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 climb3 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 poem3 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 fence3 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.3 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
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
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.
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.
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,
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
Why I cryI like to cry myself to sleep at night.Why I cry3 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.
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
Wake up loveHush now,Wake up love3 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 Poet3 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
AtticI went through the attic todayAttic3 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.'
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.
PassionFor when the daughter experiences a firstPassion2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
it is the passion she feels in the night.
For when the innocent is murdered against reason
it is the cry of a nation that can’t understand.
For when the son disturbs the peace of a day
it is the rage of parents that calm his youth.
For when the music carries upon the floor
it is the color of the dress the darling wears.
For when the veil drops and all is revealed
it is the pain of truth that becomes clear.
For when the last moment is seen
it is the suffering in the eyes that shows all.
For when the child breaks the toys they cherish so
it is the shade their face turns in anger.
For when the people call for devotion
it is the color that speaks for their cries.
For when the people make for a revolution
it is the red that stains the ground eternally.
Because when the people need a reason
it is the stain of a nation that botch the pure history.
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?"
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.
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.
Where Angels PlayWhere Angels Play:Where Angels Play3 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
Sonnet XIDear Death, thou art shunned, yet I welcome thee,Sonnet XI3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I fear not thy shade nor thy trailing shroud,
Whilst mankind greets thee with a teary plea
I shall embrace thee like a monsoon cloud.
Why men fear thy presence I cannot say,
Nor discern why in thy company, weep,
For life bears us all: love, woe, ceaseless sway,
But death, kind death, cares for every man's sleep.
My love for thee exceeds mortality,
And as seasons sweeten the sweetest wine,
Lend my fruitful years to vitality
And I shall remain eternally thine.
Ring my vows from my grave O timeless wife
We eloped at birth for the afterlife.
Death Takes Two SugarsDeath knocked on the doorDeath Takes Two Sugars2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
came inside without invitation
poured herself some tea
and asked for a story.
He laughed at all the right parts,
cried when I cried,
asked for more than she received
It cried with me and laughed with me
sipping their tea and listening
she wondered what I didn’t do
then told me how idiotic I was.
He told me about the children
I could have had but didn’t
and the falls that lifted me up
with the loss of others.
The story of how I almost killed a girl
when she ran into the street
scared her to run into the arms of her father
and never ran into the street again.
The tale of the man who was meant for me
yet still didn’t want me
and that was not my fault but his
for his life went on a different path.
Death pushed in his chair and declared,
‘It’s time for you to go’
despite my tea’s warmth
and my story was not quite finished.
‘I’m not ready to go’
I bellowed and threw my cup