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Yelling Written Words
If you write me a letter
with your heart full of hate
your words will burn away the paper,
leaving ashes in its wake.
Please keep your written voice down,
the yelling hurts my heart.
Just please don't ask my secrets of me,
it will only make this
that much worse.
Delving deep inside myself,
I push you far away.
These wounds mean nothing to me,
not a feather or a sand grain.
My hands are burnt,
my heart is scarred,
just leave me be,
I'm too far gone.
My AmbitionsMy Ambitions.
People tell me I have talent.
And my attempts at poetry are noble and valiant.
I want my words to leave a mark on this earth.
I write for myself, to give me some sort of worth.
I still think anyone is capable doing I what I do.
Paint the same or an even better image of the one I just drew.
I've been accepted by a few, but rejected by many.
This life is perpetual and the strain is getting heavy.
I write for you, as well as for me.
I write from my heart, to set my mind free.
A man who writes poetry isn't the epitome of masculinity.
I had to disregard the stereotype and over come the humility.
My writing is all I have
You gave me bread on a rainy day
Such goodness took my breath away.
You told the world how you felt.
Through shallow confusion my heart melt.
We grew close and drifted apart.
I still love you with all my heart.
I found you hurt and to a cave we fled.
I could only kiss your lips but I watched as you bled.
I had to go to save your life.
I broke a promise that ended your strife.
You found some berries and ended a life.
We heard a cannon; a dog was near.
We ran for the Cornucopia and fled our fear.
Climbing the metal, making it safe.
Cato appeared but I had faith.
He grabbed you up, said it was over.
I had more luck th
The Simple PoemThis poem will begin from here.
It shall start with a dusk and a child. Trying.
Trying to fly a kite in the rain.
The sunrays have just dimmed out.
Or mellowed down, surrendering to a dark azure.
The pitter-patter of rains
Drenching the fingers of the child on the roof. Fingers
That hold on to the thread that connects, quite shamelessly,
The dark skies to a kite, blue coloured. Throughout.
The dusk. I would have thought of writing a poem.
And only thought, when the thread shall snap
Taking the kite down. And the child too.
Let's watch the two as they progress downwards
Let's watch the two and see if down's the place they'll be.
Liliths DigressionYou could be my Lilith
Conjured in sleeplessness,
I see only an hour
Before the day is betrayed
And night is born again.
I recreate another's love affair;
To you I am Adam.
My first love, my first wife
You wanted equality
Control on top of me
While I penetrate from beneath you
And so I banished you from Eden.
You became a daemon,
Wondering the earth
Seducing the seducer,
Sex with the archangel Sameal
Both good and evil,
He snakes inside you now.
Of academic reasoning
You became a symbol
Adopted by the feminist,
Labelled Mother Goddess
To oppose those that would keep wome
Losing MeI find peace in loathing
I suffer pleasure from pain
I feel comfort in dark clothing
Whether judgment or acceptance is my bane
I have cried all my tears
Still in darkness I am bound
Wandering desperately through the years
The true identities never to be found
Lost is all
A blanked out, thrown out memory
From the abuses that do appall
Hope and love was my every
But now my life will soon dissolve
Into a screaming dark place with no resolve...
Her skin of powdered rice paper
the scent of rotting orchids,
a drug-induced Noh dancer with
slowly writhing limbs akimbo-
silver-gilded girl of the moment
at the factory that turned out
Monroe silk screens, and porn
to the drone of a refrigerator,
from asylum to the Big Apple,
the apple of her father's eye
and of his desires, she'd sleep
among the gay lovers, pretty boys
with erotic names of exotic birds,
knowing she was safe for a while
as they quarreled among themselves-
who'd bring her chocolate shakes,
and chauffeur their princess
to her doctor's for injections
(she was too much a lady to do it herself)
until her finge
Last Spring FlowerLast Spring Flower
Take a pack of cigarettes
Consume the two remains,
Leave beneath a tarnished sky,
The suns light betrayed,
One beam I walk towards
The only end I see,
To unfold and bloom
Like a fresh born flower
Full of feeble power.
If I said my shadow was a friend
I'd be lying through my teeth
But there is no one else
Except a hollow me
Spilling from feet
Lengthening the sun
And every second passed,
Measured by the kissing gates
And shoulder high stiles.
With ground the colour of tobacco
My feet make cigar shapes,
In a coat more like a cape
My whole life kept inside,
Pockets deep with nothingness
Left as lint and
Empty Souls Empty Souls...
The night is black
Nothing but broken stars
And empty dreams
To frame its d.a.r.k.n.e.s.s.
The book is blank
Its pages numb & mute
It is empty
Because what is a book
Without majestic words
To make it feel
W H O L E
The wind is cold
It speaks lies
With an all-deceiving tongue
It dances with the trees
The lonely moon
With its scent
And I am
The Red Road
There is a Red Road
That stretches from Cape Town to the Elysium Fields
And on that road there is a pit stop at Robben Island
To a prisoner's cell, prisoner 46664
Where the heart of a hero
Was once born
There is a Red Road
That runs from Berlin to Hades
And on the road there is a pit stop at the Biederitz River
Where the brutal ashes of a man named Adolf
Drift away in the currents
There is a Red Road
That lies between Poland to Zion
And on that road there is a pit stop at Auschwitz
Where the spirits of the dead
Still gather at the Death Wall
There are a million pit stops to be made
On the myriad paths of the interwov
My BrotherI watched my brother go through the door, wanting him to stay with us for more.
He's too young, he has too much life,
to go where death comes on swift wings.
My mother cries, my father is silent.
I stand as a vigil on our doorway, watching as he fades from sight.
I look through the newspaper, seeing if America won against Iraq.
I see soldiers who are only boys, who have seen more bloodshed than most old men.
I look through the page of the dead, praying I don't see my brothers' name.
He is not, but I still don't sway,
because my brother is still away.
I pray for the day that he comes home,
safe and ok.
Lessons LearnedShe is in the pictures,
Smiling her toothless grin.
What I wouldn't give
Not to care again.
It was a beautiful and innocent time;
She'd never believe
That there are poems
That don't need to rhyme.
I have so many things to tell her--
That Pooh Bear headbands
Aren't cool forever
(No matter how much cuter they are than Hello Kitty)
And she won't love Kim Possible when she's older,
And that hearts
Even if they're made of gold.
I wanna tell her --
Again and again --
Even if she's heard it a thousand times,
Even if it's a million,
That she should never hurry growing up:
Cause when she eventually does..
The Green Waves of Midland EnglandThe Green Waves of Midland England
Silver skinned trees
Birches bear the wood
And cast passing horses
Dew drops on grass blades
From afar it seems
As if the sea
Had found its way
I try to fit my feet
Into hoof prints,
I am unable
And to the stable they lead,
The stable hand attempts to put
On my mouth,
I refuse her.
Put upon my knees
I am saddled,
And left to walk and graze
I find with every revolution
The grass and the dew
Looks less like the coast.
BailoutThis work of fan fiction contains characters, ideas, situations, and places found in the Hasbro Studios series "My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic". No infringement of copyright is implied by this work of satire and parody, and this work is meant as a celebration of the people involved in the creation, development, and production of the series.
Written by The Descendant
Ponyville City Hall Fixture
Sweet Apple Acres Farm and Marina
Dear Mayor Mare,
It was wit' no small amount of disappointment that we received yer' newest letter o' sympathy, madam mayor. While yer' elocution wa
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