Yelling Written WordsYelling Written Words5 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
If you write me a letter
with your heart full of hate
your words will burn away the paper,
leaving ashes in its wake.
Please keep your written voice down,
the yelling hurts my heart.
Just please don't ask my secrets of me,
it will only make this
that much worse.
Delving deep inside myself,
I push you far away.
These wounds mean nothing to me,
not a feather or a sand grain.
My hands are burnt,
my heart is scarred,
just leave me be,
I'm too far gone.
WinnersWinners3 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
You gave me bread on a rainy day
Such goodness took my breath away.
You told the world how you felt.
Through shallow confusion my heart melt.
We grew close and drifted apart.
I still love you with all my heart.
I found you hurt and to a cave we fled.
I could only kiss your lips but I watched as you bled.
I had to go to save your life.
I broke a promise that ended your strife.
You found some berries and ended a life.
We heard a cannon; a dog was near.
We ran for the Cornucopia and fled our fear.
Climbing the metal, making it safe.
Cato appeared but I had faith.
He grabbed you up, said it was over.
I had more luck than a four-leaf clover.
He fell to the dogs and they chewed him up.
The Capitol said, "YO MAN, WASSUP?"
"Only one victor can win in the end!"
I told him I wouldn't go without him.
So we grabbed our berries, sorry Prim.
The Capitol wailed, "NO STOP!"
"The winners are Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark!"
The Simple PoemThis poem will begin from here.The Simple Poem4 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
It shall start with a dusk and a child. Trying.
Trying to fly a kite in the rain.
The sunrays have just dimmed out.
Or mellowed down, surrendering to a dark azure.
The pitter-patter of rains
Drenching the fingers of the child on the roof. Fingers
That hold on to the thread that connects, quite shamelessly,
The dark skies to a kite, blue coloured. Throughout.
The dusk. I would have thought of writing a poem.
And only thought, when the thread shall snap
Taking the kite down. And the child too.
Let's watch the two as they progress downwards
Let's watch the two and see if down's the place they'll be.
Let's watch the two.
One spiralling down through the open air, not knowing
Where it shall land. The other
Climbing down the stairs
Running down the stairs
To a place,
To a land where
The first one promised to land.
I should have known, is ants.
It shall eat through a poem I should have written.
A simple poem, it would have been
Losing MeI find peace in loathingLosing Me3 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
I suffer pleasure from pain
I feel comfort in dark clothing
Whether judgment or acceptance is my bane
I have cried all my tears
Still in darkness I am bound
Wandering desperately through the years
The true identities never to be found
Lost is all
A blanked out, thrown out memory
From the abuses that do appall
Hope and love was my every
But now my life will soon dissolve
Into a screaming dark place with no resolve...
There was Once A Butterfly - PoemThere was once a butterfly,There was Once A Butterfly - Poem3 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
too fragile - forbidden to take flight.
to see up close,
what had, before long, won plentiful foes.
There was once a butterfly,
timid and shy;
too quiet yet to be blinded by the sky.
The others watched
carefully and close,
he was to fail as the monsoon blows.
There was once a butterfly,
learned and strong;
too tired yet to sing his own songs.
His liquid wings
of colour and light
caught eyes of envy every night.
There was once a butterfly
confident and sure -
almost broken but not tired anymore.
before his eyes
and led him to his own colours' demise.
There was once a butterfly
too afraid to admit that he was alone.
His wings of paper,
were met now only with sights of scorn.
And so that butterfly
with teary-blind eyes,
awaited the end of eternal black skies.
He was to fly
but that desire died,
with his will and nerve to stay alive.
Once, his predicament
I knew and saw,
so anxious to rid him
Empty Souls Empty Souls...Empty Souls4 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
The night is black
Nothing but broken stars
And empty dreams
To frame its d.a.r.k.n.e.s.s.
The book is
Its pages numb & mute
It is empty
Because what is a book
Without majestic words
To make it feel
W H O L E
The wind is cold
It speaks lies
With an all-deceiving tongue
It dances with the trees
The lonely moon
With its scent
And I am
My BrotherI watched my brother go through the door, wanting him to stay with us for more.My Brother5 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
He's too young, he has too much life,
to go where death comes on swift wings.
My mother cries, my father is silent.
I stand as a vigil on our doorway, watching as he fades from sight.
I look through the newspaper, seeing if America won against Iraq.
I see soldiers who are only boys, who have seen more bloodshed than most old men.
I look through the page of the dead, praying I don't see my brothers' name.
He is not, but I still don't sway,
because my brother is still away.
I pray for the day that he comes home,
safe and ok.
The Red RoadThe Red Road5 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
There is a Red Road
That stretches from Cape Town to the Elysium Fields
And on that road there is a pit stop at Robben Island
To a prisoner's cell, prisoner 46664
Where the heart of a hero
Was once born
There is a Red Road
That runs from Berlin to Hades
And on the road there is a pit stop at the Biederitz River
Where the brutal ashes of a man named Adolf
Drift away in the currents
There is a Red Road
That lies between Poland to Zion
And on that road there is a pit stop at Auschwitz
Where the spirits of the dead
Still gather at the Death Wall
There are a million pit stops to be made
On the myriad paths of the interwoven labyrinths
That bind us together and tear us apart
Warning you and me of the potholes & pitfalls
On the Red Road that is the World
Telling us in a whisper "Don't forget it"
Telling us in a prayer "Don't repeat it"
©2010 Sarah Donnelly
NightlockShoulders yanked toward quiverNightlock4 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
she slides through the forest like a knife
or is she just a ghost?
Not while there is an ounce of gray
in her eyes or a single human
left to love.
Left to defend.
Rook against rook, knight against knight
laying in wait to shoot at the machine
but no heart could foretell
what lay under the mud.
When it's time, the arrow stretches in her palms,
an elastic dancer on the swell of a bird's note.
But she keeps the best weapons for herself:
her tongue is wise and her throat is a whip
cracking hearts with a defiant song.
A folded waterfall slithers down her back,
but no sense of innocence can be contained in a braid.
Forget the games.
This is war.
About scarsScars are painfull; mine are beautiful.About scars4 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
Can anyone love a woman full of scars?
Nearly goneMy mind ticks seconds out of existenceNearly gone5 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
Take a look at the clock
Are they here to stay?
Amongst Skyscrapers high and tall
My voice fades away
It's a retired noise
The car makes contact
I think the stopwatch broke
The pavement tastes disgusting
Horror in their eyes
I must survive
Lessons LearnedShe is in the pictures,Lessons Learned3 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
Smiling her toothless grin.
What I wouldn't give
Not to care again.
It was a beautiful and innocent time;
She'd never believe
That there are poems
That don't need to rhyme.
I have so many things to tell her--
That Pooh Bear headbands
Aren't cool forever
(No matter how much cuter they are than Hello Kitty)
And she won't love Kim Possible when she's older,
And that hearts
Even if they're made of gold.
I wanna tell her --
Again and again --
Even if she's heard it a thousand times,
Even if it's a million,
That she should never hurry growing up:
Cause when she eventually does..
She'll keep wishing to go back
To that point of ignorance--
Of not knowing.
I wonder what she'll tell me in return
Guessing her words,
She'll tell me to pray
Every night to the angels
Because they're always listening.
She'll preach at me
For falling in love
With the one who was so obviously
The first candidate to break my heart
Didn't I know better
Than to give my h
Freedom of ChoiceFreedom of Choice5 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
Freedom of Choice
No longer shall I be shackled to the chain of events that tied a noose around my neck and dropped the plank. By accepting my reality and rejecting the hope of deliverance, I am free to touch ground intact. Shedding my skin and emerging anew granted me permission to clean a slate I failed to realize was even flawed. In this ideal, we were born to believe that we only can walk on a path that was hand selected for us and we die in the futile attempt to make it so. Do not perish with thoughts of faulty self-discipline and unique subject matter. We have the ability to tread as many paths as we see fit for our omniscient being; if our will shall grant us direction. When you parade a mask that taints your view a shoddy rose, you begin to entrap yourself with ideals that were not your own. You lay down and roll with punches and cheap-shots and plaster yourself in an unruly uproar of combustion that you can not douse. Removal of the mask marks your true a
Her BloodHer BloodHer Blood4 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
Her blood falls softly,
Through the cracks of the heart.
She is sweetly unaware,
Of her life falling apart.
Her blood soaks through,
The depth of her true colours.
She'll never truly show herself,
Safe in her steel armour.
Her blood clots numbly,
Unable to carry goods around her own.
Choked in her prayers,
Hope was a place overgrown.
Her blood drips through,
The gaps in her outstretched hands,
No longer will she suffer, now;
Her mind is in other lands.
Her blood seeps through,
The cracks in her foundation.
Yet she still believes in faith.
Yes, we've resorted to sedation.
38. trustIt is a matter of perception38. trust3 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
And is also a matter of interpretation
Trust, a funny thing it truly is
But how do we live our lives around it?
Do you trust me because you know me
Or is that the reason for your distrust?
You have parts of me
That no one else will ever have
But you seem to be unaware
Or is it just not enough?
I trusted you because you never gave me a reason not to
But now that you have, how do I piece it back together?
I am lost in my mind
As the realizations set in
What I had not seen at first
Is slowly setting in
Is it worse to have suspicion though nothing done
Or betray promises made to seek your own truth?
Tested and failed
What is left?
All that's left is a question mark
I do not know who you are
And wonder if you know me
They say, trust
Once broken will never be the same
Was it really worth testing the accuracy?
The Stellar Lights - RevisedCold and arid plains where nothing grows-The Stellar Lights - Revised4 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
no hills, no valleys- it never rains nor snows.
It's dead earth filled with stumbling stones-
no people, no animals- yet the air's filled with moans.
Twenty-two million miles of grey possibility
and still not one grain of hope in this sandy sea.
Watching skies not blue, grey or red; only black.
Filled with moons and stars of every hue; no sun, in fact.
A sky seemingly escaped from a novel page's tear
written to glow, dance and swirl, and fill the night air.
Yes, the sky is beautiful filled with stellar lights.
My heart bears the weight in which my eye delights.
With beauty in every body ample and sufficient for each,
only stare at its splendor; it's too far beyond reach.
Witness beauty beyond speech.
On the scorched earth is where I'm at.
Gravity holds; but it takes much more than that.
I'm sprawled out on the Earth's dusty deck
exhausted and tugging the collar at my neck.
Laying with my thoughts on the heavens above,
eyes follow suit wondering
Superman"Don't ever change."Superman3 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
Something dropped from heaven once,
And rose again-
A drop of gold,
A silver lining,
A virgin-white feather.
That something is you, fresh from Grace and set in your direction.
You stay above earth,
Still there, but just barely, because
It's not a beautiful place;
Just crawling with ways to die,
Evil to hunt,
Reasons to fall.
It's exactly how they told you it would be.
Everywhere you look you see nothing but pain,
And you don't understand why they fight to save
Such an imperfect and ruined place.
The world doesn't matter yet,
But they do.
You want to protect them;
This place is changing you.
Something dropped to earth once,
And stayed awhile-
A drop of rain,
A drifting cloud,
A feather streaked with gray.
That something is you, no longer pure but better than ever.
You stay alongside them,
Not always there but ready any second, because
Heaven is not a beautiful place;
Just teeming with ways to lose yourself,
The MarathonThe Marathon4 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
There I stood, thousands upon hundreds of people surrounding me, all of us at the ready for the race to begin. Looking about I predicted that I would keep up with the great mass of all the runners; not winning, but not losing either. I figured I could run at the steady pace that the majority of the runners would keep without a problem and with their presence surrounding me I would feed on the encouragement to keep running forward. The starting gun sounded and we all swarmed through over the line like a stream pouring forward down its path as a length of debris is removed. The fastest runners held themselves in check as the overzealous runners ran forward ahead. And for several miles I trotted along, one foot in front of the other in a steady rhythm.
Suddenly, I stumbled, my rhythm disrupted. It was nothing I told myself as I easily slid
back into the drum that moved the mass forward. I paid no sharp attention to those around
me, focused on keeping up; focused on not causin
The Stars Are Coming Out To Dance TonightThe Stars Are Coming Out To Dance Tonight3 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
Holding out until the end,
It could've ended differently,
So lonely, so horrible.
But mistakes not made,
And here we stand.
The children asleep,
Our presence not needed.
And outside under a night sky,
Me and Padmé,
Alone for a while.
And she smiles her most beautiful smile.
I take her hand,
And she takes mine,
Place a hand on her waist.
And our dance begins.
Smiling and content,
For the first time in ages.
She looks up and remarks,
The stars are coming out to dance tonight.
They're lighting up the night tonight.
And I look up and she's right.
She's so very right.
And a tear falls from my eye.
She wipes it away,
And I lift her up,
Swirling her round amidst laughter and giggles
Lost in the moment,
Lost in the madness,
But not lost in the force.
I'm so grateful I was wrong.
I'm shouting it out. Sarah-SophiaI'm shouting it out.5 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
I love myself. But I hate myself.
I don't know exactly who I am,
or what I stand for.
Only over him.
I'm not straight, I'm not gay.
I'm not boy, I'm not girl.
.....or do they?
So does anxiety.
I have both.
Why doesn't anyone ever love me?
Is it because I'M UGLY?
....or is it because
Letter to HimEverything changed after you left,Letter to Him4 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
everything became like the downward spiral.
Everyone became useless, nonsense ,
the voices, the laughters,
feelings vanished into the darkness,
leaving only fear and hopelessness.
The smiling faces turned into monsters,
and the girl...
heartbroken, crying, bleeding,
only hopes for a way out of this misery.
Please come back...
My Mirror is Broken My Mirror is BrokenMy Mirror is Broken5 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
Like Maury, The Steve Wilkos Show, and Jerry Springer,
make it easy to judge from afar.
To laugh at those who are down and out.
I have problems too.
But as cold as it seems,
I watch these shows for amusement,
and they make me and everyone feel better about us.
If I look into the mirror,
I would see the truth,
and be happier,
but when I look into the mirror,
I am too far gone,
The mirror is shattered and pieces are on the floor.
I try to pick them up but I am not even worthy to clean them up.
I drop to my knees and think about my past.
Like people on thes
A ChildhoodI was born into a household many might callA Childhood4 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
Rich, easy, loving
Two parents still very much in love
Two annoying yet loved older siblings
And a caring, cuddly, fluffy dog
Rich... Not exactly, but I couldn't complain
Easy... Not really, I was and am pushed to work harder,
Good grades, attitude, manners
Loving... Yes, though the occasional smacks takes me away from that sometimes
All in all a pretty nice life
Until it wasn't
Losing my father at age 12
To a heart attack
Finding comfort in fists connecting with walls
And Sharp objects meeting flesh
Being sent to a therapist
PTSD, ADHD, Bipolar, Anxiety, Depression
My own personal messed up, mixed up cocktail of the mind
Add a psychiatrist and
Cue medication trials
Adderall - Shaking like a heroin addict without a fix
Strattera - Driven near to committing suicide
Zoloft - Good enough till the mood swings got worse
Lamictal - Added to Zoloft it seems to work...
Most of the time
But potentially letha