Unfinished Thoughts in Rhymes

August 2011:

Apparently this can't end well;
Too much pain. 
Redemption's hard to sell; 
Much easier to dwell 
On hurt and cost
And love that's lost.


...What of forgiveness,
Change, and hope?
Is there room for renewal,
Grace...Nope?


There's always a way.
Though some say
That some things can't be,
I wonder.
If we actually trust, 
Won't He answer? He must.

January 2012

I flee a fierce fear,

That I will lose control

Of loves and hopes and

Being near.

The voices grasp, lull,

Whisper, jeer.

If there was something there

It's gone.

Lost are the moments that made me care;

Vanished, dissipated,

Faded, like the dawn.

January 2012

Is it a crime

To cherish hope?

Is there time

To climb this slope?

It often seems that I'm a ghost-

Stare right through me,

Ignore me--coast.

February 2012

I've never understood

Why those I'm close with

Step away, or would.

There's some strange myth

That "men don't care-"

That we "don't know."

...Unfair.

A poem on death.

Hey guys. I've been thinking about death lately. I don't think it is wrong of me to do so. I think it is healthy. I wrote a poem about it. Let me know what you think.

"Things fall apart-" that's what they say;

And, though true, that seems a fatalistic way.

We're going to die, this we know,

And so we cram our lives full,

Running from death like fast from slow.

Hear this: life is a vapor, death the pull

From transience to forever.

Life is a trapdoor; death? The lever.

Masks and fakeness

So I know that I talk about masks and being fake all the time. It's because that's what I concentrated on for about three months pretty recently. Here's a poem about it...not too sure whether I agree with it completely anymore, but I'm interested in what you think.

Staring through a static stillness

Hearing sounds of silent illness.

Everyone has a hidden heartache,

No one sees that it’s all a fake.

If we could all take off our mask

(Now that would be a weary task)

We’d find a fright’ning frivolousness,

Avert our eyes from the ugliness

That’s there beneath the surface

Of every you, him, her, and even us.

Solitaire: I play this game a LOT

You'll also notice (if you're observant) that I've posted all of the songs I've ever posted on here in the sidebar, in one place, altogether, so that you can pick any of them to listen to if you've missed some or want to listen to some again. Enjoy, and I love Grooveshark!

Endless games of solitaire

Only illustrate how little I care

About the way I spend my time.

Seeking ways to make words rhyme,

I spend too long inside my mind.

My thoughts are as decaying

As a rotting melon rind.

I watch as my life turns old,

Like hair goes graying;

There’s nothing I can find

To make me glad,

And no one who will hold

Me close enough to staunch the myriad

Doubts and fears I hide.

Places where I used to fit

Have become like torment.

Minute by minute and bit by bit

I’ve slipped away, now discontent

With the life I’ve always known.

Do I have the power to disown

Everything I’ve ever thought?

I’m cautious of being caught

By the eyes of everyone I see.

I don’t know if I’ll ever break free.

A quick original poem

Sorry that the gaps have been growing longer between posts, but life has sped up and my internet access has diminished. Hopefully I'll be able to continue to post at least twice a week, though.
Once again, please let me know if there's anything you specifically are interested in hearing about on this blog; I'm happy to oblige. And hey, if I have a poem that applies, I'll post that too.
Thanks for the kind words about my last post's content. It's happy when people like my writing. Alright. Here's my poem. It speaks for itself. I wrote it in fall 2008.

There is a frustration, so much deeper

Than a missed shot

Or a stubbed toe.

There’s a deep emotion

That fills my mind

And steals my joy.

There’s no such thing

As a perfect day

Or a “best” friend.

I can’t find the way

To a glorious end,

A fulfilling search,

Or joyous days;

There is no comfort,

Save an exciting game

Or a stimulating conversation

With someone who

Really, actually, maybe,

Seems to care.

Good Poetry Is Hard To Write

Well, all, I'm sorry for the longer-than-usual space between posts. I can tell from the absence of any kind of comments that you missed it terribly. Anyway. I wrote a poem. And it's brilliant. Hehe. Just try and tear it apart, and you'll realize the brilliancy of it. Because if it's a good poem, then good. And if it's a bad poem, then it makes its point. So, without further ado, here it is:

Good poetry is hard to write;
It’s hard to make it bite.
Good poetry is always right,
It never sounds too trite.
Good poetry is always real;
Whether it’s hard as steel
Or smooth as satin,
If it’s right, the reader wins,
And the poem sings.

A quick post on Inauguration day that has nothing to do with it being Inauguration day

Ha. Nice title, huh? Anyway, it's been about three or so days since my last post. And I think it may be about time for one of my poems. So I'm displaying one. Perhaps I'll post a more substantial, thought-provoking write-up later in the week. But today, I'll just show you this:

Roadblock
5/11/08

I saw you yesterday
Still, I still didn’t say
Hardly anything.

I wanted to speak.
But the outlook is bleak.
It “wouldn’t look right;”
My flower’s covered with blight.

I’m commanded to hide
The feelings that abide
Deep in my heart.
It hurts like a dart.

I want to be king;
I wanna “do my own thing.”
Still, I obey what I know,
And I didn’t go.

I didn’t move,
I didn’t talk.
It feels so wrong,
Like I don’t belong.

It feels like a roadblock;
Doing what I should.
I’m wishing I could
Pick the lock,
Unlock the cage,
And turn the page.