huntsman21 Posted April 1, 2015 Share Posted April 1, 2015 So I made this thread for people to randomly write poetry ^^ Whenever they feel like it. Just off the top of their heads :p It's about just stopping by and writing a poem if you want to, or even reading one if it suits you ^^ Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
GhostSwordsman Posted April 1, 2015 Share Posted April 1, 2015 (edited) Roses are red, violets are blue... Refrigerator. Edited April 1, 2015 by GhostSwordsman Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Khawz Posted April 1, 2015 Share Posted April 1, 2015 (edited) April is a day And its Friday Send me your plat for more master pieces Edited April 1, 2015 by Khawz Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
GunDownGrace Posted April 1, 2015 Share Posted April 1, 2015 I kneeled on the plains,speaking to the sky... the stars dissappeared,replaced by a bleeding blackness that seemed to defy the light then it shown it`s own light,a dark blackness which cooled the fire in my mind. everything turned black,my sight failed.. i was brought to a place with such blinding light that my skin smoldered,before again i was enveloped by the bleeding blackness,and again my sight failed and then it spoke to me,my mind. "I,We are the heart of creation.Light is the most destructive force ever made,when only light fills the universe,no life can exist.It was this,that was the reason for our creation before the light,as without our bleeding darkness to restrain the light,there would be no life" Searching for the location of this sound,i sent forth my hand..and touched the blackened heart of creation.It`s essence flowed through my veins and into my mind,washing away the fallacies of the followers of light,that had been in my mind for so long,replacing those with itself.. i was now one,i was now whole,i had touched the blackened heart of creation and become immortal. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
huntsman21 Posted April 10, 2015 Author Share Posted April 10, 2015 (edited) Eye as in I art is a thing we relate to talent. a balance between skill and beauty. And to show the world art is an artist's duty Art doesn't distinguish me from you. So why do people have to? but if you don't care, they won't. but still there are times. where the world is basically Sprite that refuses to be Sprite Consisting of separated lemons and limes. Where affections toward family can turn on dimes. And for the guy or girl who finds that they don't have affections for the opposite sex being treated like they have done a crime by the very family that they love. Like they should be put in jail and do time because social representation is put above the child's love... "You're not my daughter..." "You're not my son..." If the parents could build their children their own personal hell They would stoke the flames trying to make it hotter. People on average forget the emotions of other people and how they are feeling Reeling back onto a track of how things work a track that's sk- track that's sk- Like a- Li-Li-Like a- Like a track sk-ski- on a bro-bro-broken record skipping on a broken record Tumbling on their own mistakes and hate Like a ball falling at a constant rate Constantly treating own flesh and blood like they have a hideous disease. Basically calling them leps. Not really caring of the depths of pain that their own children gain from the constant rejection. Constantly fighting for the election of who's the favorite child between siblings. The competition has just been made harder in the fight for affection. Constantly in a battle point near bloodshed for that single selection. Leaving little of the sanity most people start with in their head. And the sad part about that is that much worse things have been done and said... leaving a person's heart and mind dead. and he... was born with out the ability for anyone to hear his voice. It wasn't his choice to be born without the power speech. Or having to learn another set of words and how to pronounce each. Having no way to speak his mind. So he learned to write. almost catching arthritis from trying so hard. nearly putting his hands in ruin, his only trump card. Spelling each letter clearly Graduating to a world where he earns money yearly. Profiting from the writing he had been fighting to learn. Trying to make the world hear his alternate voice of concern. still dreaming of what silenced people yearn.... To speak his mind freely Ready to let sounds and words leak easily. So he tries, every morning through the usual self cleaning. You'd see him leaning into the mirror. He would open his mouth as if by some chance words would tumble out. As if things would change and someday he would be able to talk and not just talk but shout. And when they didn't. When it was just gusts of air like an exhale as if him talking was too much of a fairy-tale he never let it get to him. Because the success of dreams stem with hope. Knowing that you can't just start the day by waking up. Looking around. And saying Nope. Because no one can stay for ever... We have to go... Or we are gonna get stuck like we're under a metric ton We have to go. so when he finally decided his dreams were broken. He picked the pieces up and moved on. and the day he was asked to perform on stage for his writings he decided... Why not? Better to try then let the pages rot... And a week later.... after much planning.... He came on stage with another man. and began. By pointing to his right eye. And you heard "I" And then he ended charades and began sign language, translated gestures to words and made pairs of five to ten Letting signs come up again and again... If there was anything that would fit this moment it would be this image and with a big word that was simply "Win!" And when he finished he would want to do it again... but this time say... Eye as in "I can see the world from a different perspective... But I am not selective at what will happen But then... my story is written in pencil not pen and it can always change. And it could range from goodbye... To The End." Edited April 10, 2015 by huntsman21 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
GunDownGrace Posted April 10, 2015 Share Posted April 10, 2015 Eye as in I art is a thing we relate to talent. a balance between skill and beauty. And to show the world art is an artist's duty Art doesn't distinguish me from you. So why do people have to? but if you don't care, they won't. but still there are times. where the world is basically Sprite that refuses to be Sprite Consisting of separated lemons and limes. Where affections toward family can turn on dimes. And for the guy or girl who finds that they don't have affections for the opposite sex being treated like they have done a crime by the very family that they love. Like they should be put in jail and do time because social representation is put above the child's love... "You're not my daughter..." "You're not my son..." If the parents could build their children their own personal hell They would stoke the flames trying to make it hotter. People on average forget the emotions of other people and how they are feeling Reeling back onto a track of how things work a track that's sk- track that's sk- Like a- Li-Li-Like a- Like a track sk-ski- on a bro-bro-broken record skipping on a broken record Tumbling on their own mistakes and hate Like a ball falling at a constant rate Constantly treating own flesh and blood like they have a hideous disease. Basically calling them leps. Not really caring of the depths of pain that their own children gain from the constant rejection. Constantly fighting for the election of who's the favorite child between siblings. The competition has just been made harder in the fight for affection. Constantly in a battle point near bloodshed for that single selection. Leaving little of the sanity most people start with in their head. And the sad part about that is that much worse things have been done and said... leaving a person's heart and mind dead. and he... was born with out the ability for anyone to hear his voice. It wasn't his choice to be born without the power speech. Or having to learn another set of words and how to pronounce each. Having no way to speak his mind. So he learned to write. almost catching arthritis from trying so hard. nearly putting his hands in ruin, his only trump card. Spelling each letter clearly Graduating to a world where he earns money yearly. Profiting from the writing he had been fighting to learn. Trying to make the world hear his alternate voice of concern. still dreaming of what silenced people yearn.... To speak his mind freely Ready to let sounds and words leak easily. So he tries, every morning through the usual self cleaning. You'd see him leaning into the mirror. He would open his mouth as if by some chance words would tumble out. As if things would change and someday he would be able to talk and not just talk but shout. And when they didn't. When it was just gusts of air like an exhale as if him talking was too much of a fairy-tale he never let it get to him. Because the success of dreams stem with hope. Knowing that you can't just start the day by waking up. Looking around. And saying Nope. Because no one can stay for ever... We have to go... Or we are gonna get stuck like we're under a metric ton We have to go. so when he finally decided his dreams were broken. He picked the pieces up and moved on. and the day he was asked to perform on stage for his writings he decided... Why not? Better to try then let the pages rot... And a week later.... after much planning.... He came on stage with another man. and began. By pointing to his right eye. And you heard "I" And then he ended charades and began sign language, translated gestures to words and made pairs of five to ten Letting signs come up again and again... If there was anything that would fit this moment it would be this image and with a big word that was simply "Win!" And when he finished he would want to do it again... but this time say... Eye as in "I can see the world from a different perspective... But I am not selective at what will happen But then... my story is written in pencil not pen and it can always change. And it could range from goodbye... To The End." very nice :D you sound like you've been listening to three days grace alot Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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