My poetry, and yours, too

[Atlas]

Here are three poems I've written that I feel I have put the most heart into:


Please read them if nothing else. And please, post yours if you want.



These come from my heart.


He Fell Asleep to the World

He awoke to his dreams
Fell asleep to the world
Such simplicity it brings
To be secluded and unheard

He put trust into humanity
Fell in love with a girl
Such was the insanity
To find humanity so cruel

He had a fervent heart for skies
Fell from dreams above
Such is the story of my life
To grasp those dreams abrupt


Some Strange Abyss

The stars shine down like dilated pupils,
And so her starry eyes I do see above.
The wind's gust then spins the windmills;
Like the everlasting grief that is only known as love.

Let the clouds shadow over those watching eyes;
No more rain drops fall from shadowed lies.
No matter, my worries shall fall into some strange abyss,
Just as Solomon once said, "All is but meaningless."

Could you sense this grief that shows no sense?
No will-power, yet so full of innocence...
So then, let me fall into the abyss,
For my worries are dubbed but meaningless.

Humbly now, I shall be brought up from this demise;
Only now is it that I do reminisce
No more will a dying love be such a surprise,
As my worries fall into some strange abyss.





Realizations of A Thoughtful Mind, Not Heart

What if we saw the heart as it really were
Would we still enjoy the troubles in can stir?
Emotions in test tubes, and intentions in a scope
Do you really think that we could surely cope?

For our own well being, and precious peace of mind
We tend to let our wisdom go, from time to time
We have the tools; we have the smarts
But can it ever solemnly change our filtered hearts?

Anger is an illusion, tries to pry at your will
As ill-mannered as it is, it's still known to kill
So put it under the microscope of a thoughtful mind
Or would you rather throw it in the river of oblivion behind?

Sadness can overwhelm, with bitterness to show
In reality, it's self-pity making you so low
Let us say it's death, or losses of all kind
Maybe you could look ahead and happiness you'd find

Looking at each other, with impure & lustful sights
Forgetting others might mind of our invasion of their rights
Seemingly safe, only intended for the minds
We often see intrusions of all physical kinds

Then there was pride, always creating a tide
Always pushing good hearts aside
Should we let our guard down, or let them do as they may
Though, no one cares at the end of the dying day

We let ourselves fall, just to be sought
Then we kill ourselves slowly, just to be bought
We couldn't be different, for our pride is at stake
Or be who we look up to, and find a real trait

Emotions make or break who we are
They kill us inside and creat such a war
Thus we must take the fire inside
Roll it all up and then see what we find

Tensions grow, tensions decline
Humanity is at stake, it's time we refine
Time to think with our hearts, first using our minds
Time to make some change, change of all kinds

[Hyde]

I have a website for this stuff, but...okay...

Le Petit Mort

I've died a thousand times.
And a thousand times more.
Pieces of me.
Breaking off in words.
Stanzas.
Lyrical Notes.
Technicolor.
Dripping from me like a cut vein.
Splintered from my body in a grenade explosion.
Shrapnel and metal fatigue.
Giving birth to the unnatural union
Of the Nightmare
and the Dreamscape.
Making me. My DNA.
The double helix.
Jekyll and Hyde.
I've died a thousand times.
The little deaths
of Spirit and Love
But never Passion.
Feeling no fear.
Embracing the black empty
as it wraps around me like a warm coat.
I've died a thousand times.
I'll die a thousand times more.

----

The Ends Justify...

I shade my eyes from the Light
So I won't see what's left of me.
My creation had entailed the essence..
of what was...
The forumula..of what is.
But balked at what was to come.
An integral number in the sequence.
A Splinter, buried deep in my mind.
Swelled at the night's coming.
What's left of me wants what is of her.
Her form, her face.....her voice.
They encompass my mind and my heart...
and my soul.
My thoughts are filled with her.
No matter my condition or place. I wonder...
When alone...at night...so quietly...

"I Wish you Were Here."
"So Do I."
"Then Come here..."
"I can't."
"....I know."

I know.
But I don't want to. I wish I didn't.
Information is dangerous. Is Painful.
I don't want to know these things.
But I do.
I have to change the rules..
..So I can change what I know.

"I Wish you were Here."
"So Do I."
"Then come here...to me..."
"....alright."

I'll post more later.

[Cyrus the virus]

People too often ignore the vital distinction between poetry and prose.

[Atlas]

You might want to be more specific.

[Cyrus the virus]

I couldn't do so without coming across as an asshole or like I don't appreciate you guys sharing as much as I do.

[Atlas]

Then you're speaking of Hyde's material, I'd imagine?

[Hyde]

Then you're speaking of Hyde's material, I'd imagine?

I'm sure he is since I rarely writing in rhyming couplets or quads. Thing is....there is no singular way a poem can be presented, and my definition of what a poem is stems from a long education in the material......and the fact that my work has been published MANY times.

Prose Poetry is a genre unto itself, established by the likes of Oscar Wilde, T.S. Eliot, Robert Bly, Charles Baudelaire, Arthur Rimbaud and Allen Ginsburg(amongst many others) and is widely accepted as a form of poetry.

Poetry isn't about rhyming. In fact:

"Poetry (from the Greek "ποίησις", poiesis, a "making" or "creating") is a form of art in which language is used for its aesthetic and evocative qualities in addition to, or in lieu of, its ostensible meaning"

And now I'll stop ranting.

[Baby]

Atlas: not too sure about the first, like the third but really really really like the second one "Some Strange Abyss", especially the first part of it.

Inspiration behind each one? :o That's always interesting.

[Atlas]

Atlas: not too sure about the first, like the third but really really really like the second one "Some Strange Abyss", especially the first part of it.

Inspiration behind each one? :o That's always interesting.

Well, thank you very much. These were written in my angst years of around 16-17 years of age. There was one girl that really messed with my thought process and caused me to fall into a spiral of emotion. Those were part of the result.

[Jarrid]

Neat stuff you two. I am in no position to judge what is great and what is not considering I read hardly any poetry at all, and I have never really been big on it myself, but I did enjoy all of the ones posted on here so far.

[Baby]

Well, thank you very much. These were written in my angst years of around 16-17 years of age. There was one girl that really messed with my thought process and caused me to fall into a spiral of emotion. Those were part of the result.

Creativity is the best part of confusion :D


Anything recent?

[Atlas]

Here's another one that is quite simple yet complex at the same time to the mind:

Streams of Abundance

Streams of abundance flow
Into our minds they run the show
Deceitful ones using us like puppets
As we dabble away we hear the trumpets

To your eyes they are the norm
Into your hearts they try to pry
Into your souls they start to form
If perhaps a man were willing to lie

Streams of abundance low
Everyday we put on a show
Let streams of abundance flow
As we live to die, one day we'll know


EDIT: And no, absolutely nothing recent. After giving yourself to chess and RPGs it's hard to find inspiration and/or time. I need more pain.

[Jarrid]

I can kill somebody for you for a very low price.

[Baby]

Not convinced by puppets and trumpets rhyme-wise but good :) I still really like the second one you posted x

[Cyrus the virus]

Atlas: No
Hyde: No

You really think I'm stupid enough to have a thought of criticism because a poem doesn't rhyme? God, you have a low opinion of me, Hyde! And it's not like I don't like the poems.

[Atlas]

I can kill somebody for you for a very low price.

I'm down.

[Atlas]

The following one was obviously when I had a lack of identity.


The Owl Sleeps

The owl sleeps,
I wish I could;
The willow weeps,
Take its place I would.

The lion roars,
Where is my voice?
The eagle soars,
Do I have a choice?

The owl sleeps,
The lion roars,
The willow weeps,
The eagle soars.

Creatures of earth,
Have not a choice;
Though my soul doth curse,
It has not a voice.

My mind awake,
My voice unfound;
Dry eyes still fake,
Motions still so bound.

Is there hope?
For yet another;
A romantic lope,
Or one more lover?

The owl sleeps,
Mind still awake;
The willow weeps
Dry eyes still fake.

The lion roars,
Voice still unfound;
As the eagle soars,
Motions oh, so bound.

Shall I find my place?
I could be a gem;
Shall they embrace?
Or merely stem?

[Hyde]

Atlas: No
Hyde: No

You really think I'm stupid enough to have a thought of criticism because a poem doesn't rhyme? God, you have a low opinion of me, Hyde! And it's not like I don't like the poems.

In that case, I apologize. Please...explain what you meant.

In the meantime.. a few more:

The First Thought and the Second.

Waking up. Alone again.
She's the first Thought, and the Second.
Circumventing time in an eruption of memories...
that I never had.
What would that be like?
That sleek perfection of her kiss in the morning.
That total contentness when resting in her arms.
Her smile, the crescent moon setting of my evening..
that makes the tides pour in.
And this tides of sin draw tighter.
And Brighter.
When not so innocent lovers dance
Like Angels on fire.
The First Thought.
Then the Second.
Tangled in heated imagery, hot and sticky
All Waiting for the Rain.

--

Here's one a little more traditional...

Reasons

I want to live in Eden where the Angels keep me Safe
I want to sit in silence and watch happy children play
I want to know the reasons that I do the things I do
But I have none to offer, 'cept to say they're done for you

I want to see with eyes that know near nothing of such pain
I want to lay on pavement as it's kissed by falling rain
I want to know the reasons that I do the things I do
But I have none to offer, 'cept to say they've all been true

I want to count the stars and name them all inside my Head
I want to touch the sky from in the comfort of my bed
I want to know the reasons that I do the things I do
But I have none to offer, at least, none that I can prove

I want to know why people like to speak before they think
I want to know how they can cause such hurt and barely blink
I want to know the reasons that they do the things they do
But they have none to offer, because they haven't got a clue.

--

and

MISFIRE

Dreams are like tained memories.
Painted black in the misprint of
Reality.
Each word induces seizures.
Synapses Fire. Misfire.
Crackling White Electricity to make the body move.
White Electricity. White Heat.
Pulling Heat. Sucking Bullets.
Laying in the Dead Time with your face to the Sky.
Searching for shapes in a cloudless heaven.
Fire. Misfire.
Heaven's a Lie as the Stars pinprick out.
Fire? Loaded.
Just once to fly up there.
Just WANTS to fly up there.
"How bad do you want it?"
"How bad does it hurt?"
Fire? Cocked.
Silence Shaped like crying.
"Not bad enough."
Misfire.

[Blackdragon]

I haven't written anything recently, but I have a bunch of my stuff from back in my High School years. I'll post them in intervals so to not have a huge ass post.
__________________________________________________ __________
Opposing Logic

Break, fold, crush, and ultimately destroy,
This is how life plays with me, as if I were a toy.
Now what have I done to ever deserve this,
Shouldn't I be happy, and in a heavenly bliss.
The way am now, the answer seems to be, no.
Mt life is opposing the saying, "You reap, what you sow."
Though my whole life, I'm good to all I meet.
But in return, all I get is depression, pain, and deceit.
I'm a broken-winged angel, cast into a deep, dark hole.
Figting to get back to the light, to finally, regain my soul


The Point Of No Return

Fill my head with hope,
Then snatch it all away.
Make me end my life,
By ****ing with me today!
A fallen angel in hell,
My soul begins to burn.
I'm in eternal damnation,
My life will soon adjourn.
With the light nearly gone,
I slowly start to decay.
Life is like a virus,
I don't want it to stay.
This shit is all over,
There's nowhere else to turn.
I think I reached my limits,
To the point, the point of no return.


My Soul's Despair

My dark soul within will never be tame,
My depression and sorrow are all I can blame.
All around the world there is pain and sin,
But nothing is worse than the chaos within.

To unleash the light, to extinguish the darkness in my soul,
I need to find that one girl, who can make me feel whole.
So innocent, and pure, yet so unstable,
I feel as if I might not be fully able,

To leave this dark, bitter hole of despair,
In which I don't know how long I've been there.
Why must I be sad, to the point that I may go mad?
When these feelings go away, I can’t help but be glad.

Why am I unwilling, or not strong enough to tear?
What’s holding me back, which is my souls' despair.
A fallen angel, under death’s cold, inviting glare,
But giving up on life isn’t something that I dare.

And I just know that this isn't right,
So I try with all of my might,
To struggle, to work, and to fight,
For that glorious day, when I will see, the light.

[Cyrus the virus]

I don't know how to explain it in any way better than this, but: description, queries, reflections in poetry shouldn't be presented in a basic form. A line like "On that day when you died, I felt my heart break", which I just made up, doesn't belong in any kind of poetry piece.

A lot of people write poems, but they're like a prose monologue broken up into lines and presented with some kind of flow or rhyme. I don't consider that poetry at all. Nobody should 'get' your poem on the first read-through, I feel. The way it reads could be a representation of the emotion the words should convey, maybe, or a description of an event or change that is, to be basic, read in a different way than a description in a book.

I don't know how to explain what I'm trying to say. But there's something that separates great poetry from an unprofessional piece, I guess. Which I don't mean as an insult, honestly. It's just a subject I've put thought towards.

[Atlas]

I'm still trying to figure out who you're directing your post toward, though. I mean, from what you've said so far, I could relate that with all of our poems.

[Cyrus the virus]

I guess I'm kind of talking about all of your poems :p

WHICH IS NOT AN INSULT DON'T GIVE ME CRAP FOR THIS PLZ

[Atlas]

That's alright. I think you're totally wrong and there's a history of poetry to back me, so it's fine.

[Cyrus the virus]

What you think doesn't matter, though, because I know better :)

[Hyde]

And even still, I post more because I really don't care much about the debate....

Your Touch Burns

The Cold has reached the core of me.
My Skin has turned to ic.
Your touch Burns
Hotter than the sun.
Searing white Heat
Melting me away
Breaking down the built up barrier
That Separates me
From Reality.
From Love.
From Life.
Heart Shaped Scars.
Frezen in place by time and Pain
Add to the Mixture.
Fire. Then Ice.
Your Eyes in mine.
Your Body with me.
Patient and Waiting...
Whispering to me softly
"I'm yours..."
"....at least until it's time to leave."
The Cold Can't reach the core of me.
Your Touch Just Burns.

--

A Gift of Words

In her eyes I see the best of me.
Like a list of good deeds I don't remember doing.
Such sweet blasphemy and discord, wrapped up in a present.
A Gift of words.
Diamond, bedroom eyes.
Though her body rests with another,
She calls to me every day.
The longing never ceases and the passion never sways.
Dancing between the sheets in candlelight flicker,
to the chorus choir of heavenly cries.
"I Love You" she says.
My gift of words, calling me, killing me.
Every thought between.
"I Love You" I said.
And the chorus sang Higher
and Higher
lifting voices to the very gates of heaven
and the deepest depths of hell
So that angel and demon alike may revel in her beauty
Such sweet innocence, tender longing, mixed with
silky white skin that radiates perfect balance
And as I move to touch her sweet face..
...and hold her to me....

This is when I wake up.
Alone. Again.

[Atlas]

What you think doesn't matter, though, because I know better :)

History speaks for itself. Just as long as you don't misinterpret it.

:p


Hyde, I really liked those last two. Very insightful.


Lost In Past Thought

Oh no, treachery ensues!
As I walk down this hallway
Of memories to a clue
Hammering thoughts never-ending
Look at me now; here, now!
Thoughts never pending
Distraught and dismayed
Jealous envy sending-
To my brain is delayed
Now I see the doorway
To light, light eternal
Shall I enter that way?
Or shall I be fraternal-
To those of no faith
Such idiocy ensues
When you overlook the obstacles
Gratitude overdo
Realizing you disdain pentacles
Escaping oblivion for anew
Still looking at the shore
One thing I still knew
Eventually knowing more
Finally escaping grasps
The clutchhold on the door
Gradually getting past
Then off the ocean floor

[Cyrus the virus]

I can't take your knowledge of poetic history seriously since you think 'insues' is a word.

[Hyde]

I can't take your knowledge of poetic history seriously since you think 'insues' is a word.

okay I'm sorry but this just had me laughing for a good full minute

[Atlas]

=.)

Get a job!

Sigh. I quickly wrote it from my journal onto here without spell checking it. I looked over my journal and it's correct in there... but of course I **** up in here. Haha.

That's life.

[Cyrus the virus]

:D! My job is to complain!

My bitching aside, I don't really have much poetry to share. I'm more of a reader than a writer, because that's where I excel. But I've been missing writing, lately, so maybe I will plunge :B