Tag: poetry

Breathe

Quiet the words that arise

Strike the record

Wring out in puddles

Ring out in silence

Echoing drops like rain

Reigning like pretender kings

Kinks and knots tying down

Restraining and retraining the mob

Crowding out the voices that sing

Singling out only those that agree

A greed unwelcome but accepted

Excepted from a list of sins

Not seen as wrongs

Against the unarmed

Unharmed by mere sentences

Sentenced to life in ignorance

Ignored by masses

Amassed in Mass

Masterfully worshiping reflections

Reflecting not

Seeing image without form

Unstructured observance

From without, not within

Withered stances

Decaying in the wind.

Glasses smudged

Vision blurred by particulates

Hazy recognition

Greyed out definitions

Propositions for life

Driven by opposition to

And from indifference

Inferred from compositions

Hollowed out and shallow filled

With blood thinned

By water set to dry.

Others sent to try and recollect

The pieces lost in transitional

Phrases

Disjointed and derailed

Slamming screeching shrieking

Grinding glaring gleaming

Riddled with ringing

Singing through the bottom

Breathing at the top

Tangled and entangled

In affairs outside our expertise.

Silent when shouting is due

Confused cacophony

Proclaiming stupidity

Otherwise known as followers

Disciples of those that blind

Those that cordon off the rights

Set paces for sight

Dim the lights

For those we say are dear.

We worship the oppressors

By indulging in the inane voices

Repeating the words we learned

While they were meaningless

Until they defined us subtlety

Even until they own us.

Use Your Words

Do not expect your sly smiles

Gentle sighs

And angled acts will speak more clearly

Than words set down without prejudice

Intentions represented as fact

For the things that matter.

Set foundations in your sentences

Stick to them

Construct on them your actions.

Do not expect a heavy look

Or staring at the dishes

To get anything done.

Passive-aggression is so overdone

And even when we know

We’ll refuse to understand,

On principle.

Use your words

Spiteful, Angry, Loving, Affectionate

Biting, Uplifting, Frustrated, Depressed

Uninterested, Excited, Lonely, Lost.

Speak to me

To Him

To Her

To Xem.

Speak Up

Speak Out!

Shout, if you have to

But be sensitive as well.

Use your words

Resign yourself not to silent acceptance

Of mediocrity unfit.

Sleep, as each hour crawls

Fighting back to promises of life

Tangled in breaths not taken.

Struggle against the warm sheets of silence

Filled in with spaces unmeasured

Unmarked with remarkable left undone.

Sigh deeply with words unspoken

Drawn from lines and depths unplumbed

Scrapped together quickly in guilt. 

Awaken in frustrated surrender,

Unable to accept

Having not…

Insomnia

Sleep invades the restless mind

As nimbly as a whisper

The shadow of its presence creeps,

Its weight so like a dream

Feel the heavy strings pull downward

Sliding down the chair I try

Fighting back against a silence

I can never seem to crush.

Each hour passing by in hazes

While fog within my mind consumes

Crawls within my veins and teases

A promise of hours’ rest.

So I rise to take my leave

Of mortal coils and concrete life

To slip into a stream

Yet find myself awakened

And sleep has flown again.

Our Worst Enemy

Our worst enemy is ourselves

For after the voices of hate

Which follow us from birth

Are silent in the night

The echoes of their beliefs

Still resonate in our ears.

One could argue then

That memories are the foe

But that is not so,

For it is that fact that we’ve digested

And have accepted the suggested

Falling prey to the suppositions

And to the dispositions

Of those that mocked and teased.

But it is only when we’ve labeled

Those laboured breaths as true

That they can truly haunt us.

Though true it is that they still hurt,

To know some feel such ways

Especially those close enough

To claim to know and understand you,

You are not your flaws

Not your spotted complexion

Nor your fragile, broken composition.

Made of from which worlds bloom

Even broken and dying you give life

Are empowered to touch and change

Capable of creating for yourself

A world worth living in.

I Just Started Writing Poetry Again; Do I Really Need A Title?

Sometimes I feel as if I have forgotten how to write

Or wonder if I ever really knew at all

For words have always come naturally

Never needing work or much thought

There is, of course, the general editing

The reading over for flow

But the rest has always been

A slightly crooked branch

Reaching out from the forest of my mind

Thoughts becoming simple markings

Seemingly complex

Interpreted a thousand ways

Then lain aside until forgotten

Trying ever to not look back

By embracing the way forward

Falling off track

Then failing to remember anymore

The why and how

Of where I began.