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Christopher Leonidas Poem
I Committed Suicide
I stretched out weary hands.
Melisa, who considered me
like a big brother, quickly ran away from me.
My heart writhed unto me;
I longed for a swig of water.
Noise danced, rumbled inside me in thunder.
But the whirlwind heard
the swoosh of the knife as my eyes blushed.
But why didn’t I die instead?
I placed the knife back
in my rusty pocket.
I recalled she told me,
“No, don’t kill yourself.”
“Stress is like chess;
either you play it, or it plays you.”
Vinegar boiled my blood,
though my bones
were hit by the daily rocks I ate.
My suicidal act was lured with its bait.
But why didn’t I die instead?
Swarms of flies consumed the skin of my throat.
My fleshes were allotted to stresses atop a fire.
My fur was tumbleweed and chaff before the wind blew.
My mouth became a thirsty land.
I turned blue. I cried sandy tears.
My ivory screams were smokes.
But why didn’t I die instead?
“Christo,” I heard as I reconsidered.
“Melisa bloodily committed suicide,”
an old man vociferated.
I fell to my knees.
The blood in my head was a rolling sea.
Reconsideration ebbed away.
I was a zebra running away from a lion’s teeth,
but in the lake, caught by the crocodile’s jaws of death.
My muscles fainted in decay.
My soul ran away from a fowler’s snare.
Wails went higher than an eagle’s wings.
But why didn’t I die instead?
Copyright © Christopher Leonidas | Year Posted 2015
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Christopher Leonidas Poem
I did that!!!
I stabled the child
In his chaste, and kill his dreams
While he wanted help
I saw his pain flew
Before the wick act of mine
Felt his field of pain
I could help him from
His savage time under woe
But I show no love
I could make a spark
Of light made a difference
But I was too sloth
He wailed with strong pain
That I myself felt his wounds
But I was still numb
He was a gold child
‘Cause of his youth or future
Of change, the oil o’ it
I should help him ‘cause
In my times, I was in his
Place, and eke hurt
I had all to help
Him, but I ignored him.
It was my dark eyes…
Whatever his pains
Were, I had the hands of pelf
For I show no clack
Thus, he died under
My sight indirectly for
People, but me – no!
Copyright © Christopher Leonidas | Year Posted 2011
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Christopher Leonidas Poem
I sparkle and
burst into flame.
The winds leave no mark
of my ashes to claim.
While losing the linchpin of my body,
resulting in vaporization,
disarray engulfs my land
until I’m decomposed from composition.
I should be unborn.
This world fills me with remorse.
Corpses over corpses honor the dead’s tears
at the tomb with no guide
in which I reside.
Dishonor leads me lost and astray,
and this world is a wasteland—
a watery death of disarray.
Copyright © Christopher Leonidas | Year Posted 2015
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Christopher Leonidas Poem
Gone in the valley of my wicked action and in the depth
Of deception, the fact of hiding any truth hath only hidden the torch of
Destroying any act of impurity, and motivation of making a change.
Copyright © Christopher Leonidas | Year Posted 2011
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Christopher Leonidas Poem
As dawn rose,
coughing blood blew out,
and cells decomposed.
I, the Octa, or the circle of eight characters
who carried my own memories
and seven other characters’,
remained confused
by life as I tasted its sorrow,
and time passed by.
While grieving for unfair death,
I made my way into the cemetery.
I carried the world’s disgrace.
Feeling that the world was colder
than fear itself in a sense,
I hoped to show this existence:
that killing each other is no better
than just action like a rightful penalty,
and, being a messenger,
I should start over.
Copyright © Christopher Leonidas | Year Posted 2015
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Christopher Leonidas Poem
Lost
What to write: that night,
my mind went blind.
For a blank sheet of paper
proved my thoughts darker,
darker than a blank sheet
of paper in a hollow, dark room,
a dark room that became
for me a random living room,
pushing me to be a dweller.
I knew no way to describe
my slithering snake’s actions
and the kisses of hell’s flame.
Copyright © Christopher Leonidas | Year Posted 2015
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