It's not anger, it's sorrowΌχι, δεν είναι θυμός, είναι λύπη.It's not anger, it's sorrow2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Δεν είναι μίσος αλλά θλίψη για ό,τι δε συνέβη.
Ποτέ δεν είναι αργά λένε αλλά ξέρεις πολύ καλά πως η στιγμή έχει αξία.
Στγμές που ξεθωριάζουν μαζί σου, μαζί μου.
Sea of Suicide (SOS)A fairytale begins when the moon rises.Sea of Suicide (SOS)1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
You're standing at the cliff, are you proud?
What you felt till now, you believe is enough?
Thoughts always change and emotions fade.
The sea beneath your feet is deep, isn't it?
What you will do when you are drown, you don't know.
Bravely, you want to take your last step.
Forgotten once you move on,
everyone will move on as well.
Scratches, pools of flowing blood.
Tip to tip with death itself, near the end you stand.
Touch the wind, feel the sounds, what you have is unique.
One life is not enough, yet you want to hand it back.
You want to escape, an exit from troubles.
A coward like you should not live.
Tell me, are you sure about this?
Exchanging your own soul for eternal sleep?
When the time has passed, only rain is heard.
No cars where you are, only rough waves.
You think this is a solution to everything, don't you?
Your cries are not heard, you say,
Your wishes are ignored, you complain.
Scratches, pools of flowing blood.
Tip to ti
I missed you.Today, it was another inch of snow on the rooftop.I missed you.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Today, 517 inches. Each day another inch
of snow. Each day more
weight on every inch
of the roof
of the house.
Each day it was more
blinding, blank, and drifting snow
encasing the warmth
and the light
and the color
of the house,
until all that was left to see
from the outside was white.
Today, the roof collapsed.
Simply know this.Hello, everyone.Simply know this.2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
It's so nice to see you all here.
I would like to discuss with you,
matters of belief,
If you please,
Think very hard about what you believe.
Now, go back.
Why do I believe this?
Was it that I was told this from birth?
Did I accept it without question? Was I told not to ask?
If I had been born into another life, would I believe this?
Did I find it for myself?
Was there any evidence?
I do not presume to tell
EngelEs ist so hart zu wissen,Engel4 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
dass ich kein Dämon oder Engel bin.
Der jeden Tag und jede Nacht,
jede Sekunde deines Lebens
bei dir sein kann, um auf Dich aufzupassen.
Um darauf zu achten, dass dir nichts passiert.
Du dir keine Gedanken machst.
Wie gerne wäre ich ein Engel mit großen Flügeln,
der vor deinem Fenster schwebt und dich
vor allem beschützt, dass dir etwas tun will.
Wie gern wäre ich dein Dämon schwebend
in deinem Zimmer.
Du siehst mich nicht,
doch ich bin da um die Gedanken fernzuhalten,
die dich so traurig machen.
Zu gern wäre ich der Engel mit schwarzen Flügeln,
der am Tage über dir fliegt um dir Schatten zu schenken,
wenn dir die Sonne in den Augen brennt.
Zu gern wäre ich ein Dämon,
der sich Nachts in eine Flamme verwandelt,
wenn du dich Nachts allein in einer dunklen Gasse wieder findest.
Um dir Kraft zu geben und zu zeigen das du niemals
Nur zu gern würde ich dir zeigen, wie das
Wahre LeereI've become nothing but a shadowWahre Leere4 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
My eyes emotionless and dead
My expression blank
I feel no more; Just emptiness
A hollow pit inside of me
You ate me alive
Feasting on me until nothing was left
I speak no words
No music leaves these lips
My song is more than dead
Let's make a guarantee
We'll sew them shut
You won't hear from me again
I won't cause you suffering
Please give up on me
There's nothing to fix
There's nothing left in me
Nothing but an empty shell
But a living corpse
Please don't pity me
It was meant to be this way
I deserve every bit
Every amount of suffering
All of the pain in my heart
There's nothing left
All I had and all I have
Everything is gone
1980--Last Year for Generation XThat year Hope had (made) her reservations:1980--Last Year for Generation X2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Reagan had just clutched office,
Orwell's '84 within sight,
Big Brother became bigger.
Oil was almost cheap;
They could load the eager houseboat,
Weekend on a semi-gemstone lake blaring
Van Halen, Queen, Zeplin . . .
Cell phones were for the spoiled haves,
Computers still infants, Internet (mostly) for a cunning military.
Yet they could leisure chat and use blonde post-it notes
Before the late First Amendment was enhanced (to better guard them)
Summer Olympics in malevolent Moscow
Would see no U.S. athletesFull coverage
On the (new) twenty-four hour talking head Cable News Network would tell all:
The U.S. held (in custody) her own "Olympics" for disillusioned athletes.
This is when Hope began to pack
Though Small Pox was executed (by the New World Health Organization)
Insulin now genetically engineered;
The U.S. refused grain to the sinister Soviet Union (something about Afghanistan)
Hope took flight by December, expatriated/exhausted.
inlandbecause upon arrest the ocean sits withinland2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
but never occupies
because when I woke the anarchists
were demanding suffrage from heaven
because the news announced whale bones
pulled from a mountain in turkey
because i went to the liquor store
and the missing posters were gone
because every noise the city makes
is a foreign language falling extinct
mongreli'm a mutt running dirtdried andmongrel1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
mudwalloped up and down the canal.
a woman in a button down dress might
peer over an ivy encrusted balcony
and watch a dark smudge chase a kite
or, from this angle, a couple knocked
loose and luststruck as stitches, but
i am really galloping further and further from
the good side of town, the beckoning sounds;
but i am remembering anyone's hands
but yours. okay. okay. i'm no dog, but
i have been stroked and petted along
my ribbed and rapscallion diaphragm
and i have fetched mail in Wednesday
showers, i have licked tears from rapined
cheeks. i don't fear the dominance, my
wrists filling your grip like latenight
wine caught and held in a flute. i snag
my claws on the rug of mania, tugging furiously
to no avail. you watch me fret, you
watch me sing ballads couched on
dragonfruit snow and
i wasn't meant to be a pet. but
i was meant to love you slow.
Resurrection of ZarathustraHis eyes are ash and flame and junkie dreams,Resurrection of Zarathustra2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
his split-seam voice a screen from self-deception -
he has none.
He drags on his cigarette, and puts it out.
Ashtray-ash, an empty vessel.
"It is ash," he says.
"Bit it is also embers. It is easy to be
a turtle, or a snake, groundseekers, safe,
shelled and loving.
a phoenix, though it is painful,
and fly true."
"If there is love, let it be love.
There is a time for for broken cups,
there is even time for sweeping.
There is no time
On the death of Bin LadenWe are rough, all of us, and have lostOn the death of Bin Laden3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the touch and the feel of skin. We do not,
we do not cause friction, or love.
By now, we burn cigarettes on the arms
of children, if their names are odd.
I saw people dancing in the street,
the beat of their feet, their hollering,
humanskin drumskins, the bonfire bones --
they were drunk on blood.
O Babylon, you have made
monsters of all of us.
Daughter Babylon, doomed to destruction,
happy is the one who repays you
according to what you have done to us.
Happy is the one who seizes your infants
and dashes them against the rocks.
After the razorBy now, my hair is long again,After the razor3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and curls around my neck. It has
uncombed itself in grief,
and is thick and slick with oil.
At times, it seems to hiss
from mirrors, or from the edge of sleep.
Such are snakes: Split
from end to end, their tongues
are treacherous and whisper:
"She will be back."
I long for Fakirs, or a flute to soothe and stop
the simple, the snivelling snake. To sing
a song of silence, and of India,
its waters warm and ever-blue - O India!
To be far away, and warm.
I have never been to India, and here
the days are cold. My hair
is all that is here for me to bear.
The snow is cold, and the wind is cold.
From my nose, something presses at my eyes.
Snakeskin is cold, but I will not
go bald. A story is better than none,
a song of sorrow can still be sweet.
on his deathThe funeral was quiet, and at firston his death3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
it was not too hard.
But later, in the quiet of her home
when the guests had left
their condolences and flowers still fresh
in her memory, she noticed -
A misspelling, on a wreath.
numbers lost their meaning +
dates seemed to come at random.
She could not speak, her teeth
became a sieve
to scramble syllables and meaning.
When the bills came
for his casket and for the food,
the letters bleached and blurred
into the bone-white
scraps of paper, which crumbled
senselessly, in her hand.
poemI wish you were easypoem3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
easy to forget
or to lend a hand
I wish your eyes had not pierced me
like x-rays, yes, and tumorous
is what this love is, draining me
cancerously into poetry
Refreshing WindsRefreshing Winds2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I love feeling the wind,
Upon my skin,
That I am alive
The DrugI want you,The Drug8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
right here right now,
like a drug that i am addicted too.
I must give in and bow-
down to the cravings soon,
or be driven insane.
You are more addicting than the moon
As it sets, leaving me in pain.
The time between every dose is maddening.
I find my mind wondering farther and farther,
as I lie awake, I fantasize you saying,
those words that make me higher.
I wish i could shoot you straight into my veins,
or spill you into little streaks on a mirror.
Even take you like a pill.
Hold you forever.
Drug me into oblivion...
For Helping MeFor Helping Me4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Even when I'm in
The darkest place
You'll always understand.
You've been there.
Sometimes you're already there
Waiting for me.
But whether you want
Me to save you
Or join you
I do not know.
I release my pain
Using the blade
And you snap.
I don't understand
What you what me to do.
I can't just sit there and suffer.
I've never been able to.
I try to release my pain
Using the elastic band
But you make me
Promise never to again.
Do you not understand
How hard it is
For me to stop?
But then I look
And I see
That you are the only person
Who is like me.
And I love you
For being you.
For helping me.
NotesMy home of cirrusNotes2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
clouds and the cosmos
pinches the delicate
little silver chain
and my home is tilted
like a lung it's breathing
a Celtic song of the forest
a song of itself singing
I say that the celestial and the causal
is the natural
and the cause of causes is the house of houses
and when we find the answer, it will seem so obvious
ElbowThe root expresses itself in many ways.Elbow2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
One of these is the way
that love becomes a method of living.
Faithlike june tangled in tanquereyFaith3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
there is a chaos
sometimes it burns like gin
like holding these streets
with thought we've seen
as insurrect as nostalgia
as pieces of film you'll never develop
in your hands until they've all bled through
and you're left alone once more
there is information on these walls
that remind me of theories of string
how we're all just the idea of energy
that color is a symptom of light
and we've dreamed ourselves up so many times
there is no reality we haven't made love in
i've seen this city live and die by it
like a long exposure of nuclear winter
testing the premise of an afterlife
as photographs come and go like stars
that nobody ever writes poems about
begin again? dear dylan,
it's as hard as loving
it's as hard as loving yourself
as hard as having your heart broken
by ideas and by songs
it's as hard as being human and having no one to blame
and dreaming i
a rapture backwardsleft only is an auditorium of empty chairsa rapture backwards3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
what comes next is sometimes the midwest doesn't exist
falling apart she agrees that perhaps it's only their language
slowly devolving into a flock of birds
the exchange of obsessions between objects in motion
every reference to the depth and volume of night
we do not know how to die beautifully
i stop believing the moment she realizes that