!!!

Laugh at the clown who loved his Arlequin!

Laugh at the love that has poisoned his heart!