This thread I truly don't know
How I came to miss
Wonderful weavings of words
Are a lovely twist
The Piper, the prose, the rhyme,
Have come to astound
More than me, in fact, it seems
All writers around
Your choice of language, of words,
Are truly a show
Of how unique we all are
And how we each glow
Wherefore do these ideas thrive?
Like the branches of the trees,
We nurture and sow.
Now I fear I must depart,
For my rhyming has
Become rather vague and will
Soon lose all its jazz.
It has probably been articulated better but I swear the epitome of loneliness is to be surrounded by friends only to feel isolated from them all.
The very thing that is supposed to connect you to the world only serves to sever any connection you try to form.
God I can complain can’t I.
Promise to post something shortly worth you taking the time to read.
To stem the fury of my thoughts,
I partake of this deadly draught.
To prevent the futility of attraction,
I engage in all distraction.
But in the hollow of its wake,
My foundations it doth quake.
All this to numb the pain,
Until it surfaces again.
Am I destined to feel alone,
Until the sirens sing me home?
(Better but not perfect)
Give me a night and I'll articulate whatever this is I'm feeling tomorrow.
With oblivion a stated goal
one seeks to still the mind;
drink serves not
and distractions plenty
lead to further troubles.
How then is one to find
Stillness deep within?
When blocking out has failed
try perhaps letting in.
makes a festering wound
but released runs a shorter course.
So take up your words
as sword and shield
raise the battle cry again;
and with your armor round you clad
retake what is your right.
a gem of poetic language
it seems that I have found!
more joyful than a sandwich
(ingredients I compound)
I cannot write (as you may see)
not poetry no but much of prose
(the rhyming it is not for me)
but stories fanciful as my reader knows
but I must try (and possibly fail)
to partake of this witty game
I may be slower than a snail
but surely this is not lame
Slow the pace
but qiuck the wit
Speed over substance
the gods forbid!
A few more days
A little spare time
Ill try speaking in haiku
rather than rhyme...
new am i to this game,
so i may be seen as quite lame,
but i shall try this speech,
for it is as sweet as a peach.
I await more speech,
beacause it always leaves me speechless,
at how you can write such beautiful lines,
with just a few simple words.
It seems i have lost it,
for my rhyming has left me,
and now i feel devastated,
for i truly wanted to write more.
I could try and write a poem but I'd fail,
I'd cry and I'd cry and I'd wail,
but I shall attach my pen to the paper,
for maybe I might get a rhyme later.
That's just what I made up off the top of my head. It's not good.
You may think its bad,
but its deffinetly better than what i had,
cause i lost my rhyming half way,
and even now im not sure what to say.
A thought I can’t escape...
“Death borders upon our birth,
Our cradle stands in the grave.”
This is the thought I can’t escape,
This is the thought I cannot stave.
So certain of our cleverness,
And so certain of our worth,
Yet we all become nothing more,
Than a picture above the hearth.
Even when I steal the time,
The time is stolen from me.
Our time is truly all we have,
But others take it selfishly.
If I could have it all one way,
I’d never leave this thread.
If I could but divorce my life,
I’d leave my life unwed.
For I’ve found no other place,
Where I can hide from Hyde.
This thing that lurks somewhere within,
But in you I can confide.
For I can’t hide within the light,
But with your lines inside my mind,
I can stem the torrent of my thoughts,
He seeks but cannot find.
And once again my time is gone,
It’s almost time to depart.
So write to me it frees my mind,
Please take these words to heart.
Perhaps you wanted something greater,
Perhaps you wanted more.
But this is all that can be expected,
When I write during corporation law.
I fear I will digress
As mindless, thoughtless thoughts
Become this mess.
It is really not profound
That which I will say
Yet if I do not expound
The messes of my mind dismay.
Can we contain in words
Thoughts that ebb and flow?
Ideas that fly as birds
Never grounded, never slow
Yet still poignant,
Scripted as a show
Of pace and poise
Fleeting as snow.
These words, this script
How can it be
That it brings so many joys?
When in reality
Is not it all just noise?
To hide from our Hydes
With words as shields
Mighty though the pen may be,
In a war of attrition
Would it not come to pass eventually,
That one day
Our pens will have no ink left to free?
Time is an old thief
With quick hands still,
But to spend the pocket change he leaves for us
Simply trying to fill
The blank pages in our heads
With our fears of an empty till,
It seems a subtle suffocation.
In a currency of time
We are always in recession.
There may be but baby steps
From cradle to coffin,
But the journey's magnificence
Is not it just perception?
Instead of time
Sending us straight from birth to earth,
Instead of time
Robbing the coin of our kin,
Could we not be but beggars?
And he the generous passerby
Throwing money in?
Ah, the thoughts of mine,
They fly faster than Time.
For in just those lines,
My mind has wondered far more than it should.
For is life truly short, or truly long?
No! It is in the eye of the traveler,
who wonders along that road of life,
that decides when to look in the past,
and see the length of his road.
Yet, those still unwise,
watch the road ahead,
for signs of an end,
to their untrained eyes.
So, it really is up to the wanderer of life's road,
to decide the length of his travels,
and when he stops for a rest,
instead to look down Memory's Road.
I Shall leave you with these thoughts of mine,
for i must go,
with just a thank you for these ideas,
and a good bye until later.
Just four weeks,
Your concentration will return.
The anxiety attacks,
Only last four weeks.
But I think this to be a subtle deception,
To goad me into obedience.
I can still think...
Four weeks unable to express.
Four weeks unable to grasp,
My own thoughts.
Like water running through my fingers,
And if I cup my hands,
I can hold it a little longer,
Just long enough to glimpse,
Bordering on comprehension,
Then it is gone once again.
But I wait,
But I cannot give them,
Surely just one vice,
Will not harm.
Not when it releases,
The shackles on my mind.
They will not goad me again.
Never again will I give them,
Dakosha, smuppet, I have something for you both. It is almost ready...
My mind wanders through a land of words,
words that will not come together,
to form some thoughts that make sense,
in this jumbled mess of mine.
I try and fail,
then fail to try again,
cause im just too confused,
to put something complete here in my post.
So i sit here reading and listening to music,
(yes both at the same time)
to help my mind make sense of the words,
through the pictures of a book.
I will see you all later,
and keep wondering what that something is of yours, thycrow,
until i see you all here again,
again, when i can let my mind wander into that land of words.
Only there can i make sense of my thoughts and feelings,
to share them with you all,
and that way share them with myself.
Goodbye, until another time!
the long promised
Like children at christmas
around shiny promises
eager for their revalation.
These poems are really good. :)
I thank you for your comment,
cause it's always nice to hear one.
It's rainy and deppressing out side,
so any little good thing is appreciated.
for this long awaited something of thycrow's.
But to tell you the truth,
im wondering if he forgot us,
or left us,
to go on some nice vacation.
Why don't we
Run through our hurdles
And jump over conclusions?
Instead of so soon
That context can kick
Circumstance can wound
When we're just audience
The weeks that come in fours
They can fade so soon
When we're just audience
Weeks like those
They never bare their claws
If we wait a little more
We will have our chance to applaud
A response, given thought...
Pens to rival my own is seems, so I took some time to ponder,
Curious to see where my ink leads me when given time to wander.
For when I’m gone my mind turns here and it soon becomes apparent,
The old sayings true, in your absence my heart indeed grows fonder.
Despite the eloquence of your metaphor, I fear you mistake the persona,
Time as the generous passerby, is surely a misnomer.
Yet all I can be certain of, is that I am truly uncertain,
And thus I find myself again consumed like the parable of Jonah.
If time is a gift, then it follows that it is given,
Which in turn begs the question, by what is the giver driven?
For If such a patron does exist, and in the eyes of men,
Seeks absolution, so few answers will be easily forgiven.
Most would answer love, and if this was his inclination,
If love is the point, the purpose, the path to true salvation,
Then humanity is the butt of the cruelest joke of all,
For I can think of no act more egotistical then that of creation.
For it occurs to me that love is of two parts,
To love, and to be loved, and both are one within the heart.
But if half of love is the desire to be loved in return,
Then at the heart of love lay selfishness, when love is torn apart.
Thus if life is a gift given out of love it is the epitome of selfishness,
And so the idea of life as a gift I’m afraid I must dismiss.
Yet for all this I am none the wiser, still the most ignorant of the ignorant.
I did not heed Nietzsche's warning; I stared too long into the abyss.
To wage this war of which you speak, I wonder of the cost,
I wonder if I can afford to see that last ’t’ crossed,
For I am but a mortal man, and though my inks eternal,
I will never know if I've won or lost.
So it is the absence of an answer that drives me to deplore,
And therein lies the rub, it's a case of nothing more,
Then a man with one watch knowing what time it is,
And a man with two watches never quite being sure.
My thoughts wander aimlessly,
under hoops and around goals.
For i truly think,
you have forgotten something,
of the utmost importance.
For who says,
that you can only have one reason?
only love can be the answer?
Why not hope, too?
I'm sure there could be more reasons,
but for now i cannot find another.
Yes, why can't hope be a reason?
A reason for creation?
The hope that love would be enough,
to survive in a cruel world.
For who says selfishness is there,
when a heart is torn in two?
maybe selfishness is the effect,
not the cause,
of never really having love.
I still beleive life is a gift,
time is a gift,
love is a gift,
and hope is a gift.
Hope is mine,
for the taking.
Love, too, takes this course.
time is given,
and it is taken,
without a cause,
and without a reason.
Time is a gift,
that is often seen as a curse.
I hope I am smart enough,
to see time for what it really is,
to live it out the best i can,
and to make another's time,
the most i can.
Life is the gift,
that allows all these others to be.
Life is beautiful.
Life is there, even in the depths of sorrow,
life is there in the depths of pain.
Life must always be there,
for anyone to love,
Life must be there,
for anyone to be loved.
Life must be there,
for anyone to be happy.
I think life is the greatest gift given,
for it brings all these great things with,
that make all the unbearable things,
Maybe one day,
we will find out the reason,
that life was given.
Maybe one day,
we will find,
that life goes on.
Maybe one day,
we will find,
My thoughts have traveled this path,
and many more,
but i must go,
and leave these thoughts for you.
i can spare a moment,
to tell you more of my wanderings.
Goodbye for now!
Does a swallow ask
Why it flies south?
Does a shark question
the rows of teeth in its mouth?
So why into the unanswerable
do we inquire?
Why of the philosophic
queries do we never seem to tire?
Is there point
To finding a purpose?
Would it not be better
to ensure our lives are not worthless?
So certain of our uncertainty
And so sure we can't be sure
Yet so convicted that love
Is but a selfish tug of war
Just two parts to the equation
A simple game of exchange
Of friction and transaction
Each side secured by a glutton's gut
The driving desire for reciprocation
But is our greedy dance of give and take
Is the balance and tension still so true
For someone who is not tethered
By the rope we all seem anchored to?
If love is really selfish
Then I must be so full of love
But to call me such a thing
Is to name a dragon 'Dove'
And what then can the abyss really do
To us monsters and us dragons?
What can the abyss do
But change the colour of our scales?
But merely rearrange our horns and fangs
And place some extra spikes upon our crooked tails?
For I need not the abyss
To tell me what I've always been
Though constantly I stare into its face
It cannot claim it changed me
It was me that ran the race
And so this grand alternative
This proposition so well thought out:
An issue of two watches
Afflicting us with constant doubt
Or the danger of the single watch
Was it set properly? Are its gears too slow?
Does its clockwork waltz grow shaky?
Time is made into a farcical show
Do we really need to measure all our minutes?
And sieve through all the seconds?
Do we need to know the difference
Between the weekdays and the weekends?
While one option condemns us to uncertainty
The other binds us to the arrogance of claiming truth
It seems that all our mechanisms
Never come with well researched proof
Why then focus on such devices?
Whether fastened to our wrists
Or ticking from the wall
No better way to measure time exists
Than to see the shadows fall
And even if dark clouds should gather
And the wind does not blow them away
At night you'll still know it's night
And day will be as plain as day
A gift can be dismissed at any time
It can remain unwrapped forever
But to truly know what it contains
The wrapping must be severed
And how much risk is there
To simply tear a piece of paper?
Only the blindest beggar lays idle
Stricken and immobilised by fear
Because upon his already weathered hands
A small paper cut could appear
The arrogance of claiming truth...
that scream for a second glance.
For how true they are.
All around us, people claim truth,
whether for glory,
or for want.
The want to help.
How can we find the truth in side of lies,
or vise versa?
How can we know,
who is claiming truth,
and who has found truth?
For if we know,
maybe we wouldnt be so afraid,
afraid to unwrap our gifts.
For how well do we think we'e lived,
if we always wonder what was in that last gift,
a miracle, or a curse in disguise?
For how fun is it to just coast along,
in a life that we don't know,
how it will end.
When it will end.
Who can say,
what will happen after this life?
Will we pay the price,
for coasting along?
Or will that be,
the best thing we ever did?
Who can say?
How can we decide?
These are my thoughts,
confused as they are.
I think life is best,
when lived to the fullest,
but will we pay for that?
Is it the wrong course?
I think life is a maze,
you can aim for one goal,
and end up,
facing the abyss.
My thoughts tire endlessly,
And here they travel,
From beginning to end,
And back again:
I would go to the end of the earth,
If it would help me,
Help me gain courage,
And maybe even some humility.
For though I try,
I cannot come clean,
I run, I hide,
Seem to follow every move I make.
Is there a way out?
Do I dare try to find one,
In the hope that all I’ve hurt,
Or do I run to the dark side,
And hide in its nothingness,
Hoping to never hurt,
By hurting all the time?
Do I dare hope,
Someone would pull me out?
I don’t think anyone would want to,
Nonetheless have to figure out,
Just what I need,
That they have never given.
Why must I see only darkness,
In those with the lightest eyes?
Why must I see only nothing,
In those filled with hope,
The want to help.
Why must I push them away?
Why can I not see,
I dearly need them?
I believe I’m stuck,
In a cycle of trying,
I’m not sure,
If it is the darkness,
Or the road to light,
That I fear the most.
But I know that I am lost,
And I don’t know where to turn,
For who would ever have a map,
Of the hardest road to travel?
I dare to believe,
that someone here,
may have even a scrap,
of that long needed savior.
share it with me,
and whoever else would dare to look.