Paper ButterfliesA cut, a tear, a fold,
slice of color and a cut or two,
and another paper butterfly is born.
IV drips in the hand
keeping everything in place
while the cuts and tears and folds
keeps going on.
One thousand, six hundred and sixty six.
That's the number
she was told to make.
One thousand, six hundred and sixty six.
Until she can get a wish.
A nice nurse had told her so,
and shown her how to make them
but she had only made thirty out of the
one thousand, six hundred and sixty six
It seemed like such an impossible number
that one thousand six hundred and sixty six
but our patient needed that wish
just like everyone else,
in that hospital that our patient was at.
Her wish though
was not what someone expects
from our patient who will not last much longer.
is for her family to be happy when she's gone
and that they won't miss her to much
and that they will find someone else
after she has gone.
isn't to stay
and to get better
because she knows
that it won'
The climbHe tied his boat among the rocks, and soon began to climb. Slowly, every so slowly, he went foot by foot, climbing away from shore and onto what should be called land, but really was nothing more than rocks.The climb2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
When he tried to look above there was no grass of green. More and more rocks awaited our man, and still he climbed. The sun beat down, and clouds covered the top so our poor man could not see his destination, but still he climbed.
'It appears as though God has taken a day off today,' he thought to himself. And still he climbed up and up, even though the rocks were always coming.
When the stones cut into his palms, and the toes of his shoes wore down till his toes peeked out, and when the sun burned what skin it could, and when the wind cut through his clothes and chilled his bones, he still kept moving forwards. He couldn't see the sea below him, and there was nothing in front of him but clouds.
And still our poor man climbed, and climbed, and climbed.
To reach the top and say that
Victim of a John DoeDo you want to hear the storyVictim of a John Doe3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
of how I died?
I promise it won't be boring
so if you would
just take a seat, have a drink
Past memories reach,
I met the most amazing man
who spun words of silver and gold
with a tongue more fine than silk.
He told me he could do no wrong
and I, young and foolish, believed him.
And when we went home,
his eyes shining with new excitement,
things were perfect.
Then it shattered.
Nothing more intense
than feeling my own blood
trickle down my body.
stares traveling down
blood spattered knife
a gaping wound
cries of shock
gleaming white smile
solid drops of blood
and fading light.
I knew him for one night
he disappeared the next.
To this day I am simply known
as the victim of a John Doe.
This is a poemThis is a poem.This is a poem2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
It's full of lines,
and goes with a meter,
rhyming of words of course
and contains more than you think.
So much thought
is going into this poem
to many words
and so many emotions
that it's almost hard
for the poet
to capture it in a few words.
This poem has a deep meaning
that you will feel is just out of your grip
and it shall be misheard and misread in its time.
For now though,
this is just a poem
that is full of rhythm
and words too big to pronounce.
This is a poem,
full of words
This poem is just words on a paper
that are meant to make you think.
Can you feel the love,
or the hate, or even the fear,
in this poem?
This is a poem,
with a simple repeating line
that is just meant
to make you think.
Through a gap in the fenceThrough a gap in the fenceThrough a gap in the fence2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
they saw each other.
Drawings on the walls
for messages of love.
Images don't matter anymore
as words are the only thing
that can travel
through that gap in the fence.
Whispers of love
and no one else cares.
Still they have not seen each other
through the small gap in the fence,
But of course
all good things must end.
The gap was closed
and their love was lost.
As time erases
their love was lost
and the lovers who met
through a gap in the fence
never got to whisper
their sweet nothings to each other
through a gap in the fence again.
The Siren's Call.The Siren's Call.The Siren's Call.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Bright pink lips,
a bikini top.
She gestures wildly,
beckoning every person
to have a dance with her.
Another drink goes down
and I'm pulled into her dance
where hips thrust wildly
and hands roam everywhere.
Yet when lips meet,
it's hollow and broken
sloppy and careless
no spark or real feelings.
I don't walk away
or even pull apart.
Our limbs mesh together more
and even though it's full of sweat
and nothing more than heat
I cannot bring myself to turn away.
This Siren has captured me,
and for the rest of the night
DaddyDaddy,Daddy3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
aren't you proud of me?
Haven't I done enough Daddy?
Am I not your little girl?
I'm sorry I'm not perfect,
but can you please come back?
I promise I'll do better.
I promise I can be perfect.
Don't you love me?
Look I drew you a picture,
will you come home now?
Where did you go?
Please come back.
Mommy says you don't care anymore
but I know it's not true.
It can't be true.
You don't even call anymore.
You said you loved me
and that I was your princess,
then why aren't you here?
Please come home.
I want my Daddy back.
The Wishing TreeTraveling along a concrete roadThe Wishing Tree3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
until the pavement turned to grass
and the grass turned to dirt.
Just when the land turned barren and bland
an abandoned park stood rusty and proud.
Little Jessica walked along that dirt path
not minding the hot sun
or how her backpack got heavier with every step.
When she finally reached
that abandoned park
Little Jessica played in the slide
and swung on the swings
that creaked with every rock.
She bored soon and left
that barren park
going to the one sign of life
A sorrowful tree, with no leaves left
stood near that abandoned park.
Little Jessica, feet scuffing the dirt
went to this poor alone tree.
From her backpack, Little Jessica
pulled paper upon paper out.
With bits of string and tiny fingers
Little Jessica attached every single strip of paper
to the branches of that leafless tree
as high and far as she could reach
until the dry branches could no longer be seen.
When she was done
Little Jessica surveyed her work,
proud of the job
DystopiaDirty water,Dystopia3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and broken seams.
Cries in the night
as life becomes a fight
there's just no more light.
Men are trying,
women are running
children are crying
people are dying.
Let's go, he whispered.
I-It's dangerous, she stuttered.
But we can't just stay, they uttered.
Chaos roams the streets
and blood's on the ground like treats.
Dystopia never ends
as society bends.
Life shall be dystopia
and never a utopia.
The Caged Birds SongFor the caged birdThe Caged Birds Song3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
sings of freedom.
The caged bird sings
to hear his own songs.
For in all the twitters and tweets,
and in the cries and screams,
the caged bird sings
to hear the song of freedom
that it shall never know.
The caged bird has no use for words
or shouts of anger and sobs of terror.
The caged bird only needs its song.
Through bars and glass
the caged bird sings its song
and the caged bird and I,
we sing together,
because we are not free
in mind and soul
but together we are free
MagicA long time ago, when the world was new,Magic3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and longer than anyone can remember
magic existed in the world.
It healed the sick
and didn't cause anything bad.
Magic was for good
and never harmed the people.
Then one day
a sorcerer broken by pain
and an outcast of society
used his magic
to hurt and cause pain.
He killed with his magic,
and made people suffer
in ways that should never be allowed.
The evil sorcerer went across the land
never sparing a soul and making
curses that could never be broken.
Five of the best magicians were shocked
and banded together
to stop his evil reign over the people.
Nothing the good magicians did worked
and they were faced with a final
completely unspeakable action.
The good magicians joined hands,
bound their power together
and used their life force
to stop his ways of evil.
The evil sorcerer fell,
and after that it was decided
that magic should never be used again
in case someone else decided
to use it the way the sorcerer did.
Now because of pain and a bro
Why I cryI like to cry myself to sleep at night.Why I cry2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I cry for my cat who was run over.
I cry for my father who left me.
I cry for the friends I have lost.
And I cry for the bullies who push me in the halls.
I cry for me, myself, and I.
I cry for the body that I don't have.
And I cry because I'm not happy.
I cry for my broken family.
I cry for lost love.
And I cry for the unwanted.
I cry for the people death has taken from me.
Every night my pillow soaks,
gathering the tears that I shed.
By morning they are gone
and no one knows I cried myself to sleep.
You are woman. You are man.You are woman,You are woman. You are man.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
so be kind,
all in your own way.
You are man
so be strong,
Wake up loveHush now,Wake up love2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I'm sorry the dream must end.
It's time to wake up
and face the world.
Reality is harsh,
the people are cold,
that's how it is
and you must wake up.
For you have been asleep long enough.
Time to wake love,
and be with your people
they wait for you
and have never given up.
You can't let them down.
The alarm's going off,
and reality is waiting.
You are only human
and cannot do much
but everyone is important
and life is waiting just for you.
Can you hear their cries?
And the bellows of pain?
You can stop them
but only if you wake up.
It's time to wake up love,
and face the world.
They cry for your return
and you can't let them down.
I'm a PoetI'm a poet.I'm a Poet2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
And because I'm a poet,
I have the pride of a poet,
and the background of an artist.
Yes as a poet.
I am overlooked in the group
for the work that is drawn,
and the art that is colored by the painters
I am a writer
and though my words hold power
they are seen as nothing more than words
and never get brought to their original intent
I am a writer
whose every move is watched
whose art is critiqued harsher than others
who's still unknown as an artist
I am an author,
who wears my heart on my sleeve
who leaves everything bare to judgment
who never asks for more than is due
I am an artist,
but I don't always get treated as such
Lovely AnneI once met a girl named AnneLovely Anne3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and what a lovely girl was she.
She sat in corners and talked
and talked when no one listened.
While lovely Anne was so lovely
no one went near lovely Anne
and her never-ending talking.
Lovely Anne with black hair
and dark skin. Never listened
to the voice of society.
Lovely Anne talked of a world
so unlike our own.
No one went near her,
but everyone listened
to the thoughts of a wonderful world.
Lovely Anne lived in a world
where the clocks struck thirteen
where everyone loved
where everyone smiled
and tears were never shed.
The walls and floors
objects and papers
that she talked to day and night
held to her words
and wished for her world.
Poor Lovely Anne had no friends.
But lived in a world that was entirely her own.
Lovely Anne who never left her world
and thought reality was imaginary.
AtticI went through the attic todayAttic2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
just to see the memories that lie.
Inside a box there was nothing
but cobwebs and fickle dust.
Yet in a corner of the room
there is the most beautiful memory,
photo albums of love
and presents from trips long ago.
I do not have to read the letters of love
for their words have long since been memorized.
A little stuffed lion
won at the circus,
shall sit in my lap
and remember along with me.
Never stitched in love this lion was,
but love was what it was meant to feel.
So as I sit and look,
from albums of old,
and presents from trips,
and letters of love,
and my lion in my lap,
I cry happy tears
at the memories that have passed.
'Darling, come downstairs!'
I can almost hear your voice shout below.
'Dear! You are never going to believe
the memories that I just unearthed.
Let's look together, and relive the old
and maybe then my tears for memories past
can become tears for something new.'
It tastes like love.I could speak of her in riddles,It tastes like love.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
in aged, anatomy textbook terminology-
but, I wont.
You see, I cuffed this angel to my bedpost.
I sank my teeth into feathers she wore like a cage
and asked if I was dreaming, because Love,
you're not holding me. If you only knew the you in my head,
every night--tearing with these heavenly fingers
at the cracks in my sanity- you would allow me this!
Her tongue tastes my tears; nails clawing, clawing, clawing-
she takes away my pain,
but she doesn't belong to me either.
"We are but wolves.
Tell me, what does my blood taste like?"
Where Angels PlayWhere Angels Play:Where Angels Play2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
A lonely spark appears before me tonight
amongst the struggles deep inside of me...
Should I give in, will I breathe in?
How much more can I be forced to take
before my soul breaks?
Shards crashing into me
letting me know I am alive
I am barely breathing...
The moon lights my pathway
deep in dark, where we will fade
I've walked past the archway
Where angels will play...
The warmest touch, upon my skin
Wings that glow with sacred light, from deep within
They have come to take me back, to where I've been
Gone away into the winds, my voice forever lingering
Do I alone escape this and find my peace
without concern for what is left behind
Even if I could close my eyes in endless rest
The thought of you keeps me breathing...
The angel that leads me, deep in dark, where I seem to fade;
The lonely spark that keeps me, is the warmth of your heart...
-Chen Yuan Wen, 30th September 2012
Daydreamers Amongst UsTo those daydreamers amongst usDaydreamers Amongst Us2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Tomorrow will soon be today
So choose every word carefully
As they might be the last you say
And they will echo through time
After your final shadow is cast
But those words and those emotions
Will have no place in the past
They'll take their place in tomorrow
And every day to the end of time
Your words, your thoughts and your wisdom
Will deviate us from straight lines
And show people there's another way
Peace and love can re-wire our brains
Show us how to avoid hatred
And from negative feelings refrain
Otherwise I can see suffering
But on an unheard of scale
Nations and religions will collide
Peace treaties will continue to fail
So daydreamers amongst us
Please unleash your wildest thoughts
Drop your line into the sea of wisdom
And show us what you have caught
HistoryThere are momentsHistory3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
that you wish never end
Then there are moments
that couldn't go by fast enough.
Through at the times we have seen
and all the lives we have lived.
Time seems to be
the one thing that never changes.
Time likes to repeat itself
going hour by hour, second by second.
They say, today is history
but tomorrow is a mystery.
History likes to repeat itself,
so maybe tomorrow isn't such a mystery.
ReturnJust because I am deadReturn3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
does not mean I am an angel
I am far from that of an angel.
The evil men,
who kill and rape and burn for fun
shall pay for their crimes
even if I go to hell for it.
The crow shall be my guide
and my connection
to be able to make my mark
on the world that has left me behind.
I may have died
but death does not stop me
I shall stop for death
when I am ready.
For while time goes on
and the world forgets
true love is the only thing
that lasts forever.
Vengence is a welcomed thing
that stays in the heart
festering and tainting what was once pure
and slowly killing.
I died for the one I love
but death does not stop me.
For life is but a dream
that death wakes us up from.
The Envious MoonThe moon's envious glow,The Envious Moon3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
is nothing more, than the suns bright rays
shinning back from a gray face.
The loneliest person in the world,
she can only reflect what others disperse
and never show her own light.
Sometimes though, she gets her desires
to change the light she reflects
and becomes orange or red.
It never lasts though.
She finds solace in her reflection
to know that she is actually there,
and to feed what little pride she has.
And the moon sits alone
never to have company.
Only her mournful shriek her only sound.
She can never be the one
who provides light and comfort.
The most she can do
is give off a little reflected light,
that isn't even her own.
Everyone loves the sun,
that warm, life birthing parent.
And everyone ignores,
the pale envious moon.
Who wants nothing more
than to be loved.
Ink GravesLetterless words and pageless books-Ink Graves3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and ink blots on the flowers;
Ghosts scratch their heads and tap their pens,
all across the hours.
Winds can howl and cease to be,
by one twitch of my pen;
I spoke of writing a poem tonight,
and by dawn I've written ten.
Emily sits aside nobody,
the Raven, above, waits;
Frost dances in a yellow wood,
among the long lost dates.
A tall, well spoken willow,
looms over the grave;
Protecting every dated word,
and every thought they gave.
I crumple another masterpiece,
with thoughts I'd thought to save;
and as it strikes the baset bottom,
it rests in its ink grave.
The DoctorThe Doctor2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"Doctor?" I questioned uneasily. The figures and faces around me nodded, shifting around unsettlingly as if staying still was too much work for them
"I don't need a Doctor, I'm fine." I had no desire to see the Doctor. Even the title sent shivers down my spine.
"We know dear, but we were thinking that some people mature faster than others, and that maybe you should see the Doctor earlier," one of the figures said. I couldn't even see them, for I was seated in a hard chair that dug into my back while everyone else was crowed around me. Their like faces and similar statures all began to blur into one solid black surrounding of grey and more grey. Even their voices were beginning to blend together.
"I don't want to see the Doctor though."
And I truly didn't. There were so many rumors about that place, the place called the hospital. I heard that when people entered they didn't come back the same again, that they Doctor messed with their minds and changed them into unfeeling robots for the