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I am standing alone on the shore late afternoon looking out in to the seemingly never ending sea. The sun is close to setting, but like me is in no rush to leave this placid scene.
I never thought about death as a good thing. The word itself has always sent chivers down my spine. Death. The worst thing that could ever happen to a person. Death. The point of no return.
Half awake, Half asleep; Half of my pillow, Soaked with tears. Half smiling, Half whining; Half of my wishes, Torn into pieces.
what color are your eyes. I didn't take the time to notice. could they be grey, icy-cold and match mine. or are they brown like my mothers. are they a deeper blue than the depths of the ocean.
I wrote this going on a school trip somewhere and I found it with a lot of sheets so yeah...: Gazing out the window watching drops of rain, Letting things go through your mind; time and time again.
Asking personal questions is always a bit risky. You are, after all, venturing out of the safe realms of small talk into sensitive topics you can only share with someone you trust significantly.
Starting a story, or even knowing where to start a conversation when first meeting someone, or first talking to someone is something I've always struggled with, from the awkward eye contact to even...
As I walk down the street, the air is fresh and windy. My hair is blowing about in the strong breeze, but I am happy.
Another day. Another dawn. Another feeling- Feeling torn. Another morn. Another dusk. Left feeling like- A lifeless husk. Another sun. Another moon. Another song- To gently croon. Another star.
Nothing is right, I'm out of line, Pieces missing, Losing time, Sleep though the day, Awake all night, Run when I should Stand and fight.
The window is steamy with vapour. From the night before. I see one trailing down, slowly. Clear, Crystal, Pure. I draw some figures on this window. But there is no room for more.
Die Richtung. du kannst dich umdrehen und wegsehen. du kannst aufstehen und weggehen. du kannst dich hinlegen und tot stellen. bis sie kommen und dich auszählen.
This is the 2nd verse of the group poem that was started by @patdolan if anyone wants to take part let us know in the comments.
Ive watched the clouds passing But now they all just look the same, To see the world through naive eyes- life's no longer just a game.
Cracked and broken. Now put back together. This is me. After being under the weather. Talkative and attentive. Not to forget loud. I wear my quirkiness as a shield. Of that I'm quite proud.
I no longer understand Why others do what they do Why do you have to hurt. Why not try and heal. Why can't we get along.
Despite being surrounded by a crowd, I feel isolated. One is the lonely number, Even though I am a half of two. My footprints march through the sand, Separate and distinct from the others.
My solitude is my mind. My true love is inside to find. A kiss upon my tender lips. There is nothing more I want from this. My lips go to part. I say those words. And write them down.
P lagued by voices in my head A asking if that's what was said R ound and round my head it goes A lways checking before I go N ot in order need to fix that O r tap three times rat a tat tat I...
Been reading up on contemporary poetry. Here is my first stab at it. Near as I can tell, if it confuses and annoys the reader then it's contemporary poetry.
Depression What is it, really. A state of mind. Or an emotion. Or does it really matter. Because either way, you're stuck. You can't fight the depression. You're rendered useless; it's too powerful.
I'm a self confessed anti hero of love. A realist of the heart. An organ that pumps blood all day, to me has no finer art. I've never pledged an "I love you", in the closing minutes of the day.
Nothing prepares you for a night of complete loneliness. 4am comes around, all of that strength you possessed in the day unhinges itself in the midst of cold sheets and the silences that you dread.
I lay down in the grass and look up into the dusky sky. I feel as if I don`t have anyone in this cruel world anymore. I don`t like all this cruel hatred.