Poetry or Writing

[SentraGirl]

Both poems get a big from me. You have a real talent and I just wanted to hear a poem from a time you were happy because I am only able to tune into my creative side when I am depressed or saddened by an event. I hate it, I can never write anything happy but all the poems on this thread are awesome!!! I enjoy them.

[grimmy]

welcome back sentra, long time no see.
pizzle00...Wow...i am speechless, tose were amazing.

[SentraGirl]

Originally posted by grimmy
welcome back sentra, long time no see.
pizzle00...Wow...i am speechless, tose were amazing.

Thanks grimmy, it's good to be back LoL. It's been a really tough year so I haven't had much time online unfortunately. I will try to scrounge up some of my poems but they don't compare to the ones here so I'm embarassed to even post em.

[jon@af]

A view from the middle

Love. What is this word which means so much to some, and nothing to so few. To say few is to make an overstatment of those who feel this word is just that. Those "few" are not those, no; but rather "he". Construction of these thoughts was done in the mind of he who writes these very words, but why? Why would one with such an open look unto others view such a beautiful thing as nothing more than a mere word? Perhaps, this one has been jaded? Perhaps. Only two know the answer to this question. He who holds the thoughts and he who knows all, and sees all. But enough of who this person is, now of his belief. One and many at the same time ask, "what of love do you think?" To which I would reply "Nothing" I cannot form an answer to a question when that which is in question means nothing to myself. Love is a word and nothing more, it is often used to describe feelings which so many cannot know when it is felt. So many claim to have found their true love, yet so many do not know the truth of what they say. Truth is no longer a commonality, but a rarity, and unfortunately no one speaks it anymore, and without truth, this "love" that is almost soley based on just that, cannot exist.

[SentraGirl]

OMG, that was absolutely amazing!!! I really got into it and it's very deep.

[jon@af]

Undeserved?

To what do we owe our lives and possession? Surely not ourselves, since the beginning it is seen that one can be nothing without another. To another, credit is due for position reached, yet credit goes ungiven. Respect is present, but only for ones self, to which he accredits much of the work and hardships he did not endure. Society is shaped by those who take for their own benefit without considering what another may wish to have. Through the passing of this time, one no doubt believes that he possesses what he deserves. But this begs the question, does he deserve that which he possesses?

[jon@af]

Numinous

Everyone wants something, the question is...what? You ask yourself this so often yet you never answer it because though you SAY you can, you know deep within you cannot answer this question. Why? Nothing can quench the thirst of your wish for power and property. But when that which is new is received, it becomes old instantly, for it is something you already have and you must now find yet another item to suppress your insatiable thirst. Please tell me, when does it end, and ask yourself not "what do I want" but " What do I need?" This can be simple to answer, sometimes what you need, you know of, and other times, you dont realize what you need, until it is gone, even if it was staring you in the face the entire time. This can be said of so many things in life, Love, Friendship, Work, what have you. Dont let needs slip through your fingers as though they were to be water running from a faucet, to wash your hands of the dirt that encrusts them after a hard day of working for what is the most important thing to you: Yourself. Pride is not lost on you, infact it is always found in abundance, only because you never had it when you wished it had been with you. You make up for it now with your shoddy comments of others and seemingly endless power over them, as if you alone control the very essence of their lives. However, something lurks in the shadows of those whom you "possess" that you had not anticipated. They care not of the words which show how you abhor them, nor care of the way you steal from them the respect which the rightfully deserve. They know, yes indeed, they know. They know that while their time in this place is temporary, yours is permenant, and while they shall move on to do that which God has beckoned them to do, you shall go nowhere. Is it not sickening? The way you waste your time controlling that which, in all reality, you control not at all, but really controls you. For if they do not do your bidding, it is you who suffers, and they who are not. You who takes the heat, and they who do not. But you retort to this, you have POWER, you have CONTROL, you have what you WANT. Indeed this is only what you think, as so obviously stated, however you will never have control, just as you never have, and you will never really have what you want, because what you want is that which cannot be purchased or made by the hands of a mere human-being. You are nothing more than a puppet that goes about your routine, ignorant of your mistakes and shortcomings, though you know of their existance. Yes, I can see in your eyes, that you know the existance of which I speak, and truth be told you know very well that the existance of such things will not tolerate your being, and will bring it to an end should a new course of action not be implemented by yourself. I say this to you in hope of something coming from the wake of the dreams in which I live, for you know as well as I that what I wish from you I will not receive, and what you wish from yourself, will always be far from reach, yet right in front of your face. Forget the wake of the dreams in which I live, welcome to the nightmare in which I dwell

[jon@af]

A Still Breeze

As the wind blows, the winds that mark change blow the strongest, and those who feel their gusts know what change they bring. One person in particular notices great change being bestowed upon his once simple and seemingly boring life. These changes occupy the life of none other than he who makes these very words, and he knows that when these winds have gone their directions, his life will have changed for the better, for there will be another life he occupies; one he has been in search of for a long time...

[Im2Fast4U]

I guess I can chime in. I used to have more but I had a spell where I thought they were all stupid and threw most of them out. Only 2 left. Sometimes I tend to ramble and change subject, jus bear with me. They don't have titles.

I am one of many, but still only one;
different than all the similar beings around me.
I walk a path partially cleared by those before me
but by no means safe from the vines and pitfalls.
No one can walk it for me,
and no one can keep me from walking it.
I may walk at a slow and controlled pace but I think and dream at a feverish rate.
Thoughts of dangers, adventures and goals bombard me from inside-out;
why then do you attempt to add further restraint?
You try to change me; to mold me,
but I am not a lump of sculptor's clay for you to shape.
I am not a mere child who is open to your conceited advances.
I am on my way and am guided by those who have nurtured and aided me from the start.
This is not to mock or reprimand you,
but rather only advice.
You must walk your own path, just as I do
and if you only walk with people just like yourself,
you will walk alone.
My heart aches for all those lost in the dark woods,
but my heart can do nothing except be what it is:
its own, uniqe force; willing to help but unwilling to be compromised.
Accept everyone as they are and you will never find yourself alone in the woods.

[Veyron]

Haven't written in years, but I have some poetry that I wrote as songs that I play on guitar for my own healing/hobby. Much of them have to do with the breakup of my first marriage which was to my high school sweetheart.

Hearts Unstable

You're stinging
You're destroying
Failing years can take their toll
Your marching chimes the mood of the day
And all I do is sit and pray

(chorus)
Am no longer welcome in your life?
You know, I feel like I'm under the knife
I'll give you some time
If you cut me some slack
When you take the knife out of my back

You ebb but
You won't flow
The years go by my darling one
No common ground from sea to sea
And all I do is wait patiently

You know
You don't know it
Time, it blurs and wounds decay
Happiness is plagued with tears
And all I do is wish you were here

(chorus)

[zebrathree]

I write short stories. I was writing a novel, but I forgot the password to the word doc. Smart, huh?

I might put the Short Story Im writing now up when Im finished.

[jon@af]

On The Outside Seeing Nothing
An Essay by Jonathan S.



In idealistic eyes, everything is anything but ideal. What people see is really what they think they see, and what they know is what they think they know. No one knows for sure what a person is really like on the inside. “Home is where the heart is” it is said, but for some, home is where everything in ones life is wrong, and corrupt. For one particular young man, this is especially true. This young man to many seems as though he is as strong as the stone and earth upon which he stands. Some consider him a leader, and others someone not fit to follow. He is active in his own group of friends, as well as the activities he is known to enjoy. Yes, it seems as though the life of this young man is full of glory and gratification. But as many have learned throughout history, nothing is ever as it seems.
Each day he gets up is a day that he wishes things would go away. He puts his mask on and goes to school, hiding all that he is, and all that his life is so sadly becoming. Some reading these words might ask “Why? Why is this young man on such a tumultuous road, if indeed that is the case? He seems to have the best anyone could wish for.” This is where one must no longer ponder, but learn.
When someone is asking “why”, many things must first be understood and considered, and then (and only then) one can understand the revelation that lies within ones own question. When generally speaking of this young species of something like human, one can note, just as it already has been, that he is a seemingly proud and strong creature. As noted before, he is a wonderfully happy person, however, this is not his life. His home is that of a broken one, with a family to match the disdainful meaning of the phrase. By his father he is pushed to be great; even when he succeeds, however, it is failure in the eyes of the man he strives to gain acceptance from, for nothing will ever be good enough, not even if it were of the purest form. Though one would assume that even now, things are enough to be too much, more still comes.
Love, that which should be the very bond between this young man and the woman who conceived, and birthed him. This is instead a bond of resentment, of ill will, or malice should one be so inclined as to say. This arcane feeling stems from a time long before this young man was even a thought or consideration. It is an emotion of this sad and broken woman that was scarred when she herself as a child was brought into this world by a woman who would sooner give her own life than care for her infant daughter, her own blood and kin. To make this abhorrent situation that much more so, the “father” of this small life was nothing more than a coward, a small shell of a man who saw no good in himself and by way of happenstance, took his frustrations out on the two souls who already lived in a personal hell (one way directly, the other indirectly). He would beat the girls’ mother for mindless things, petty things, and at times for no reason at all. He would cause damage to her body by way of breaking bones, making bruises, and treating her organs as though they were his own personal training-bags. All the while this occurred, the little girl sat watching, seeing her life become worse by the moment. At that time she didn’t realize, but this was creating a resentment not only for herself, but for the form of something like human that brought pain to her through unwanted contact, contact with the one who didn’t care if she was alive or dead.
Well then, now that it is known why the mother is as though she has no son, we can now move on to the topic of why this young man’s father is the way he is. Unlike his mother, the young man’s father came from quite the wealthy household. He had a mother who loved him and a father who… well… a father who was as clean cut as the title of his parental name. He fathered the young man yes, that is he bestowed upon his wife, the young man’s mother, the seed for which to bring him to life.
One must understand that in a home so lavish as this, capital must be had in order to retain this family’s life of luxury. Work; it is what everyone must, in some form or another, face in their life. If is this same thing that kept this young man from growing to know his father, from ever bonding with him as every young man should do with his father. He was an executive for a corporation who put his job before all else, treating his family as a lack-luster object that he was required to be with. The young man tried to reach his father on an emotional level, he tried over and over again, but to no results did he come. He would do things that he felt his father would notice, but they only disheartened him more when each time he realized that no notice was being taken. So, on through life the young man went, all the while being shaped into the demanding father he would become. After his experience, he came to believe that a father that does not demand the best from his son is a father not doing his job.

“Sad” some would say; “unfortunate” others would mutter, and in all honesty that can be given from the word, it is. A young man is born to two parents who expect too much and too little of their child at the same time. His father—too worried about his son’s success to even consider his happiness, or to consider the fact that maybe all he really wants is a father. He will never see that his son works so hard, because to his father it is not hard enough. His mother—never worried about her son, only herself because after all, “looking out for number one” is the most important thing, not matter what. It doesn’t matter to her that her son might be depressed, and masks it by being what he thinks society wants. It doesn’t matter that he goes to school everyday wishing that all this pain and suffering he feels could just be lifted from his shoulders, leaving him to bare this burden no more. No, his parents wish for things that will never be good enough. So day after day, the young man moves on with his life, his life that is masked behind lies and truth untold, that is… until this day…

...On this very day, the young man has made a decision, a decision to make known his feelings, to make known his pain and to make known to his unknowing parents what his torment does to him on the inside. He’s overwhelmed by his recent epiphany, so overwhelmed with feelings of a form of happiness that he writes himself a note to mark the occasion. He has decided to title it “The answer to my problems.” Anticipating the days end, the young man can think of nothing else but his new found idea. He squirms and wriggles in his desk chair until finally the bell, signifying the survival of another day, sounds. He hurries home to an empty house, which further pleases him, for it notes that this surprise will be just that and more for his parents. Climbing the stairs to his room, he can hardly contain himself.
Everything is ready and in place, his prized reminder is pinned to his corkboard. Finally, the moment is here, and he pulls the trigger. And so, his problems drift away, along with the smoke from the end of the barrel, and the life that he loathed more than anything else.


Im not sure the reason I wrote this. I was sitting in studyhall and just started writing, and the words came as I went along. When all was said and done, I guess what I was trying to say was that even though there are those people out there who look like they have the best life they could be given, maybe have the best car, or the best girl, or the best of everything, maybe they really dont have the best of everything. Nothing is ever what it seems, and this is especially true of human beings.

[jon@af]

Words With a Purpose?

Why do we write? Perhaps it should be asked "why do fish swim" or "why do birds fly"?. We write because it is what we do, it is what we enoy, and most of all what we live. When writing we can say what others cannot, and will not. We can help those who understand nothing become more understanding than they though was possible, and we can give those without hope for tomorrow a reason to live this day as though it were their last.
I am asked "What do you think of when you write?" What I think is not what drives me, it is what I feel and what I see around me that dictates the words through my hand. When I write, what do I think of? I don't think of anything, the words write themselves.
"Why do we write?" it is asked. We write because we can.

[jon@af]

Sometimes I wonder if anyone reads these, but here's another one anyways.

The Best Way In Which Words Can Describe

Sleeping inside me is an emotion I know to exist, an emotion I wish to have awakened from within. On the outside one would be able to see of what I speak, but only the one who truly knows my desires understands the feelings that inhabit my heart. With whom may read this, you who I speak of know who you be. I needn't say more nor say less, for credit should be given this individual for knowing what she needn't have to know and for listening when she didn't have to lend an ear. She cared when she herself needed a caring hand, and she understood what no other soul would attempt to. For this, gratitude will never be enough, and words can only say so much. Therefore, with that I wish for her to know that she will always have love from my heart, whether it beats or not. I will always have her in my thoughts and memories, until the time comes for me to surrender them accordingly. Thank you my dear, for the presence you bestow, and the life that you live to the best of your abilities. Thank you.

[LOVerZPLiGhT]

Where Do We Go When Our Thoughts Mean Nothing?

I'm not friend nor foe
My name you'll never know
My face you'll never see
Even as you pass by me

I am a nothing, a nobody
My soul is dead, my heart is bloody
You are something to me though
But that you'll never know

You know nothing about what's around you
If you did, would you know what to do?
We hide in the darkness to get away
If you saw us, would you know what to say?

We come out at night to live
What you carelessly take, we give
But you're asleep and not aware
Of the new life that we share

One day you might awake
Finding the real world so fake
Finding yourself hiding from light
And wanting to feed at night



tell me what y'all think...