Tag: free verse
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pain
PainI feel. PainI yield. Oh painGo away.Why stayIf I’m okay? If I steal a bit of joy, Will you leave? Will you leave me? Will you leave me be? Please. PainI feelNo more. The pain I yield Is gone.
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moon
The nightBasks over my skin,Bright and pulsing, The nectar to my soul. Even if it’s dark, It’s a little bit light, For its glow is so strong. To its heights I longFor its protection. O’ great orb of white, Protect me from the fearsOf the great dark.I can only take so much, So fill my…
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gray space
The world isn’t perfect; Never wasNever will be. I am white with a littleGray space,A little darknessThat craves my soul. The world is a complex web, Connecting morals with law, But at the same time, Unweaving them To theGray space. Morals aren’t subject to laws;Laws aren’t subject to morals. No universality.Regulation is made by the…
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Poem for the Soul II
I crave the warmth against me. I crave normality. I crave the release of pressure.I crave to be me. Stand up. Don’t sit around and wait for life to happen. Stand up. Look around: You’re free.I’m free. Free to be me. Free to see what I see. Free to say what I say. Free to…
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feel
Everything is strange; Everything I feel is strange outragement. To reject the norms of even secularness, To analyze life rather than live it; To have a brain of factsThat override the memoriesAnd emotions.Everything I feel is numb. I try to explore mirth; Sometimes I fail.Sometimes I want to cryBut no tears fall. Sometimes there’s pain,…
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First Love
First love,The blindness to the butterflies That tell you to run. The blindness to the faults and factsThat say it’s not a match. First love, The pink memories of a calm togetherness;then, burned by dark revelations. Dark revelations to white words. First love, The epitome of youth, The epitome of probability, The epitome of reflection.…
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who
Something calm is also chaos.She’s oblivious to the world. Something sweet is also sour. She wishes to rule with her iron fist. And something intelligent is also dumb.A world where everything is a grey area.Everything is a pang of panic; a surge of wonder. ‘Yes? No?’ rings though the rapid pound of the drums. But, in the end, it’s a…
Shakespearian1 