| PoemsII |
| Time
Why does time move so slow? Or is it me that is moving slow? I see 1:32 A.M. on the clock, but it has been hours since 1:30 A.M. Is this real? Where am I? I have been thinking hundreds of things for hours, and yet according to the clock it has only been 2 minutes. Why? Is it the sleep deprivation, or the fact that I am here? A watched pot never boils, they say, so does A watched clock never change? I jot down my thoughts, to take up time, and yet the clock only says 1:34 a.m. What is wrong with me? At 1:35 I shall be asleep. This is not possible! It has only been seven minutes since I fell asleep and yet I feel rested! Why is this happening? Is my clock broken? Seconds like minutes, minutes like hours! I feel the madness setting in! |
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| Ramblings
Sorrow. Darkness. What lies ahead? Is it good or is it bad? Shall I run and hide? Shall I run to greet it? What lies ahead? What shall tomorrow bring, tears of joy, or tears of sadness? What shall become of me? Or you? Or anyone? The morbid curiosity of what has happened plagues me beyond the stars What if? What if I weren't here? Where would I be? Would I be me? Or someone else? What lies ahead? Will it be good? Or will it be bad? I am ready for anything! Or am I? Shall it bring sorrow and darkness? Or joy and light? What shall I expect? Joy and light, or Sorrow and Darkness? |
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| Roses Red
The red, dark as blood. The petals, soft as silk. the smell, like the heavens. But the prettier the rose, the sharper the thorn. When it sticks, the blood, is the same colour of the rose. Pain, sharp as a tack in the bottom of your foot. The reds, uniform in shade. Just to remind us, the more beautiful the rose, the bigger and sharper the thorn. |
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| Untitled
I've filled my gun with blood. Don't leave me ready to die and unarmed. Let my soul go restfully. It's and easy way out of this place we call life. Unloved, by uncaring people. Just prolonging my pain by being here. Each minute lasts forever when it is time to go. The screams silenced by pillows. The tears I've cried in the past mean nothing now. The present is all that counts. Now is the time, I say, to go from this form to another. Time to leave this place, to go elsewhere. The pain and suffering are gone now. |
| anger
there is too much in the world. Some is repressed, though much is not. the hostility makes one feel unwelcome. the tension in a room, can be cut with a knife. the repressed anger can make one sick. harsh words once spoken can never be taken away. anger, held onto too long, can cause tragedy. it causes friendships to end, people to loose trust, and people to be hostile towards one another. anger is somethng all people have to deal with, at one point or another. letting anger build up, crumples spirits, and when it gets out, it causes more hurt than a knife. anger is here to stay, anger must be dealt with |
| Striving for...
What is coming? is there too much hate, for love? where am i going? am i to leave this earth before i am ready? i do not like the wait. i feel as if i am alone and empty do i have no soul? what is to come of me? am i to expect anything? or nothing? i am lost in the sea of people. all too glamorous, all to made up. perfection. its what we strive for. hate. its what we feel towards the "perfect" people. and they perfect people are afraid they will be judged, as they judge us. why do we strive for such perfection? What is accomplished in the hate towards each other? |
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