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 …
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 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. …
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 …
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.
Yet there was hope.
All alone in the darkness —
Eyes watering, lips trembling —
His black soul yearns to be free.
A mute voice lets out a cry.
There is hope.
This is a poem describing what it feels like to be surrounded by friendship, yet fearing the closeness because of past pain.
A tranquil setting is severely interrupted by this horrendous storm that seems to sneak up from behind. Before the guy knows it, the waves have swallowed the shore and him along with it. He is drawn out into the ocean, with no chance for escape from the waves of bitterness.
You still suffer the consequences, regardless if you are a Christian or not.
A poem about life and memories