[x]

I Am a WriterI am a writer.
Yes, it’s easy for me to fall into a dream.
But there is nothing wrong with being tighter
With a story’s theme.

I am a writer.
That is all I will ever want to be
In the end, my story will be lighter,
And my characters will finally be free.

I am a writer.
There is nothing easier to say than that.
I will never let a story wither
Nor let a story fall flat

I am a soon to be author.
With several books ready to be read,
I want them to have great honor
And wish there will be tears shed.

To HooverHoover state: waking up to sleep
because that’s all I’m good for;
out of work, out of time again
and my brother won’t spare a dime.

Blanket sweat reminds me of this
Hoover state: waking up to sleep
in depressions of this planet;
the moon weeps for me in daytime.

I yank my pockets out, like it's
my country's flag; punch-line of the
Hoover state: waking up to sleep
in my sagging skin on decline.

I've no penny to my name,
jumping out the window (one
last time) makes me worth more in this
Hoover state: waking up to sleep.

Twinkle StarTwinkle twinkle little star
Noone cares just who you are
When you fall the fall is far
Twinkle twinkle superstar.

The Soldier's Letter To HomeI write this from my death bed
My eyes fading in the light
Drowned in crimson red,
Drowned in shaking fright.
The enemy has won
The war now has ended
And though killed by my son
May his sins be ammended.
For this is Civil War
I cannot change the tide
So from you I implore
Do what is right.

Bury me somewhere nice
Near, and fair to look at
And forgive my son his sins;
For in war, no one wins.

Take Death's HandI do not fear Death.
My life has been long enough.
It's time I take my last breath.
I shall not rebuff.
Death stands by my side,
his hand extended for me to take.
His face is veiled like that of a bride.
This life I now forsake
as Death takes me away.
I do not regret
for I am free of the fray.
Please do not fret
for I am okay.

Aur si plumbUn gând de aur, dar se simte
mai greu ca un pumnal de plumb
ce intră-n coaste, se învârte,
și caută să iasă prin minte...
Stilou de aur, scrie versuri,
dar lasă urme ca de plumb,
pe foi mânjite de cerneală,
și de cafea, și alte resturi...

Un glonţ de aur, dar se simte
mai tandru ca o zi de plumb,
îl pun aici, închid capacul,
și ca un gând, îl scot prin minte.

~Evil creatures~

They're evil creatures in the night
Lurking in the shadows but still seeing there sight
From they're pale skin and glowing eyes
Out there graves they will rise
Moaning and groaning is what you hear
Your body will soon fill with fear

They walk or run in a fast pace
Here they come for the chase
Get ready for the fear
Coming through the door they are here
Board up the windows to keep them away
This is the place you don't want to stay

It's too late now they're breaking in
It's a fight you may not win
Grab you shotgun prepare for the fight
This battle may last all night
Pain and blood come from your arm
A bite from these creatures can cause muc

EndlingHere am I, the captive thylacine
Treading my tiger-striped, ungainly way
Around the metal-mesh confinement of my cage
Here am I, exhibited, exhumed
Brought from the brink to pace another day
A living testament, a final thumbmarked page
Here am I, the only specimen
Bereft of mate, of pups, of kin, of kind
Watching the claws of history extending
Here am I, the final thylacine
The only one, the last, the lost, the endling.

Who Was HeHe stood at the average height for men.
His built was quite average.
His eyes were that of cyan.
Nonetheless, he was average.

His hair was that of blonde,
Nearly, white.
His walk and personality had a great bond.
He was a confident sight.

His skin was a delicate peach.
His muscles were quite firm.
So irresistible, a teasing reach.
His appearance had its own term.

One that the dictionary cannot confirm.

Who was he?
That man with his own sea?
He was one without a name.
His appearance was a taunting game.
He was one without a number for an age.
Forget it, he’s fake on this page.

SuicideThere's no blood on her hands
Bullet holes in the door
Nothing but colored pills
And her lying on the floor

You look at her face
There's despair in her eyes
And you wonder what she thought
As she fell and died

And maybe you're begging her to come back
And maybe you're asking why she let go
The hurt in your chest feels like a heart attack
And now you finally know

Maybe you could've helped her
If you'd looked past your own nose
Maybe she'd be alive now
You had a chance, this is what you chose
Now maybe you'll learn from things
That you didn't see
Maybe you'll open your eyes
And rescue him, or her, or me
Maybe she cried a prayer
For the oth

Last RoadTwo people, both alike in personality,
Shared a home where the scene was played,
From shattered souls to new beginnings,
Where screams were heard on this doomsday.
From golden moons crisp as the sun,
A mother who has not yet won,
The illness will strive until the deed is done,
Even if the daughter has not begun.
The road that lies ahead,
Is now a mother who is dead,
With hugs and kisses that are gone,
The daughter who will beat them all;
Thy which your eyes and ears can pretend,
What here shall be a transformation undid.

Continuous VoicesIt all began when I was ten
I found what lingered in my head disturbing
And it wasn’t until I grabbed a pen
And saw what truly lingered when I began writing.

There were continuous voices within my head
I was not one to favor them dead
Although, they had violet images attached
The way I wrote them matched.

Since then, the voices have changed
Octaves have risen and lowered
Their words have exchanged
And eventually became uncensored.

These continuous voices have brought war
Ones with an uprising roar
And at moments I want to kill the sound
For they are so profound.

Yet, they continue to crescendo
And welcome me to a hidden story
And so

WarWhen stories of battle are shared,
They are full of fame and glory.
No one knows what war really holds,
That is, until they hear this story.
At first there is much excitement,
Your chance to be a hero.
Then homesickness begins to set in,
The sorrow makes you feel like zero.
Then the supplies get cut off,
Your stomach cries out for food.
It rains then it droughts, and then you want out,
You'd laugh at your situation but you're not in the mood.
No sanitation, no garbage cans,
You are living in human waste.
The tents are torn up, the beds full of lice,
You wish you were in a different place.
Then you finally go to fight,
This is your chance to prove yourself.
All your comrades are shot down,
So much for fame and wealth...
Cleaning up the bodies,
Of those who used to be your friends.
Not even time for a proper burial,
Too many injuries to attend.
Then there's the sneak attack,
You are all caught by surprise.
A brutal, bloody, massacre,
A bullet between your eyes.
In this little game o

One WindowOne window is all I need
To see the world for what it truly is
With my mind a system of creed.
My talent can depict or dismiss
This world of goals, so hear my heed.

I sit down beside a journal,
My fingers clutching a pencil.
I will make my character’s life spiral
And send them off to a council
Where they must advance through the next trial.

One window is all I need
To watch them afar a long, hazy field,
Where I can study their speed
Of understanding when they will yield
Of life, itself, so they need to hear my heed.

My character’s goal,
As well as mine,
Is to be whole
And see how bright life can shine
Even through the darkness

Faded bluesShadows dance of patented hues,
Yellow folded somber blues
Fear I tried in vain forbidden.
As all I long for is e'r hidden;
Shadows coved in bloated lies
My heavy heart, buzzing like a thousand flies.
Shadows Welcome by means of trust,
Yet terrified of misted dust.
Shadows threaded within the dawn,
Ever soon to be gone, unseen.
Motions treated in colored hues,
And my wold is simple now...
Shadows of faded blues.

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Villanelle for Resuscitating HopeMy life is dark and damp.
And it's been ripping me at the seams,
So I'll search this abyss for a lamp.

The stress of this life leaves its stamp.
In searching for an answer, it seems
My life is dark and damp.

Deep in the belly of depression I've set camp.
I long for the light, for its embracing beams,
So I'll search this abyss for a lamp.

On this hope I will hold! On it I'll clamp.
I need happiness back in my dreams.
My life is dark and damp.

Swimming with these muscles that cramp,
No illumination but addicted to thoughts of its gleams.
So I'll search this abyss for a lamp.

Finished I am, this despair I will decamp.
My spirit i

A Letter Received on the Sixth of June -DFC Day 24My heart drifts as a kite
With the wind's calm sigh.
In your eyes, I found flight.
This isn't goodbye.

With the wind's calm sigh,
Clouds enshroud embraced light.
My last breath draws nigh.
From this bed, I can write:

In your eyes, I found flight.
I'll forever lie
With memories of white.
I will be nearby.

This isn't goodbye.
Normandy claims my might.
Peacefully, I die.
Your soldier's last good fight.

Scarecrow Syndrome -DFC Day 23My thoughts are distant as some airplane
Soaring through clouds of voracious regret.
Scarecrows parade in the guise of genuine harm
And smother me under a tapestry weaved by grief.

Arsonists are my thoughts.
They bludgeon and blaze away without my consent.
I am the passenger and they the Dark Pilot.
My thoughts are distant as some airplane.

Tumbling as a tree in a whirlwind,
My mind is thrashed with remnants of old memories.
I am a disoriented lark
Soaring through clouds of voracious regret.

Anxiety and unease are the lanterns that line my soul.
They illuminate ever

A Ship in a Storm -DFC Day 22Alas, another anomaly awaits us!
Best become better than this beastly storm.
Can't continue counting on continuous clocks.
Dear, we dare this dissident devil.

Enter the end, end the endeavor.
Fowl and folly finds our feelings,
Growling ghosts grasps our gasps.
Hindered, our hindsight halts our heaven horizon.

Indeed, insight is incorruptible in our initiative.
Jaded, we jerk the jeer.
"Keep us keen oh, captain!"
Let us lament no longer.

Move the mast, make your memories more malice.
"No sailor never needs no one"
Opened eyes, optical observations object.
Peer past the port, never a prayer to potentially pay off.

Que the quadra

The Revolution's Reflection -DFC Day 21Mirror,
Don't you dare look
At me like that, with such
Hatred gleaming from your ghastly
Visage.

Like a
Cancer, you wish
To instill restlessness
Into every iota
Of me.

Save me
The trouble of
Despising both of us
And masquerade for my tired eyes.
Pretend.

Maybe
I'll shatter you
Just to watch serpentine
cracks spread like fissures across you-
Perhaps.

Mirror,
You can't see my
Igneous heart and what
It beats for. You can't even see
The cost.

The HiveSkin flakes away like paper mache,
Within the darkness that has swallowed the day.
Left there since September,
Hiding there in mid December.

Lying there in her hollowed chest, rests a home for the bees.
An incubator created from the deceased.
Flesh gives way, revealing the colony-
Each and every bee, they are happy.

The gentle creatures rest upon her skin.
Her body a shell, a frozen in time sin.
She never felt complete, a lady barren.
Her fists cl

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A Passion Named December

by ~ThomasInTheClouds, Dec 22, 2012, 3:27:06 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Traditional Fixed Forms

There's frost on the ground.
It creates for my heart a wintry crown.
Lady Winter runs her fingers through
My hair and leaves lip imprints of blue

On my cheek.

Intrepid eyes of my pallid lover
Lead me through frostbitten paths to discover
My soul is chaotic as a blizzard.
But in your chilled breath, I am delivered

With your song whispered meek.

Scintillating in the thawed skies,
Crystallized blessings cascade down to baptize
Me in this snowy throne room.
Together, my sorrow we entomb.

I adore your flawless physique.

December, I pray your reign never end.
Even still, your impression will never descend.
Down to my marrow, I feel you forever with me
I hope you can see

You have left in me nothing bleak.

A Passion Named Decemberby ~ThomasInTheClouds

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Traditional Fixed Forms

Written for #PoeticalCondtion's first contest!

The theme is "A Winter Only World"

[link]

~MarcusPenrose Dec 23, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Ha! I'm worried now, cos this is good and we're competing!

~ThomasInTheClouds Dec 23, 2012 Student Writer

Considering mine doesn't have allusions to Ajax and other greek greats, I'd say you don't have much to be worried about! Best of luck

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A Passion Named December

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