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Best Poems Written by J. Amorose

Below are the all-time best J. Amorose poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | J. Amorose Poem

Sitting on the rooftop, wavy hair billowing
In the wicked wind, fluttering away like herself
She clasps to her neck the silvery heart-locket
Before looking down from her shady alcove
She has no more time to waste, and, deciding a decided decision,
Tumbles through the sky...
_
When she was younger, she always looked to the sky
A source of inspiration, like the flags billowing
Patriotic she was for countries not hers, patriotic her decision
To go to the celebration of another land, that day of herself
There, in the shadows, she found an alcove
In the young boy who later gave her the heart-locket.

The boy, while certainly not a looker, was perfect for her, like the heart-locket
The reckless one, always wanting to fly for his country, a Navy pilot, up in the sky
And maybe that's why she chose him as the perfect alcove
For when premature death sealed his lips, only the flag knew her story, billowing
Its tragic tale into the world, mixing with the song of herself
That only she knew. That, at least, was her decision.

Despite the many voices, she made her own decision
And visited his coffin the day of his funeral, the heart-locket
Reflecting the pilot's face for the final time, he dropped out of the sky.
Had no reason to die. They found the body. A miracle for her and only herself.
The grey tombstone where she lived, the flag he died for above their heads, billowing,
Etched with his name in the color of death. Her alcove...
_
The funeral procession proceeds, though they all try to crack smiles. They visit her alcove,
The gravestone of a young boy so foolish to die. But really it was his decision.
The ominous flag like her hair that fateful night, billowing
With another life captured, preserved only in the heart-locket
Capturing the essence of what it meant for them to fly. The ground and the sky
Still encircling her neck, it sang her song, unsung except in the darkest nights, for herself.

Now there is no such thing as herself,
Only her cadaver, lying in its plot next to his, in the final alcove
She found before falling from the sky.
Just like him, that young boy, his eyes sparkling with his dream and his decision
To fly above the waves with her and the glitter of her heart-locket,
The flag he served forever in the air, billowing.

“Still capturing the essence of the sky, her waves of hair billowing
Remind us that she is lost forever. She could not live for herself, and her final decision
Reflects the alcove of the gravestones and the spark in the heart-locket.”

Details | J. Amorose Poem

A World Unexplored

Every day a world unexplored
Because of the invisible chains holding her hostage,
Away from anything she could have wanted.
A revolving world of ecstasy
But still a world of her demise
“What if there were no people?”

All of the other people
Mocked her views of universes unexplored
Leading to their early demise.
All the ideas held hostage
Giving her a false sense of ecstasy
“What if there was no want?”

Everything she could have wanted
Was not the fraternity of other people
But the fraternity of the ecstasy
Taking her to another world unexplored
She never thought herself a hostage
“What if there were no demises?”

She had heard of others' demises
Because of their greediness, they wanted
Too much and bound themselves hostage
To something that wasn't even a person
But an angel’s pill, unexplored
“What if there was no ecstasy?”

Her constructed world would collapse without the ecstasy
She’d probably slash her wrists instead of a slow demise
Because the dealer forgot. Writing a world unexplored
Doesn’t help. Already she’s tight on money, so she gave what he wanted,
Herself, in an alley away from other people.
“What if there were no hostages?”

What if? She was always his hostage
From the moment he forced the first ecstasy
Pill down her throat. Now, isolated from other people,
Let her early demise
Answer the questions she needed to know! This she truly wanted:
“What if there was no world unexplored?”

So many people have left her worlds unexplored
Just a hostage, don’t tell her of her imminent demise
From the pills of ecstasy, all she ever wanted

Details | J. Amorose Poem

The Little Princess's Decoronation

Little girl, you who plays princess with the glittery hat perched on your head,
The ribbons cascading down from its tip, tears from your heavenly eyes,
The scepter of a metal pipe and ball gemstones in your hands,
You have no idea who a princess is. You just pretend.
But really, all you know is a virtual reality,
Separated by electronic walls.

Your path to paradise separated by walls
Of incompetence, little girl. In shame hang your head.
If only you knew your life was a game you already lost, in reality.
When your subjects look upon your tattered dress and your downcast, shady grey eyes,
Go out to your balcony of segregation. Wave and pretend
Their lives are not in your hands.

The world is in your hands.
With them you can slay dragons, knight worthy men, build walls
In your castle, your little realm of pretend.
In it you have corruption and power. Tell them to chop of a man’s head
And that they do, without a glimmer of remorse in their eyes.
Little girl, if only you knew this could never be reality.

The scepter you claim is a diamond, in reality,
Just your mother’s glass necklace, clutched in your hands
To match the long-gone glimmer in your childish eyes.
Throughout the years, little girl, you’ve built all the fake walls
Between the princess of yesteryears and the current fog in your head.
Just remember – you are a marionette. Free will is pretend.

Little girl, you have always played pretend.
It’s your feeble attempt at escaping reality.
But now that your scepter is broken, your kingdom is in your head,
Pouring out onto the paper with a broken heart, a pencil and two hands.
All your impassible, unbreakable walls
Left unbetrayed by your cloudy, lying eyes.

You could never tell the color of your eyes.
On the color spectrum, they fell in lying or pretend.
Little girl keeps building those walls
To put more distance between her own broken soul and reality.
As you grow cold, your pale hands
And arms mimic the destructive bloodshed in your head.

Your impenetrable walls to the secret worlds burrowed inside your head
Little girl’s mastery at lying not even deceived by your eyes, when reality
Dictated that your world of pretend would die in your scarred arms and hands.

Details | J. Amorose Poem

Six Views of a Sickening World

Replace the desolate words I speak without intention
With my intended poetry – a burst of fresh light
In a forlorn bedroom filled with buckets of darkness!
As the world turns on its tilted axis
So does life, a rollercoaster of dreams
Created and crushed as a poor spider’s web

The spider spins her life’s work, a web
Food and survival her only intentions
She has no time for the flying mortal dreams
Of a world filled with goodness and light
No time for Allies, nor for an Axis
Who she can prevent from spreading the darkness

My life is spent in shadows and darkness
Waiting for the day when the spotlights are shined on my cobwebs
The only remaining things that will be of me, as I walk the low axis
Of countries grouping together with clear intention
To murder, pillage, and take over the light
Of innocent children, still sleeping with innocent dreams

All children quickly lose their dreams
When faced with the world and overwhelming darkness
They are too young to make their own light
And so spend their lives with the government’s web
Supplier of everything that happens, their intention
To create a worldwide alliance, one country, one axis

Young European unifications forming an axis
They have no clue about their true dreams
They have but one thing, that thing, intention
To expand, which every country labels darkness
But every country is entangled in the web
Of expansion and shining the religious light

I have never followed the religious light
And I understand the fighters of the Axis
All so sure, so believing in the government and the web
That by the end of it all, there were no dreams
Only an eerie, dying darkness
All the people died without any true intention

When there is intention, there is a fading light
The darkness desperately, wrongly produced by the Axis
Their pipe dreams stuck in the world’s web

Details | J. Amorose Poem

The Forgotten World

From color, everything turns into shades of grey
A palette of beauty, now so monochromatic
Everything good and bad ends up as alabaster
And all else is simply forgotten
Lost in the thick-leafed pages of time
Only preserved by the markers indicating their places

Soldiers march and stay in their places
Uniforms the darkest shade of grey
Their valiance dissipating over time
Because history is monolateral and monochromatic
The rebels we massacred we seem to have forgotten
The only things that remind us of them are their statues of alabaster

If every person in the world were commemorated in alabaster
Then would there be just enough places
To position them all? Most we forget
As time and their hair starts turning grey
Only the terrifying ones with monochromatic
Views are stuck forevermore in the realm of time

In life, there’s only so much time
To become extraordinary and immortalized in alabaster
The substance that makes all skin colors monochromatic
And every man stuck in his only place
Turning all of the beauty of outside grey
Until the true colors are forgotten

You and I will soon be forgotten
And stuck in the web of the spider, Time
We’ll watch as everything fades into grey
The piercing dead eyes of the alabaster-men
Reminding us to mind our places
And stay forever monochromatic

And while the grey world looks down on the monochromatics
And while the monochromatics are always forgotten
And while only the forgotten can truly go places
And while places are but a figment of time
And while time turns all men alabaster
And while alabaster is always grey

The monochromatics are the only ones who can stop time,
Remind us that we are not yet forgotten alabaster
Pieces in museums and other places decked only in grey.

Details | J. Amorose Poem

The Survivor's Curse

Wrath
Here I stand, upon
This hill, this hell of gunshots,
Pouring blood, whiskey,
Cadavers made into walls;
Unashamed generals lead
Color-adorned men
To untimely demises,
No food, no water,
But you must not leave The Cause,
For you have been called to fight
On the battlefield
The broken-hearted, dead past
A survivors’ curse.

Lust
Here I stand, upon
Lucky men who succeeded
In getting out of
The Cause’s grasp. If they died
Not, others would have instead.
Honor the Dead. For
The real reason we shoot at
Strange, potential friends
Is them. For them I stand here,
In crossfire of friend and foe
On the battlefield
The broken-hearted, dead past
A survivors’ curse.

Sloth
Here I stand, upon
The cold, hard, sure motherland,
Iron-tipped boots clack
To attention; another
Round goes off, some soldiers fall,
The Cause does not see
Its men pass into slumber
Forever. They squirm
On the doctors’ amputation
Tables, their last, faithless hope
On the battlefield
The broken-hearted, dead past
A survivors’ curse.

Pride
Here I stand, upon
Conquered, bleeding land
The stench of carcass
Drifts up from the trenches dug
Around an area not
Ours. Yet it is ours.
Men impaled for The Cause prove
That we should be here.
But what is The Cause? It is;
Fight for Its glory, think less
On the battlefield
The broken-hearted, dead past
A survivors’ curse.

Envy
Here I stand, upon
The trench lookout hill, I spy
Officers speaking
To comrades of their color,
Red. Red as blood. Red as Death.
Emblem on their caps
A symbol of hatred of
The Cause, and all good,
But I pity these poor men,
Stuck in the same place as me
On the battlefield
The broken-hearted, dead past
A survivors’ curse.

Gluttony
Here I stand, upon
The landscape of wilderness,
Polishing my gun
So that when I join my friends
In Death’s tender, firm embrace
I will look a man.
The final bottle makes its
Rounds before we load
And run out to meet and shoot
Men who know The Cause’s truth.
On the battlefield
The broken-hearted, dead past
A survivors’ curse.

Greed
Here I stand, upon
The ruins of a kingdom,
The Cause – what cause? Won,
Masking innocents’ crying,
Feeble, never to be heard
By the ruthless. They
Listen not to all the Dead;
Too busy gulping down
Alcohol to kill painful
Memories of The Cause
On the battlefield
The broken-hearted, dead past
A survivors’ curse.

Details | J. Amorose Poem

Turning the Coat

What am I doing wrong? I do not know
But love flies too, as the raven must crow
His song sings of happiness and sorrow
Happy, sad days, another tomorrow
When we loved each other, shy to admit
Crushes were fatal; I, the hypocrite
Gave out advice to someone who crushed on
The same one I did, I was woebegone
Playing two faces, in opera style
Dealing out cards, Benedict Arnold smile
Turncoat at ready, the plans behind back
But when I turned, I nearly had heart attack
I realized pitfall of deception
Would friends still care? Am I the exception?
So my coat is still friend-side out, colors
Scarlet and black, painted watercolors
What am I doing wrong? I do not know
But love flies too, as the raven must crow
His song sings of happiness and sorrow
Happy, sad days, another tomorrow

Best Poems Written by J. Amorose

Keep My Memories

Overthinking Subtleties

The Final Page

The Navy Pilot's Lover

A World Unexplored

The Little Princess's Decoronation

Six Views of a Sickening World

The Forgotten World

The Survivor's Curse

Turning the Coat