I challenge you to come up with a poem! List of ideas: Gothic, Horror, Romance, Comedic, Adventure, Nature, etc. My poem: "Push and Shove" The laugh of his eyes, they filled my heart. But- I could no longer stay, for I was afraid of the dark. The way he held me, it just didn't feel right. Three words could no longer justify a reason to keep me, but try he might. I didn't want an echo of the past. I knew where this was leading, I knew we wouldn't last. And to think what I felt was God's honest love, but I now know the difference between Push and Shove. __________________ I'll be the critic! As a small gift, the poem I like best gets an Origami Unicorn. Why the heck not, right? It's not tthat cool of a gift, but hey, it's all for the fun!
Fight Losses An annoying player comes in my wall, complaining about the hits, my calmness falls. I clicked his profile, a nooby stats I saw. I prepared my pots, an amount I can draw. But as soon I as hit him, my anger grew greater, as all my hits gets him, my newsfeed were failures.
I yearn for the feel of love to rejoice With the cold sad blood in my voice Is it me or is it just their choice To leave me in the dark with silence a noise All the words pressured for words to say Are now just blocked in my brain Forever and always I will be kept strain To relieve the death one calls pain A mind is completely oblivion to see The weakness in one's fragile beauty For in a heart filled full of sorrow Lies a face with a smile act they ought to follow They say such words you're forced to believe When really you're one an eye needs to see You'll never be perfect but what's you is you They'll never get past the mask to see through If only they'd stop for a moment to glance At what's most imporntant and start their stance It's not too late to relieve the blind eye That we're all the same, all linked with a tie. For the day will come when ends on ends meet And they'll act upon the stone to greet But they knew, and they'll always know You were just their puppet, used for a show Only differences seem to conflict And nobody here's the continuous ticks In your mind, you're physically breaking In your heart, you know they're taking You try to stop, but you know it's out of your reach To end how you are, your feelings a screech You can't help but think it's all in your fault And then you realise, you're veins so cold They make you realise, it's all you You'll never be good enough to be them too But deep down you know you wouldn't be The true monsters they have shown to me When you're gone, they won't reflect still How they pushed you to the limit against you're will But even now you're gone, they don't seem to care That they were the cause for your pain and despair This is kind of long but it's just the first part of it ?thought I'd share it
In a mostly common town, An uncommon mystery looms Of an old abandoned house And one of its many rooms. To be precise, it's of a clock That had frozen on its six. Of all the twelve numbers, This one is what it picks. No doubt the curiosity of the living, Brings life to what should be dead. Such as this antiquated timepiece, And theories it has led. To a simple mind, it's easy, It's a clock run out of time. To the imaginative, it's sinister, Maybe an indicator of crime. Maybe for a past lord of the house, this marked his very last breath. Or more popular, an unfortunate lady, Who met a most gruesome death. Of course, it can be easily remedied, The clock's a problem they can fix. But that will only bury the puzzle, Of why time here froze at six. Was it morning? Was it night? More questions, they would hold. But what is certain is the fact, This is a story never to be told.
Somebody tell me what's better... love, fortune, or fame? When we leave this earth only so much of each remains. Never thought being honest could cause me so much pain. Simply playing by the rules... earns no further gain. Cold world outside my window, shiver fills my veins. I plan my escape, while my hearts wrapped in these chains. Wrongly incarcerated; my emotions restrained. I stare through these bars from a distance, knowing she feels the same. ------ I kick and I scream/ all these thoughts haunt me at once... I envision us being/ As one... so I wish and I dream/ But these years pass us up quickly they're picking up steam/ - ...Faster and faster my soul's growing old turning bitter, a winter is paradise/ compared to knowing a life without you's what I'm sentenced to... To feel your embrace there's nothing I won't sacrifice/ To live without you feels like I don't have a life/ Always been too impatient to wait for an afterlife / So I'm cheating this game... Damned if I do or I don't either way only have me to blame. My passion for you is the only warmth in me trying to chill... so you need to extinguish this flame. Can't live with myself knowing I didn't give my all. So I'll climb every mountain, I'll scale every wall. A selfish move maybe, but I'll make that call... And apologize one day to all who are involved.
I just free wrote that. I'll title it "Sky Prison"... and hopefully you can tell it's about forbidden love.
A difference between two opposite things : a division into two opposite groups i. Some time after Crow made the world she flew south. A little shopping holiday -- and what great finds! She combed the lot for sweet pools of mango juice at discount rates, she wolfed chow mein and its shadow, a skewered prawn and its shadow, French fries and their shadows the way she always did: always the shadow with its worm, the dark afterthought not bitter exactly, not much like anything but the bread at the front end of a buffet table, something there to trick you full. Soon Crow's sights fell on half a Korean pancake its chewed-up shape casting a crescent shade oddly on the pavement. She sidled up to it, nonchalant as birds are, and dove her beak down in, detaching green onions, the sliver of the shadow submerged in frantic crumbs. Crow hopped away, pleased with her bright idea. But soon the bereaved shadow rose in confusion, became the flaw in a factory warehouse pair of sunglasses, the dark hair in the dragon's beard candy a toddler carried. It passed under a lamp and someone looked up, expecting rain. After not long at all it picked up speed, circled above long tables of DVDs and self-destructed into a hanging light shorting it out. Mirrored sparks flew in Crow's trickster eye. Sheepish, she sidestepped the newer, larger darkness and developed a strong and sudden interest in ii. nightward swirls of bamboo. Paper fans a girl pulls open -- sudden horses. Messages repeated over loudspeakers. Above the din the stallkeeper is speaking to me. "Those necklaces are jade, from China. Real jade. You know jade?" I know Jade. The rabbit who threw herself into the fire when there was no food to offer her wise guests, the discount life. The moon that reflects white light into every darkened sky, the heart so pure it holds no image. With stone from another mountain she could be honed into the beguiling monkey, the patient heron, iii. Totoros, Puccas, Doreamons Badtz Marus -- the plush orbs of their faces hover on the tent's backlit wall. The stall's nervous guardian knows they have a will of their own. They might detach, might float out into the marketplace their fat cheeks giving them height and dominion over the low plane of light. I think they'd be benevolent rulers. We'd have to obey the laws of kawaii: our words clouds of pink smoke above our heads our expressions never cryptic -- the kids sifting through the stationery sale wide-eyed the man serving chocolate bubble tea in the food court happy, happy, happy. Only the characters' faces would remain unreadable, the plans of each concealed behind the fixed u of a mouth. iv. Behind every Made In China Behind every Made In Vietnam I imagine women somewhere hot, hot and stuffy assembling summer dresses or toques and parkas -- piecing together a foreign winter. I imagine these women in rows like market stalls. A vast room full of every sound but that of their mute hands, which move faster and make paper fans sheltering herds of horses, the tongs they use to serve those pancakes at the Korean pancake place, Badtz Maru. The night market's tents. Maybe they sew the sky out of polyester cloth. It would not surprise me. These women are gods. ? It's pretty long, it's a dichotomy poem.