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Best Poems Written by Luke Acton

Below are the all-time best Luke Acton poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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An Expansion of a Question

A modicum of triumph.
A moment of no regret.
Is followed in sadness,
And bitter loose ends.
When you don't know whats wrong or whats right.
Why do we even fight? 
The weight of the world is oppressing and vile. 
Its takes a great deal just to make me smile.

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The Literature of Trepidation

Upon the paper the pen bleeds, casting its sullen gaze upon the ideals of its mere existence. Trying to unravel the mystery of its being. Uncovering the wisdom locked inside of its core, threatening to overheat and cause a meltdown the pen cannot overcome.
In times of raw emotional imbalance a window of understanding illuminates the veil of protection our ideals protect us from. Seeing its truth can undo the thin fabric of wisdom sought, making all for naught. Letting the art consume you until nothing remains.

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Expectations and the Harsh Truth

Expectations
The preconception of reality
Ever warped into a perfect mental construct of things that may come to be
The wishful thinking of the foolish.
Yet those who have a better idea what to expect are shielded.
Shrouded in an understanding of the way things are and the way they will be. 
Enables the individual to prepare themselves.
For the inevitable rush of emotion.
Sparked by the circumstances that life brings about.
From the critical decisions that are made, to the changing of time.
When everything crumbles into dust
All that is left is the expectations sanctioned by reality and the crushing on hope.

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Times of Trials and Tribulations

The changing times grant the saddest of goodbyes.
Saying such gives you a power along with a mighty burden. 
The power is of choice, to choose your destiny in a way not yet defined. 
While the curse, in all of its splendor, acts as a lead weight in your heart.
As well as a net for all the pain we can choose to feel. 
A pain so hot, it burns away all of the love left in your heart.
Causing said recipient to try putting out the fire with sweet numbing liquid. 
It works, though the solution is only temporary, needing constant reapplication.
Its during these times, we are tested.
A test of the metal of our character, refining you to be one perfectly broken being.
Now incapable of feeling the fire present in the our souls, the croak in the voice. 
Of times long since past, numbed away from the slow burn of the sweet liquid.

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Trapped In a Duty

Often misunderstood
The reality of the condemned
Opposing viewpoints clashing in a battle of wills
The loser of which is erased from history.

A story that will never be told
Of bravery and perseverance
The reward of those who stay vigil to their cause
Yet, dormant their souls burn solely for a cause not its own
Trying to make their mark on the concrete walls
Their fingernails scratch and splinter sound of desperation reigning supreme.
The scratch marks never amount to art, just a sad reminder of trapped souls.

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Rinse and Repeat

Burning off the previous nights sin
Often does the fire inside of those brave enough to indulge
Burns away at the consciousness, the will
To continue being the way that we are.
A construct of energy, a willful mind seeking all there is to be discovered. 
So rinse and repeat to discover some more. 
Life tends to be far too much of a chore.

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A Moment of Clarity

A sense of understanding.
The brief moment of clarity in the murky lake.
Breaks to the surface, the oxygen forced to the bottom lie dormant.
Until the pain of simply being alive.
Merely existing.
Becomes more than the surface tension of the murky lake water. 
Thus, a moment of clarity comes along.
To show you truly how little you know about the murky lake in which we all live.   
As the final bubble of my dying breath rises to the surface.

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The Unstoppable Way of Zife

In times of strife and despair 
Desperation and aspiration 
The only thing we can know
Is the way the cycle of zife
Keeps moving with no sign of stopping
Never to be hindered 
Regardless of the effort 
of the conscious mind 
to be not so,

So we drown out the feelings we simply cant face
In the sweet numbing liquid
The only reprieve from a day in which we grieve 
The loss of things being the way they were
More forgotten time spend trying to forget.

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Questions Asked Not Answered

Why do we pretend to care?
What's the point in trying to keep a false peace?
A fake of what my true feelings on the matter are. 
Never to be shown, lest the pain uproot the remaining sanity.

Bottling your feelings is better than letting them spray about. 
Soaking the walls of social circles and causing a scene. 
Satisfaction granted that I cannot give.
I cannot continue to bleed for the cause. 
The lightheaded feeling from loss of the blood is repressing my ability to think clearly.

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Logic Prevails

Being able to command total respect of your subconcious is allowing it to do artwork for yourself.
Channeling the desire of the mind into my fingertips is quite  a bit more productive than punching walls over stupid anger that will have me feeling no better than when I began.