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Best Poems Written by Zack Tesla

Below are the all-time best Zack Tesla poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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At the Carnival

Carousel,
flashing lights,
play along,
music flows,
cotton candy is enjoyed,
an alive midway.

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Vacant Chairs

A back-room dweller,
nervous hands in his pockets,
seeks his acceptance.

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Sinister Masqurade

Tourniquet tightens your grip slips away,
sobriquet veins will stop their play,
wriggling fingers will cease to stay.

Stain the sheets with dreams of dying,
but pain will keep your hopes at bay.

Insanity painted these walls a long time past,
kept the screams inside its cast,
surgeon’s blood from inside a cask,
evil has broke its human fast.

Up the alley away from town,
demonic dreams like a misfit clown,
occult craves a footstep’s sound,
nails leave trails on the ground,
only their screams were ever found.


By: Shahroz S. Mousavi
"A Creepy, Scary Haunted House Poem, Please" Contest

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Sunlight Slipping Through the Cracks

That small keyhole of morning sifts through the nighttime sky,
casts an orange shadow upon drawn curtains,
hear the birds chirping and hear the grasshopper’s cry,
the moon is dipping and the sun feels shy.

Alarm clocks have not yet sounded,
eyes are still heavy with sleep,
new corners of the bed have yet been founded,
hours left to snooze remain uncounted.

Orange dissolves into a subtle gold,
fresh grass blades shining with dew,
the sun once again feels bold,
squirrels peek out of their wooded folds.

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We Live Our Lives In Vain

Fragmented, Falsified, forelong-flame,
curb-sitting waiting for that train,
screaming out searching for a name,
we live our lives in vain.
Insecure, intimidated, insecure-blame,
in a suitcase all the pain,
quiet silouette behind a frame,
we live our lives in vain.
Content, Contempt, colorless-name,
abandon your youthful claim,
shove it in with dreams of fame,
we live our lives in vain.

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Cracked

They said he'd cracked,
like a jar in the wind,
ajar to within.

Grumbling gears in an attic of a mind,
cranked with the resiliency of an old steam engine,
chugging along.

Muddy cigar for the failures,
basement couch for the come-backs,
after being knocked off a hundred times,
the podium has never had this many scratches,
climbs back up every time,
but gallows are never very accommodating.

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Capillary Forest

In this capillary forest,
behind the foggy bushes away from seas,
something that was once sun kissed,
now lies shriveled amongst the trees.

Let it know it will be missed,
for it lies without partner or friend,
deformed, diseased and disheartened,
maroon rivers now descend.

Still it beats like an old wristwatch,
tired of its own façade of sound,
aged like an old Irish scotch,
a game of hiding where your never found.

Through the storms and rainy nights,
lies curled up and without a fight,
collects rainwater and winter’s frost,
no love given, no love lost.

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Staring Back

Those two big brown eyes, 
they sit like two quiet double spies, 
on the edges of my sanctity. 
Probing my mind with their careful ponder, 
traversing the crvices of my shaky stare. 
Those two deep perfectly almond eyes, 
become the watchmen on my lobby, 
closing my doors as they see fit, 
leaving me to question whos inside. 
Those two never blinking pearl-shined eyes, 
Become the ocean under my ship, 
To which a thousand men mustve been swallowed, 
always leaving my boat just about to slip. 
Those two gentle delicate eyes, 
become the spotlights on my surgery table, 
Putting me under the knife, 
cutting through the surface and the soft insides, 
performing a vivisection on my life. 
Those two eyes will never stop staring, 
as I fall deeper into their crevice, 
and if I shall hit the ground, 
it will only be at their promise.

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Dream On, Dream Off

Dream on, dream off,
set the world on fire just to put it out,
climb your mountain today to fall back down tomorrow.
Dream on, dream off,
from in front of a bull to behind a desk,
from a driver’s seat to a pit-stop pedestrian.
Dream on, dream off,
the lightbulb fades all too easily,
to become the moth to the bigger flame.

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Herding of the Masses

There is a disease in our species
A bacterium that feeds on faces of the weak,
A spreading paradigm of sickness and disease.
Puncturing greatness and confidence leaks.
There is a insecurity among our species,
A herder tending to his sheep,
A continuous need to follow,
Abandoning the need to be.
There is a meek shade of gray,
Staining the people while they sleep,
Loneliness with other colors,
To be content amongst the weak.
There is a set of wings amongst our species,
Forced closed and weighted down,
Feathers that speak of revelation,
Are shed in heaps throughout this town