oh okay..in amonth you're on..

 

*goings into heavy combat training* :twisted:

sorry, but i didn't understand :-o

ohh I didnt mean that for u ..I'm sorry :oops: ...

but nice poem..post some more :)

ok :D

sorry then...

from ur screen name I take it u like the red hot chili peppers/

 

I like 'em too.. :)

Smiling in your chest it finds me,

Its keeping all your thoughts from me ,

And as it swells in two different bodies ,

I hope not to disrupt the ground which it shaking ,

The ground is broken ,

Im hoping i will always find you in one place ,

This will be our fantasy ,

Cus it's the dream world that exists inside of we ,

Short and tough my tongue it finds the secrets you could share ,

Your fears were taken from the air,

And you held me in a pool of my own pain,

Taking it though my mouth was closed ,

And it filled in through my veins ,

Now in the back of my brains it hurts ,

Oh how marvelous a sound it makes ,

Losing my sight and my hands shoot out to find ,

What can pierce through skin,

For hearts are all but dead ,

But mine is bleeding through,

My fists are full ,

Babies are crying but none are dying ,

My mood cant last , for it is slowing fading already ,

None makes sense to me ,

How could one understand ,

My thoughts are all bland ,

None is exciting ,

All are continued ,

Streaming in one big line ,

In One big line they cut me ,

My thoughts are all bland,

The tap is all done ,

Many headaches form one ,

If i think about the singing ,

The words wont come out ,

My thoughts are all clashing ,

The intelligent can find the meaning ,

The warm has left this space ,

Outside it runs into my face ,

Killing my beauty stealing it from

A wonderful being inside all of our Nights IT Finds ,

It finds none other then he ,

Surprising all who loved him ,

Terrifying all those for the minutes past the less they live ,

Stolen minutes we fear

None makes sense to me ,

How could one understand ,

My thoughts are all bland ,

None is understanding humanity ,

All are continued ,

Streaming in one big line ,

In One big line they slit my wrist ,

My thoughts bleed out through my fist

WOW thats beautiful and very meaningful....:oops: its so sweeet! :D

ok Lois i have one.... to share...

 

He came by tonight

just passing by

can't you shed some light

on the future of us?

there was so much I wanted to ask

but I didn't I let it

all pass...

Someday I will find

the nerve, the courage

to ask how you feel

but not right now....

You still need to heal.

:?

short and sweet..lovely post some more..

this is what happens u're seriously pmsing and the best guy wo've met so far inur enitre life says ,"umm..look..hmm.I think we seriously need some ....umm..space"

\/

Ah!!!!!! up for another bloody day in hell. What could be more beautiful! This is what I get for actually ending my nine-hour period of mental freedom. Ah how refreshing it would be to just stay in there and reminisce.

Getting up to face those demons every day is my battlefield. I’ve been faithfully fighting the war for last twenty years. Victory I can not say is sweet for I have never tasted it. Defeat I know leads one into a dark, cold, lonely place. That’s where I view the world.

I have never been on the other side. You know… that place that’s supposedly good and liberating. Some people always say that life is a play written by you and the world’s your stage… act it out well… bullshit… sure every one has a plan they want to follow, but chance and fate and luck and that Supreme Being steps in and edits it for you. The world is not a stage. The world is apart of that play… just another character like yourself.

Before I leave my decrepit palace, I put my mask on. Don’t want to look too vulnerable. For there are also vicious predators lurking behind the many masks I see… waiting to get me. The demons I face have to face me as well… nonsense it is.

We all look for some affliction to blame for every mistake we make or every broken promise or every bit of disappointment that comes our way. Pointing fingers I am for there is always one pointing back at me. We can’t get any from each other or ourselves no matter how hard we try. Life just doesn’t work that way. But we all wear the masks and pretend we know it.

I stand and walk and sit among monsters, gods, angels, all demons, every day. They are my enemies; members of the battlefield; all sooner or later casualties of the war. The demons I have to live with. No, that’s incorrect. The demons I choose to live it.

Perfection is not really a happy place. That is why we cry trouble. That is why we cry wolf, wolf. That is why we taunt death. Plague the Devil and bore God.

Love is the biggest disease that one could ever suffer from. Nothing wrenches out the heart more; or looses a soul; or confuses the mind; or frustrates ones body like love. It drives one to the very edges of fucking insanity. What is it really? No one knows. No one has the slightest clue. No one can begin to imagine what love is. I’ve tried. A waste of breath, time, energy... all for a temporary tsunami of pleasure.

But really things aren’t as bad as we always make it seem. There are bursts of satisfying joy, tranquility… all the goodness that we always wish for. But keep in mind only bursts. Not decades; not eons; not days; only bursts. Little precious spaces in time… when everything stops and God kisses you on the lips… angels swam around you… life is good then. Then and only then hopes seems present; possibility seems real. Then and only then we do not fight that war. Then and only then the battlefield muted, paused.

Trying to hard to impress is what wears us out. Age is not only a number. It is how long we have been soldiers. Soldiers in our armies. It is how long we have been wishing for it to end. It is how long we have been wearily trying too hard. It is how long we have occupied useless space.

Death is a frequent light bulb we turn on in our minds. It’s our only reoccurring dream. Our executions of it are constant failures. For death is too swift, too cunning. A battle falling along the lines of the Tortoise and the Hare. We always like to think that we can time it. But we know we can’t. It sneaks up on you and sucks you up in its unforgiving vortex.

Some of us are soo ready to die…but have not yet answered the question…”what’s after this?” I have an idea of what happens after my life..but I’m not ready for it.. for it is not my desired painting. But I can’t control it…it is not my duty. We cannot control the world as much as we would think we could.

This is my rant…this is about the end of my short story…a story not well written...not well-spoken…don’t analyze or critique…for this is just a very long thought.

awww hope you are ok :sad:

 

sends happy thoughts :)

 

thanks :)

oh okay..in amonth you're on..

 

*goings into heavy combat training* :twisted:

 

Oh, gosh! you wanna beat me up that bad?

nahhh :lol:

sorry' date=' but i didn't understand :-o[/quote']'

 

hehehehhehe

:o You guys are good poets. I'm okay, meself, but here's one of mine:

 

Corruption

 

What is beauty?

Is it the bile of a woman

Whose ribs potrude so proudly?

Is it the graceful walk

Of a woman with no thoughts?

Or is it a vibrant red rose,

With a stem of angry thorns?

 

What is righteousness?

Is it giving to a worthy cause,

Without even caring?

Is it concealing crimes and lies,

For the sake of the not so innocent?

Or is it painting the ideal

Of love and peace

Between the ones we truely hate?

 

What is evilry?

Is it the battle

Of a broken man screaming to be acknowledged?

Is it the secrets

That we should have been told?

Or is it the person

Who is not afriad to speak against

What is held as the supposed truth?

 

So teach me the lies,

Make me a member of society.

Corrupt me into believing

An illusion of the truth,

So that I can be another statistic.

I'm sick of searching for the answers.

 

Mold me with your countless hands,

Like clay of and obscene statue.

I've given up on being heard.

nice..I loved that first verse... :-D

"I've given up on being heard"

 

that a very sad but very relevant statement

 

very impressive :)

was that a stream of conciousness Naughtyfig?

 

interesting but intense! :shock:

:o You guys are good poets. I'm okay, meself, but here's one of mine:

 

Corruption

 

What is beauty?

Is it the bile of a woman

Whose ribs potrude so proudly?

Is it the graceful walk

Of a woman with no thoughts?

Or is it a vibrant red rose,

With a stem of angry thorns?

 

What is righteousness?

Is it giving to a worthy cause,

Without even caring?

Is it concealing crimes and lies,

For the sake of the not so innocent?

Or is it painting the ideal

Of love and peace

Between the ones we truely hate?

 

What is evilry?

Is it the battle

Of a broken man screaming to be acknowledged?

Is it the secrets

That we should have been told?

Or is it the person

Who is not afriad to speak against

What is held as the supposed truth?

 

So teach me the lies,

Make me a member of society.

Corrupt me into believing

An illusion of the truth,

So that I can be another statistic.

I'm sick of searching for the answers.

 

Mold me with your countless hands,

Like clay of and obscene statue.

I've given up on being heard.

 

wow that's very very good...when i was 14 i probably didnt even know what poetry was! I didnt even start writing poetry till i was 19 :) The last 3 lines are especially good..yeah know that feeling :(

this is one of my early ones:

 

What is there left to say?

An open mouth forms icicles,

words crippled and paralyzed,

crushed by the weight of a drama

in my mind.

Tidal waves shatter in silence,

blood and ice spray the empty canvas

of my thoughts,

like a genius in a frenzy

like a dishonered master

in search of retribution,

seeking solution

though the problem is misidentified.

 

What is there left to say?

today ends like tommorrow,

on a calender page,

in a fit of rage,

like a red curtain on a stage.

 

What is there left to say?

is something owed?

Something stolen once borrowed?

Without identification

it's never put back

inside me where it belongs,

intact or broken.

So when today meets tommorrow,

no words are spoken.

i like that too!

 

you should make a poetry mini-site

 

poems of that quality deserve to be out there in some form! :)

perhaps everyone here who writes should join forces and share a site or something..tho i don't have a clue about building the things :-o

was that a stream of conciousness Naughtyfig?

 

interesting but intense! :shock:

 

I indirectly dumped.. and PMS ing when I wrote that...though time..

a mini site..I have a site and forget to update all the time..I ws thinking about getting some stuff published but I'm a bum whe it comes to compiling things..

__

Greg I went to that web site..ur poems are good...its a cool site

a mini site..I have a site and forget to update all the time..I ws thinking about getting some stuff published but I'm a bum whe it comes to compiling things..

__

Greg I went to that web site..ur poems are good...its a cool site

 

yeah publishing...me a lazy bum too! I've never tried to get any of my stuff published, will try one day :roll: I did have one published recently tho, the editor approached me at that site (he posts there too under the name Hopper) heres a link if you'd like to check it out: http://www.whistlingshade.com/0203/cadiz.html

 

yeah it's a good little site, some good writers there :)