Missing Him

I wish for the old you.

Kind, and silly, and

Perpetually loving,

Sweet, and comforting.

I hate this newer you.

Cold and sarcastic.

Ridden with gross arrogance.

You can't win me back.

Haiku with a slight additive. I'm probably rusty since I haven't written in ages. What do you guys think?

Lonely Nights

Sun: Do you love me?

Night Sky: Yes.

Sun: But how do you know? What's love?

Night Sky: I don't really know what it is.

Sun: Then how can you tell that you love me?

Night Sky: Because I just know it.

Sun: What do you mean?

Night Sky: When I look at you I see everything, and that's all I need. I love you without understanding love.

Sun: Oh... I don't see that.

(Sun turns around and walks away)

Just a question...and a poem....

The year may be over, but I've made a vow to continue posting. Who else is with me here? Lets all do our best both in and out of school!

The Determined

x must always

equal the opposite

of b plus or minus

the square root of b squared

minus 4ac

resulting in a perfect arch.

every time

we can predict

most outcomes

and boast about doing so

but still

where is the excitement in that?

the adventure?

does it exist

if our lives are predetermined?

is there a point

in trying to discover

what we already know?

the apple must always fall

and hit the ground

just as people

must all go.

where is the magic

the supernatural

the significance,

in the word

controlled by

formulas

and laws.

no thanks math

and modern day and age

I'd rather live

questioning

how the rock i throw will arch

than already know.

and so long evolution

i prefer

the bible:

it assures me

that theres something more

This poem was inspired by a line from the song Mugen no Kanata by my favourite band ViViD. (they are aweeeesommmeee) "I wonder what kind of meaning existed on that predetermined formula.)

This poem isnt all that good....which is why its kindof the afterthough of this post.

My Enemy

It moves with graceful confidence,
Most polite in all its ways.
It weaves fine silk for penniless
And with homeless children plays.
Though from its charity I could prosper,
A long-awaited dream of mine,
I will not rest until its demise.

I've been writing a lot of poetry lately...and now think in poetry(which wasn't helpful durring finals-especially algebra and spanish/spanisho)

Demon Bug

Demon bug,
You crawl along the wall
Visible from my eye's corner,
Every move suspicious.

Demon bug,
You leave scorch marks
On the still-wet wall
Repainted after your last visit.

Demon bug,
You flutter round the light,
Setting frightening shadows
To dance along my confines.

Demon bug,
You sit atop the flame
Not singeing as a bug should
By which I am not surprised.

Demon bug,
If you cannot give me blessed rest,
Would you be kind enough
To grant me peace to write?

Aspiring Eyes

Leaves of gold
Awakened from slumber,
To perform
For aspiring eyes.
Flung into air,
Suspended in spotlight,
Virtue prevails.
Humble leaves spin,
Muted lesser sides
All there is to see.

Secrets

slippers
on hard floor
whisper whisper
cereal and milk
swirling in a bowl
whisper whisper
sharpened pencils
on stark paper
whisper whisper
soft breeze
in dancing leaves
whisper whisper
drawing nearer
as the fire grows
whisper whisper
a silent door
swinging closed
whisper whisper
why so
many secrets?
whisper whisper

I've been told it doesn't make sense by...a few people

You sure know how to ruin a song

You sure know how to throw rocks at the glass harmonies to make them rain down on me.

You sure know how to rip at the melodies and shred them like those long forgotten love letters I found in the bible.

You sure know how to take the chords in your hands and to squeeze, smirking at the cracks.

To cut apart the notes, each ligement gritting though the blades.

To crush that bass line under your boot like thos ciggerates that coat your breath and cling to your clothes.

To kick the drum beats in the ribs and to stride away without looking back to see them coughing up blood.

You sure know how to ruin a song.

My Prison

I will a veil of gray
to hide the prying blue.
I will the sky
to split in two.
I will cold rain
to come through.
I will the drops
to land on my window.
I will the diamonds
to stumble down.
I will the larger
to grow and grow.
I will the smaller
to know.
I watch the race
as it comes to a close,
from my desired prison
entwined with red rose.
I will the smallest tear
to be carried away by the wind.
It held my dreams-
What a sad end.
I will the rain
to turn to snow.
I will the flakes
to cover all I know.
I will the white
to touch me,
but it cannot,
for my window is forever closed.
I watch
from my desired prison
entwined with red rose.
I will the snow
to turn to fire.
I will it
to never tire.
I watch
from my desired prison
entwined with red rose,
as all but my prison
goes up in flame.
I will my prison
to be devoured.
I will the red roses
to be burned flower.
I will
to be encompased by fire.
I will my last desire.
I will myself
to be free.

Please tell me what you think!

The Train, The Lights, The All Above.

Stop,
Turn around,
Look,
and actually open those bright eyes of yours to the existing life you never knew,
Have you ever just sat there, ears drained with the heavy sound of silence?
Ever just cocked your head a little to the left to watch the second hand on the clock turn with grace?
Now pinch your eyes shut,
are you lost in the cavernous black and blues, splotted with the red and the stars?

[I really liked this beginning, but i'm not sure at all how to kind of close it. I wanted this to be one of those short poems, the ones leaving you with questions. S.O.S!]

Title suggestions?

Attitude and hairstyles

Arent the only things

That change with age



Remember the little girl

Who would chant silly songs

To annoy older sisters?

Who would sit at the kitchen table

Coloring with bright yellows and pinks?

Who wore sundresses with sweaters

To hide the sunburn from too much play?

Remember the little girl

Who dreaded taking showers

Because buble baths were more fun?

Who would sneak another cookie

When backs were turned?

Who would beg and plead

To be surrounded by her friends every weekend?



But the years have flown by quickly

Little girl has changed before your eyes



Now she plugs in her headphones

To drown out the suffocating thoughts.

Now she quivers in the bathroom

Painting the floor with her bright red blood.

Now she wears long sleeves and jeans

To hide the criss cross scars from too much pain.

Now she craves the long showers

When the throbbing water is as heavy as her tears.

Now she pushes the plates away

Because the skinny girls said so.

Now she needs the solitude

Because everyone else doesnt know what to say.



Poor broken big girl, who grew up too fast.

Bye Bye Writers Block. Helllooo Alliteration.

We skidd across bricks, pavement, ever lasting roads
Awaiting the victory at the other end of this journey.
Finally, we won't be the lackers, the losers, the ludicrous!
We will forever be indulged in the triumph that the others did not get to grasp.
Smiling ear to ear is what we intend to do, until the bones in our faces collaspe with the feeling of excitement!
We will grin in our graves, where no one can tell us to stop.
But when we get over that hill of heaven and hell, there is no treasure.
No glistening gold,
Nothing full or fortune,
Or no waters overlapping wealth.
Nothing, but us.

The Perks of Being a (Metaphorical) Zombie

The other day,

I decided to

(metaphorically)

kill myself

And if one were to ask me

how I'm

doing now that I'm

(metaphorically)

dead

and if I still

had the ability to process

emotions

I'd say

“Great, thanks, I'm

happier then I've ever been.”

The perks of being

a (metaphorical)

zombie;

one can't feel pain

I think I wrote this because zombies have been on my mind ever since the people working on the mural decided unanimously that in the event of a zombie attack, I would die first. I think this is really just my way of saying “fine then, I'd rather be a zombie anyways!” in a poetic (?) way.

The Order In Which I Watch It

1:There are three squirrels on the curb of Lamberg street, all the acorns have been eaten an their side and they wish to cross the busy road in search for food.

2: The first squirrel is too scared to risk being hit by a car and stays on his side.

3: The first squirrel dies of starvation.

4: Crazed with hunger, the second squirrel blindly dashes into the street.

5: The second squirrel gets hit by a van and dies.

6: The third squirrel carefully watches the cars and calculates his time of passage through the busy road.

7: The third squirrel makes it across.

8: Immediately after his victory, the third squirrel is shot by a careless teenage boy playing with his fathers hunting equipment.

9: The third squirrel dies.

10: There are three dead squirrels on Lamberg street.

Hidden Treasure

The boat skims
the salty water
overflowing with life.
Sunlight reflects
off gentle waves
filling the air
with fractured stories,
fabricated to hide
what lies below,
a net to catch
wondering wanderers.
Clouds
of ashen gray
roll across the sky,
obscuring
the blinding sun.
The water seems
darker,
a veil
covering hidden treasure.
The boat is tossed
from mane
to mane
of roaring lions;
a never-ending fight.
All to hide
what I now know-
an ecclectic heart
far below.

Please tell me what you think!

Animosity

Injected
With poison red
Through skin torn by sharp words, remarks, shouts.

Filled with the boiling brew,
Simmering in the shadows black.

Tied down by shackles of hope-smothered desperation
To the cot scarred with past conquests' screams.

The poison spreads;
A weed plaguing the Garden of Eden,
Lava swallowing a city slowly.

The poisonous heat builds, leaks through skin
Leaving hot trails scarlet
Of toxic liquid on the cement floor
Until the skin is charred, a candle wick past its prime,
Barely concealing a frayed framework of bones and systems.

The poison drips at an agonizing pace from the holes marring the burned skin,
Leaving the quaking form haunted by a beat beat.

Beat beat.



Alright, you guys. I haven't written anything in a while so I'm a bit rusty. This is more angsty than my usual writing, I swear I'm not an unhappy person! So tear this apart, you guys. I need to get back into the writing groove.

From darkness to light,
Or light to darkness?

A short one for my No Longer Lover

Go to hell.

I'll meet you at the gate,

And we can walk in

Bound together by hate.

"No Longer Lover" is, of course, the title as well. It may sound somewhat unrelated but really it clears up the actual topic of the poem since it's so short. Oh, and (mostly for Horvath) please pardon my vulgarity in the first line. It was unavoidable.

Title Suggestions please?

The rowdy crowd surrounds the glistening marble statue

It stands upon a pedestal, reflecting the rising sun

Each person is armed

A small pebble here, a larger boulder there

As the sun settles in the sky, they launch their weapons

With perfect, precise aim

At the flawless figurine

But to their deep disappointment, she stays in tact

Not a scrape or a scratch maar the still statue

Soon the crowd disperses

They’re tired of their useless attempts

The sun has set, and all backs are turned

It starts right under her eye, a thin crack that etches its way

Down her cheek, down the center of her torso

Fingers and toes crumble, incintegrating into dust

Her shoulders crumple, in cascades to the floor

Bit by bit she breaks apart

Until nothing is left, but a pedestal

Where a strong steel statue

Mother, Oh, Mother Mine

The wrinkles on her face read
Like the story books she
Would read to her children.

Summer's sweat pours
Off her face still.
Countless winter's cold
Rests on her brow.

But a smile breaks open her face
And sunlight catches fire in her eyes.
Laughter expels like carbon dioxide
From her mouth.

Writers block sucks.