[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.

~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

All AloneI'm sitting in my four walled room
Their closing in, like an ancient tomb
I feel like I'm wasting time for two
When all I want is me and you

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

WantWe all want a power.
A force to make us great.
One that shames all the rest,
fills them with envy and hate.

We wish to open all the doors,
flatten all the bumps.
Take the road that leads us
to ultimate competence.

We must grasp the treasures
in our jealous paws.
Clench the trouble in our jaws
Juicing all our flaws.

But one cannot be this way.
We all must pay life's due.
We wander this road
and waste all of our time....

Wanting.

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RememberRemember the rancor
And despair past...
Of Battles won
Of Battles lost
Find solace
In the twenty-one shots—
Honor the Dead!

Coin FlippedA coin is cast
With an outcome as certain as the tides
Ruled by the weight of the moon,
Who have not the power to decide
Whether they are given bane or boon--
Fortune, and her games,
Cruel in their intent,
Only one wins, and the other blames
Her, as he falls into discontent,
The coin lands...
Ha! I win!

Strifewhere i stand
is sinking sand
it is futile
yet i struggle
against the grains
of bygone days
knowing the past
has past
and if i win
the future will be Mine
to change
so I struggle
swimming up the hourglass
strengthened by every obstacle
I pass

Freedom LostAt the midnight hour,
In the flickering electric light,
My mind begins to wander,
Far away into flight,
Straight to the broken heart
Of a country I thought I knew,
By apathy torn apart,
With ignorance run through;
The heart is wrapped in a torn flag,
Sullied and faded by the idealistic light,
Deconstructed down to a rag,
Dirt defiles its purest white,
The blood red has dried to brown,
And the stars are lost in a clouded night.

Beaten BackFated terminal by his own ambition,
The fight for sanctum against the dark,
A man taken to the path of perdition,
Took a candle and began to walk;
Drawing the lost into the flickering light,
As the molten wax drips down onto skin,
But continues, as is his right,
And the candles consumed
Long before he can begin,
Yet still he treads in defiance,
Bearing scars that mark his past,
Knowing that hope's a peace that never lasts.

Recycled ThemesLore lost in the dreary past,
Reminders of failed recurring themes,
The cycles that never last,
But always seem to be redeemed
By new generations reading faded words,
Filling in the blanks with wishes,
Not seeing the orange wounds
Appearing on their cast iron ambitions,
As their pillar crumbles to worthless grounds
And is replaced by recycled paradigms repainted.

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Chosen Ignorance

by ~slyfry, Aug 9, 2012, 12:49:28 AM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Traditional Fixed Forms

A cup, neglected, catches poison drops,
as tears, unfaltering, fall in droves from heights
unknown. A cycle none will dare to stop,
as doom's always in mind— a looming fright.

Remorse of past memories breeds a death
by stasis. Froth congeals and spills beyond
the lip. It touches ground, miasmic breath
is loosed upon the world. It begs, "respond…"

Apathy lingers, handing due torment
its day, a motif worn to bone by time.
Yet, here it's back again collecting rent,
and spent it's, blown away on useless chimes.

A haz'ed path of chosen lethargy
will lead towards a hollow effigy.

Chosen Ignoranceby ~slyfry

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Traditional Fixed Forms

Some practice with iambic pentameter. I acknowledge that I cheated.

*LancelotPrice Aug 9, 2012

"Some practice with iambic pentameter. I acknowledge that I cheated."

So did Shakespeare. It was part of why he was far better than those who just followed the rules without exception. Being a genius also helped him a lot.

~slyfry Aug 9, 2012

Yes, but if I downright admit to cheating, I can give any accuser the middle finger without as much guilt.

*LancelotPrice Aug 9, 2012

A fine advantage.

~intricately-ordinary Aug 9, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Meter. Sucks.

I love this! It's thoughtful, and the message is strong. I read it a few times through to fully get it. I love the second stanza the most.

~slyfry Aug 9, 2012

Thank you.

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