[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.

Pieces of chessKings and pawns are all the same
All but pieces in a game
A stroke of luck
A touch of ill fate
Decides in the end who will be
Checkmate

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.

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

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

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Poetic JustificationThis song's got me thinking, deep,
Of the poets still crying themselves to sleep
(As I'm fighting to get my own words out)
It feels like my duty, in a way
To write the things they cannot say
I may not do it half as well
But I'm still trying hard as hell
To not give in so easily
And turn to sobs so sleepily
The sun won't rise for three more hours
And there are words I know still obtaining powers
I'm determined to put them into use
In ways that won't sound too obtuse
I've the weight of the word to make it all better
But every yawn passes and my cheeks get wetter

"Sleep like a poet with a tear in your eye
Praying you'll dream of

R.I.L.W.B.WI looked outside last night
And saw a broken, weary boy
Throwing rocks again
At the window I keep locked

So I turned off the light
To find a dream I could annoy
Tried not to let you in
Tried to ignore it when you knocked

But you're so willful
You refuse to just give up
And I know I won't sleep tonight
Unless I let you up
But even then I still won't
Cause you always keep me up
-Looking at your eyes
-Sick with butterflies
-Wondering my why's
-And waiting for goodbyes

I stayed up waiting for you
But the night was getting long
I tried so hard to stay awake
Guess it's good you never came

So I painted my walls black and blue

Just Like MeI can't believe
I'm wanting you
To want me back
Well should I choose
To mind this mindless
Mind of mine
You never mind
So nevermind

I'll twist the words inside your head
Repeat it til the point is dead
I'll make it clear the things you said
To try and get me in your bed

I'm breaking down
I can't do this any more
I refuse to be
Your stupid little whore
I'm waking up
To a sky that is no more
The sun sunk down and died
Now it's laying washed up on the shore

Just like me…

This Is What It IsSo we've got this line that we've drawn
With a broken stick, set like stones in the dirt.
And we won't give up
Crossing these boundries was never an option
And we just stay stuck
In the screaming, the fighting, the swearing
And all I've ever wanted was for you to sing me to sleep.

So we've got this wall that we've built
With broken hearts, hard as stone, full of hurt.
And there's nothing I'd like more
Than to tear it down brick by loathsome brick
And hear your voice loud and clear
Instead of cracked, and baracaded
And all I've ever wanted was for you to sing me to sleep.

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by ~AndSoSheScreams, May 19, 2005, 12:19:06 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Traditional Fixed Forms

Because I got so caught up
In my intricate choice of words
That I completely missed
The point I was making
So I started over
Subjugating my meaning
And once again, subdued
Because I got so caught up
In my intricate choice of words
That I completely missed
The point I was making
So I started over
Subjugating my meaning
And once again, subdued

Untitledby ~AndSoSheScreams

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Traditional Fixed Forms

"And oh! your awkward ways, your nature, and everything you say."

You know when you have something terribly brilliant storming in your brain, but all your words can do is screw it up? Well, that where my inspiration came from.

~Nihility-and-Forever May 19, 2005

Story of every poem I have ever written. ^^

The repetition illustrates how annoying the problem really is. Nice touch.

~AndSoSheScreams May 21, 2005

Repitition makes an impression. Thank you.

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