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Patricia Janero Poem
The empty air of the cosmos, sucking every life of void. You feel nothing, and
yet, emptiness feels you. With deadened eyes that search nullity as if though the
very nonexistence would apparate before your very own gaze. With Shadowed
ground and fathomable dusk. Light, which, may not even glow, is as an eclipse, light
hidden by walls of the mind. The cage of mental lies, you may call up, bring forth the
sanity that you question. Insanity in Lunacy swallows up the mind.
With no one to rely on, when no one is compelling enough to to trust, the mind
falls apart in the darkness of thought. Ears, muffled of words and screams, rush and
reel with the silence of the unbalance. Hands pulling, grasping, straining, to rip you
apart, to hear your scream. Yet, no sound emanates from your throat. The pulling,
grasping, and straining hands cause a dull ache. The scarring claws and nails are soft
fingers against cold skin. Thrashing movements, ones you cannot understand, you
register as your own. Screams filling mute ears, stifled sobs of desist now are clear in
the smothered ears as water in a crystalline glass. Melancholy hidden in the words,
singing out in pain.
Bright walls seemed dulled, voices drowned out by grief-filled silence. Cold air,
rushing through the empty space between lungs and skin, between cloth and flesh,
warmth leaving your very being frozen. Not finding one fraction of detail to take in as
solace in the darkness of this gloom. Crying out as If you were able to find an anchor
and hold on. Said anchor is nowhere in sight as dark as the blackness of night, you
cannot see. In this mind of mental lies, everything is as an illusion. Reality is just as
cold and foreboding as the dusk of light when the dark of your shadows begin to
creep out to spread black fingers of cold, into your very soul.
I actually wrote this when I was in 7th Grade, what do you guys think?
We were supposed to choose and emotion and right it out, I chose the Null of
Emotion, or simply, the emptiness of them.
Copyright © Patricia Janero | Year Posted 2010
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Details |
Patricia Janero Poem
The world, colored in the sharp contrasting colors of black and white, grey in
between, shift into a blizzard every time emotions begin to turn, to burn and boil, to
freeze and foil, and once long lines of connecting breaths and hearts of bright red,
turn black and disappear into the grey background, one has lost their connection
with life.
To stab one in the back, to fight someone to the end, to kill or be killed, seem like
animal instinct, to destroy what could repeat history, but in truth, to forget and
forgive, to turn the other way, to sing out appraisals to enemies and to criticize
friends is what is the truth of life. One small mistake and all turn upon one.
Should one make a mistake, and take upon the anger and rage of the world, they
would obviously be destroyed, but wonder, would this happen to others, when
others begin to be suspected.
The human race is a strange species of suspicion, paranoia, greed, envy, and rage.
We kill to eat, like the beasts, but unlike the beasts, we kill for sport, for game, to
take the pride that the world gives us.
We know not humiliation, and we know not control, so history shall forever be
repeated, more of 'the ones' shall be killed, so we shall forever be a race of
Destruction an Death.
Even I, one who hates such thinking, do as the race of the world.
I feel paranoid, suspicion, greed, envy, and rage. I am merely human and I feel like
human.
And even now, at times, I feel terrible, to be what I am.
A destructive monster, wanting nothing more then to take my place in the world of
high places, wonderful, but empty praise, and even more empty smiles.
One must wonder, do you feel proud to be human?
Copyright © Patricia Janero | Year Posted 2010
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Details |
Patricia Janero Poem
The cold is draws forth, closing in on the hearts discontent as if a dog on the hunt.
The pain and withering numbness that dances into view, is simply like that of a
ghostly faery, promising stories, love, friendship, only to be grasped and fade away
from thought.
A scream can be heard, and nothing more, the dancing world is silent, scarily so, and
the place rings with the sharp sound of a song.
Fingers trailing in a world where they have no place to be, make one wish to stand
and dance, to scream out, to tear hair from their very heads, to let their throats
bleed in their pain, in their joy, in their agony.
Try and find a helping hand in such a world, where every person has long gone,
fallen in their own despair and their own madness where nothing can be found but
empty smiles, loud laughter, ravishing the air like that of a lover to another.
Try to escape, try to run form the laughter, from the silence, from the very world of
hysterics, of grins, of a dancing masquerade.
Colors of bright have gone dull, no longer able to stand such horrible atrocities.
Let your mouth fall open, let your tongue try and make words, make pleas, cries,
sounds of any kind, and watch as nothing falls out, let the sound of silence ring
powerful in your ears, may you scream and scream, but never be heard.
May your throat bleed, may your tears go dry upon your cheeks, may the very air in
your lungs go far off and let it dance off as if it was never there.
And then.
You wake to find nothing but your room, your personal space.
The sheets are in disarray, the room is too hot and too cold all at once, and then,
you raise a hand to your throat, feel only the wetness of sweat, and breathe a sigh
of relief, only to fall back into the monster that is your mind, gone and far, locked
away in its dancing madness.
Copyright © Patricia Janero | Year Posted 2010
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