Poetry includes analogies, metaphors, happy poems, depressing poems.
Another day, another set of pills.
This is the life for the mentally ill.
Chastised for not being normal,
Like it’s our own fault we’re abnormal.
A chemical imbalance is what they say.
Suck it up, ignore, and it will all go away.
We want the same. Perhaps not at first.
But the mania and depression make our minds want to burst.
I’ve been on a poetry kick lately. Rest assured, I will grow out of this phase eventually.
Intrinsic,
As a flame.
A fool.
A losing game.
There she is,
Gracefully,
Amongst the stars,
And I see…
The shining light,
Years ahead.
To naked eyes,
She is dead.
But the star,
No others see,
Intrigues,
Exquisitely.
The bright light,
Illuminates.
Never-ending coma.
The agony is unquenchable
as an unending thirst.
My stomach is in knots,
And I fear my heart may burst…
Not from a love lost,
Or a desire unfulfilled,
But from the hatred and hurt,
That will never be healed.
I seek forgiveness,
And perhaps restitution,
But while I ache,
There seems only one solution.
These five stages I know.
And it starts with denial.
I came across a poem entitled I think I am? by my co-worker Lou Sciaroni.
Just because I think I am
Makes me even more a man
But when I think that I am not
I end up closer to I Am
I made a lot of assumptions with my interpretation of the poem, but overall I think the poem is talking about becoming less like man and more like God (or Christ in my beliefs).
A special day,
To run and play.
To have dinner and flowers,
And evening showers.
A happy day,
When she’s gone away?
Celebrate disaster?
Pull apart this plaster?
Is this day defined,
By what’s intertwined?
Or is there revenge,
To cure the distance binge?
Celebrate together,
To run and play forever,
To have dinner and flowers,
And evening showers.
Wandering through the desert,
A generation has lost.
Proscribed is this holy land,
That would rise through the darkness.
Yet there was hope.
A nation of tyranny,
Would climb upwards and oppress.
Fire, toxic gas, and metal
Would mark the end for many.
Yet there was hope.
The four nations prepared
For the end of all attacks.
A smaller nation quivered
As it stood to fight alone.
Exposed is my perception from the start…
These arrows harbor angst against my heart.
They threaten my entire world apart.
Defenseless, I erect these shields in place.
Protection from this hurt I fear outside,
These castle walls stand mighty, tall, and tried.
My soul, within this tower, I encase.
I open up my gates to those who may.
These trebuchets are where companions stay.
I sit upon this vibrant, golden shore.
The thunder crashes; lightning peeks its head.
A breeze once was, but blows now ever more.
Black clouds roll onwards, filling me with dread.
The sun is hidden from my very sight.
The ocean yearns to have me in its keep.
My words are silenced; darkness kills my might.
The waves grow fiercer, wanting me to sleep.
I am too weak to see this fully through.
The consequences made me lose all sight.
I tried to do what in my heart was right.
But failed to realize I’m hurting you.
I shut myself away from all you do.
I hid away but could still feel your might.
The tension grew inside me ever tight,
With no relief except a sinful few.
I sit alone, always waiting for your warm touch.
Instead I’m filled with your leftover pain and grief.
Holding pictures and letters of loved ones and such,
I realize the joys of this world are all too brief.
Why give all of these tattered memories to me?
You are not alone in your need for sympathy.
Imagine always being open to the world
With a chain around your neck and bugs at your feet.