Archive: 18 posts

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Growing Up A seed is dropped in a frothy soil A bubble forms as it starts to boil A mixture made of blood and mucus Is it a Mary or is it a Lucus? No surprise, as it starts to rise But it is protected by its unsoiled shell All is well, and devoid of lies One things for sure, it's gonna swell It's gonna rise up to the skies Its born out of a slimy substance, a murky odor Propelled by it's flagella, a tiny motor It drills through the darkness It drills through the dust It must, it must, it must! A tiny light on a rainy day A tarnished sun This rainstorm, buddy, shows you just begun The bubble pops Exposed to the muck Falls back to its roots Full of blood and mucus, It's a Lucas! Rejoice! Rejoice! The elders sway The sun shins bright Another day, another birth Another life on this crooked Earth The seedling buds The seedling withers through the Winters It feels the burn of the harsh sun It gets leaves pulled out It feels. It lives. It adapts. It pumps out its daily dose of CO2. It digs its roots back into the soil So attached, yet so constricted When we've lived so long in the sludge, in the seclusion Can we ever truly merge into one, a seamless fusion? The seedling is no longer a seedling, for it is a flower A lilac on a garden floor It envisions itself: one of many With separate roots but a common ground For when a flower falls and no one hears it Does it make a sound? Yes. Yes it does. It makes a vibration. It shakes the terrain Its growth was not in vain It made a difference It changed the garden For there can never be another Lucus But we are all born from the blood, we rise from the mucus. Here's your Time (Non-Rhyming) You say you need time. Time. A Measurement of Change. The Fourth Dimension. I cannot give you time. No one can. You cannot hold time. Time is an idea. It's not material. Time passes. Whether you like it or not. You can wish to undo it. Just like I wish I could undo all of my mistakes. But wishing accomplishes nothing. Time. How much time do you want? Cuz I got years in my pocket. How many do you want? I got minutes. I got seconds. I got lifetimes. Can I have a refund? Can I have 60 minutes for an hour? Can I sell some lifetimes to you? No. I can't. I cannot give you time. No one can. Time passes. The time is now. You cannot touch the future, and the future will never come. All you have is now. Use it while you have it. Goodbye(??????????) (Non-Rhyming) Seconds have passed. Each one more painful than the previous. How can you write When you don't know what went wrong And what went right? This is the downfall Of my self esteem This is the downfall Of my aching dream This is the time to say ....Goodbye...? Oh god, I hope this isn't goodbye. Even though this poem ends, this is not over. Or is it? Oh god, I hope this isn't goodbye. Not Enough I rip my heart out while it still pumps blood I slam it down on a slab of coal I let it crumble, I let it fry. I let out a sigh, yet I know I must die. I'm dead now, and where are you? But all I hear is "Are you ready for round two"? Didn't I suffer enough? Isn't my misery proof? "Not Enough" you say. "But... I dissected myself for you. I carved out my heart and placed it down for all to see." "You were self righteous, you were doing it out of ego" "Ego? Admitting my faults, poking at my cancer, my tumors, my fears, my sickness, my downfall, isn't enough?" "Not enough" you say. "Not enough". The Pursuit of ??? So many differences Between you and I But we aren't different You and I You like to say you're A While we're B Or C Or D We are different We can't get along Fundamental values Tear us apart Tear us into pieces We are not one We are many Different species You're not like us I beg to differ Some seek understanding Some seek belonging Some seek wealth Some want to be respected Some want to be educated Some want to be revered Worshipped, bowed down upon Some strive for comfort Some strive for family Some strive for differences But I beg to differ WE are all the same Flesh, blood, fear, bone, minds Whether we use it or not We are all one We may come from different backgrounds We may worship different gods We may have a different income Different friends Different values We are all the same We all strive Some for happiness Some for lust Some for greed Some for god Some for science We are all the same. We all pursuit something We all want something We all have our ways of getting to god Whatever god may be We all share the same Earth We all are alive, for now Let us put all differences aside Let us realize. Nothing can tear us apart. Peel: Peel it. Peel it all away. My skin sheds; leaving nothing to stay. My bias, my ego, my judgement, my fear Emotion, disturbance, Now I see clear My purpose, my false hope, anxiety, my stains Peel it all off; till only flesh remains Peel it away now I'm made of pure steel Peel it away, til I'm no longer real. Belief, Relief, Self-Denial and Pride: Belief, Relief, Self-Denial and Pride Deny, Ignore, and Refuse to Reply Freedom of speech, but not of the mind Till the gears slowly begin to grind Belief, Relief, Self-Denial and Pride What do you have to run from? To flee from? To hide? What Happens when you Die? What happens when you die? Stay in between? Endless Purgatory? Reincarnate? Start a new story? See paradise? Look down from the clouds? Burn in flames? Pit of fire and hell? All is well, all is well. For when you die, you die. End of story. Animals (Satire!) Foolish animals; mere entertainment and meat. In heaven for them, there is no seat. No cities, no technology, no nukes and no wars. Just throw em a treat,watch them retreat. Foolish animals, inferior to us. While we're crashing planes, they're hitting the bus. Foolish animals, you're not one of us. ---- Current Thought: Hm.... Dawn of Man will be one hell of a project.

2008-11-30 18:06:00 Author: Unknown User

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You're going through one of those phases, aren't you, Marino?

2008-11-30 18:12:00 Author: UmJammerSully Posts: 1097

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No. I like poetry. I always have. I usually keep everything in my Thoughts journal (it says "Thoughts" on it). I usually don't share. Now I see how foolish it is. How foolish it is to be afraid to share your Thoughts. That journal is very symbolic.

2008-11-30 18:14:00 Author: Unknown User

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Well I like it Writing poetry can always relax you, and what you wrote isn't half bad.

2008-11-30 19:40:00 Author: Forsaken Posts: 950

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Yeah. It really helps to put my thoughts down a page. Sometimes I don't even know what I am thinking, but writing really helps. I'm sure I will write again soon, as I still... ache.

2008-11-30 19:42:00 Author: Unknown User

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No. I like poetry. I always have. I usually keep everything in my Thoughts journal (it says "Thoughts" on it). I usually don't share. Now I see how foolish it is. How foolish it is to be afraid to share your Thoughts. That journal is very symbolic. I was mostly referring to your attitude at the time. Interesting read nonetheless.

2008-12-14 01:02:00 Author: UmJammerSully Posts: 1097

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1(a... (a leaf falls on loneliness) l(a le af fa ll s) one l iness

2008-12-14 01:05:00 Author: ryryryan Posts: 3767

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I wrote a few moar during the previous week. I'll add them nao. :hero: EDIT: Updated. xD

2008-12-14 01:12:00 Author: Unknown User

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Too deep for my taste really. They are great for their purposes though. Could you make a funny one?

2008-12-14 01:18:00 Author: moleynator Posts: 2914

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They are good.Keep writing it is away to cleanse the soul. And you are good at it.

2008-12-14 01:40:00 Author: madhatter Posts: 83

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I wrote some poetry too. I'm dark, and sensitive with low self-esteem The way I dress makes every day feel like Halloween I have no real problems but I like to make believe I stole my sister's mascara now I'm grounded for a week Sulking and writing poetry are my hobbies I can't get through a Hawthorne Heights album without sobbing Girls keep breaking up with me, it's never any fun They say they already have a *****, they don't need another one Stop my breathing and slit my throat I must be emo I don't jump around when I go to shows I must be emo Dye in my hair and polish on my toes I must be emo I play guitar and write suicide notes I must be emo. What do you think?

2008-12-14 18:04:00 Author: Unknown User

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I wrote some poetry too. I'm dark, and sensitive with low self-esteem The way I dress makes every day feel like Halloween I have no real problems but I like to make believe I stole my sister's mascara now I'm grounded for a week Sulking and writing poetry are my hobbies I can't get through a Hawthorne Heights album without sobbing Girls keep breaking up with me, it's never any fun They say they already have a *****, they don't need another one Stop my breathing and slit my throat I must be emo I don't jump around when I go to shows I must be emo Dye in my hair and polish on my toes I must be emo I play guitar and write suicide notes I must be emo. What do you think? That's deep, man.

2008-12-14 18:23:00 Author: UmJammerSully Posts: 1097

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Haha, I love that song. But yeah, poetry isn't emo. It is writing to convey emotion. Is writing emo?

2008-12-14 18:26:00 Author: Unknown User

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That's deep, man. Real deep. I write too... I wish I were a sackboy, jumping all day long, grabbing onto sponges, although im not too strong. Googly eyes scare me, rolling around like that, if werent running away so much, I might end up real fat. Sometimes it gets hot, so I jump into the air, I fall back down to burn again, now that doesnt seem too fair. Now my story comes to an end, and im feeling sad, because I keep pushing down, on my controllers d-pad. :hero: Yay for on the spot poem making!!

2008-12-14 18:32:00 Author: moleynator Posts: 2914

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Very nice moley. Really makes you sympathize with the little sack.

2008-12-14 18:33:00 Author: Unknown User

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Very nice moley. Really makes you sympathize with the little sack. Thats not the meaning at all!!! Oh wait, I guess it needs to mean something... You're right! EDIT: NEW PAGE! Here is my poem: I wish I were a sackboy, jumping all day long, grabbing onto sponges, although im not too strong. Googly eyes scare me, rolling around like that, if werent running away so much, I might end up real fat. Sometimes it gets hot, so I jump into the air, I fall back down to burn again, now that doesnt seem too fair. Now my story comes to an end, and im feeling sad, because I keep pushing down, on my controllers d-pad.

2008-12-14 18:34:00 Author: moleynator Posts: 2914

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The great thing about poetry is that it is subjective, and it's meaning varies on the reader. http://www.lyon.edu/departments/creativewriting/poetry/poetry.jpg

2008-12-14 18:36:00 Author: Unknown User

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Ahem! I shall now read a poem entitled Home: Written By Awesome Carvernious Mans Home Like a bubble from Spongebob Like love I only love myself Like a home with couches everywhere trapping whoever dares to enter Home Completely Useless Much love!

2008-12-14 20:33:00 Author: qrtda235566 Posts: 3664

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