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(Philosphy Poem) A Man Of The Unknown

When rendered unconscious just where do you go?
I can not tell you for I just don't know.
An uncertainty exist within this life.
What about the next?
Will their be even one?
A second chance to right things you have wronged.
How do we even know if we are not already living it?
A forgotten past.
Memories drained.
Memories erased.
A look into yourself.
Who is it exactly who looks back?
Do you even know that man?
How can you say for certain that your not already damned?
A march through the sand of time.
It captivates mind.
Possibilities upon possibilities.
Alternate realities, alternate dimensions.
Just making another extension.
Set in stone is no invention.
For creation is just an elaboration of whats already their.
Following the footsteps knowing not where they might lead.
Still with confidence you proceed.
Caution and fear abandon for the promise of something better.
A proclamation in a letter.
And as you read that black ink you march into the unknown.
Once a seed is shown, it must be sewn and grown.

poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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You March On

You, unknown traveller of untreaded path
march on, march on, march on
will reach your destination
one day
though far off
march on, march on, march on.

Look back, never, even by mistake
forget, never, the hardships you bore
guide, will be your past deeds of life,
full of pangs on the bed of stake
What holds destiny?
Not to worry?
............Just march on, march on, march on.

Adversities make you a fast learner
Desires are snakes, so be a shirker
search the deep sea to find a pearl
get to the shore, while facing the whirl

Think never to be feeble & meek
deliver everyone from the misdeeds
while truth you seek
clear all hurdles regaining your strength
you will reach the destination
march on...march on....march on.

Carve out your name on the horizon
as your stars are on the ascendant
work towards the goal night and day
be illuminated in such a way
sluggish should appear the milky way

You, unknown traveller of untreaded path
march on, march on, march on
will reach your destination
one day
though far off
march on, march on, march on.

poem by Tribhawan Kaul
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Onward

Don't we all wonder, remotely
- in ways we cannot even fully understand -
'What's this all about? '
Age has invaded our mind
and hearts.
Onward we march.
Life has invaded our spirits
and souls.
As onward we march.
The future flows right on past
behind us.
And yet onward we march.
Living is a passing glance
a long goodbye.
Onward we march.
Where we are bound
no eye has seen
no tongue can tell
no mind does fathom.
Still onward we march.
On the trail of time lost
we take the exit to eternity.
Ever onward we march.
Do we wonder
what a wonder it is
that we're marching into?
We should.
We shall.
We are.
Through it all, onward we march.
Onward...

poem by Smoky Hoss
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Dont Stay

Sometimes I need to remember just to breathe
Sometimes I need you to stay away from me
Sometimes Im in disbelief, I didnt know
Somehow I need you to go
Dont stay
Forget our memories
Forget our possibilities
What you were changing me into
Just take myself back and
Dont stay
Forget our memories
Forget our possibilities
Take all your faithlessness with you
Just take myself back and
Dont stay
Sometimes I feel like I trusted you too well
Sometimes I just feel like strangling you myself
Sometimes Im in disbelief, I didnt know
Somehow I need to be alone
Dont stay
Forget our memories
Forget our possibilities
What you were changing me into
Just take myself back and
Dont stay
Forget our memories
Forget our possibilities
Take all your faithlessness with you
Just take myself back and
Dont stay
I dont need you anymore, dont want to be ignored
I dont need one more day, of you wasting me away
I dont need you anymore, I dont want to be ignored
I dont need one more day, of you wasting me away
With no apologies
Dont stay
Forget our memories
Forget our possibilities
What you were changing me into
Just take myself back and
Dont stay
Forget our memories
Forget our possibilities
Take all your faithlessness with you
Just take myself back and
Dont stay
Dont stay
Dont stay

song performed by by Linkin Park
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What's worth fighting for?

Soldiers march
march
march
march
march
wait ing for that first gunshot
waiting
waiting
waiting
waiti ng
whats wroth fighting for they wonder
whats there for me?
will you lead me away?
or leave me lying here?
yes i am a soldier now
but far away in the distance a voice calls
remember yourself and your life
your a soldier now fighting in a battle to be free once more
that's worth fighting for

poem by Marley Pullen
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Does He Really Exist?

I'm a fictional character.
I don't really exist.
What if I told you this?
Would you believe it?
All this a fantasy of a teenage mind.
That would throw some for a loop?
Look now I'm dunking hoops.
How do we separate lies from truth on paper, when all kinds of possibilities exist that you have missed?
Precision with the facts known.
An exposure requires being exposed.
I'm just not sure I'm ready take off all my cloths.
As tempting as it might seem, I should never let myself fall for that which I know could change at any moment.
With the keen eye of a sea gull I look across the sea.
As I spread my wings and start to sing.
A calling, A seeking, A questioning of the very soul.
With the rules already completely broken.
An sink that no long works.
You must find an alternate source.
To quench you thirst.
A muse will only speak as many times as you ask.
Time fill your shot glass.
An intoxication of your own creation.
Happy to oblige please sit down and let me give you that massage.
As if the rubbing of the skin will fix everything.
A reaching in ways and distances not yet mention.
An explanation to unsolved equation.
But if you can explain it does that mean with understanding it can be finally be solved?

poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Past, Present, Future

i lived in the past for so long
that the present was always unknown.

now i always look ahead at all the possibilities
and there is so much, that i now see.

a shimmer of light at the end of the tunnel
and my thoughts being poured through a funnel.

the past is the past, and that's where it will stay
and in the present, we have to find a better way.
for the present will soon be our past
and if we don't do something, it will not last.

we must always look to the future
for it is only twenty four hours away
then it will be our past
and we have so much to do and say.

when i look at life, i truely have to laugh
today is our future and tomorrow it'll be our past.

now that i have you confused as to what i am
trying to say.
i guess i will try' to put it a better way'.

we all tend to procrastinate
always leaving it for tomorrow.
but! what if you don't see tomorrow.
and today you did'nt accomplish that task
how will you be remembered
if the present you left for last.

when we leave this material world
and our souls soar up in the sky
we will still have our memories
and that we can rely.

for when we get up there(if we do)
your soul will have carried all that you did
in this life
and the memories of friends, family
husband, or wife.

now when you look down on all that you had did
and asking yourself the question.
did i use my time, the way it was
meant to be?
or did i procrastinate, that others now speak of me?

we all have to work in order to survive.
but we must stop on occasion to smell the flowers.
and to enjoy all that we was given
otherwise how can you call this living.

(my thoughts: the words and stories were given to me.
so that i could write them down, for al the world to see.)
this is my philosophy.

poem by Louis Rams
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(Angry Poem) Angry Are Your Children Of Forgotten Memories

Angry are the children of your forgotten memories.
Needs become greed.
To succeed you must move past what has became another loss.
Hypnotic is a pipe dream
in which your will is fact.
It's a written contract.
Be there when it counts most.
So close
Yet so far away.

Angry are the children of your forgotten memories.
What have you created
what have you instigated.
With a sickle in your hand
you swing at me.
Full force
full impact
lack of discretion
another life lesson.
Trust no one you don't really know.
Unless your ready to let go.
Being released from it all.
A hunters knife cuts the rope.
A hammer smashes the chains.
Nothing is ever in vain.

Angry are the children of your forgotten memories.
A cut so clean.
The wound that continuously bleeds.
No matter pressure put on it.
My leukemia destroys all immunities.
Metaphorically speaking
metaphorically preaching.

Angry are the children of your forgotten memories.
Destiny does not wait or ask you how you want it.
It just goes
flows threw all our veins.
Even with the the greatest change.
We still are powerless over it.
We continuously fight it
deny it
but only a fool can not see whats right in front of them.
It is what we have become right or wrong
It's who we are.
As much as we choose it.
We still have no control over it.

Angry are the children of your forgotten memories.
You say this is it,
then must have always been it.
From the beginning.
It's written in invisible ink.
Some fortunes can't be told
They have to be lived.
One day I'll understand what the draw was
but at this time
It's nothing but angry are the children of your forgotten memories.

poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Memories in the mind

Memories are made in the mind,
and there if you search, you will find.
There in the mind, so many things,
so many memories it brings.

So many years have passed,
of our youth, away we have cast
some memories happy, some memories sad,
memories have I, when I was a lad.

Memories have I, of a dog named shep,
memories of him, when he kept in step.
Memories of my friends, when we played,
of those days, for ever memories relayed.

Memories of family and fun,
when we talked until the setting of sun.
Memories of washing our fifty-seven Ford,
and wanting things we couldn't afford.

Memories are made in the mind,
long lost, search and you will find,
memories of days gone by,
searching memories, oh how you try.

Memories will fade out,
you have forgotton, what it's about,
memories lost in the mind,
dig them out and you will find.

poem by Jim Foulk
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Finite Fusion Tuned Harmonic Interest

who can master possibilities of creation minds?
who can move into shift realm other dimensions?
who can hard contain a poem to its possibilities?

a poem not finished in moments of sense connections
which is key finite fusion of tuned harmonic interests
risks theme lost coherent interest in star burst minds

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Early Works - Shadows Of The Past

My mind is filled with memories
of times gone by
memories some innocent, some hurtful,
some filled with laughter
and some how I used to cry.
There are faces
some of which I do not know
strangers, shadows of the past.
Who are they
and why do they haunt the present me?

9 March 1983

Authors note:
I wrote this poem using the title of a novel I was writing at the time.

poem by David Harris
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Slavery

I free the slaves of the desert,
They march through sand and stone;
Walking too much is prohibited,
Once they fail, once they crawl.

A freedom is sought, fully aware
Of the possibilities, the wrecks;
Anything of conquest is both
Understood and learnt.

Like the slavery of times too long ago,
We too gain slaves to be taught liberty.

poem by Naveed Akram
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Memories

*Whisper* Memories, Memories, Memories
In This World You Tried
Not Leaving Me Alone Behind
There's No Other Way
I'll Pray To The Gods: Let Him Stay
The Memories Ease The Pain Inside
Now I Know Why
Chorus
All Of My Memories
Keep You Near
It's All About Us
Imagine You'd Be Here
All Of My Memories
Keep You Near
The Silent Whispers
The Silent Tears
Made Me A Promise I'd Try
To Find My Way Back In This Life
I Hope There Is A Way
To Give Me A Sign You're Okay
Reminds Me Again
It's Worth It All
So I Can Go Home
Chorus
Together In All These Memories
I See Your Smile
All The Memories I Hold Dear
Darling You Know I Love You Till The End Of Time
Chorus

song performed by by Within Temptation
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Past-Present-Future

They spend no time together
Yet they're relatively linked
These three birds of a feather
Who march through time in sync

Present is right now
Past is just before it
Future rightly vows
Nothing will detour it

The past flies by too fast
It's movement so incessant
And with a final gasp
Bestows on us the present

The past is understood
When at present we look back
Most memories are good
But some do sadly lack

For the time that's yet to be
The future, as it's known
Let's prepare it present-ly
With good memories all it's own

poem by Stanley Cooper
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A Stranger I've Become

A stranger I've become,
In a familiar place.
Gone is a graciousness.
And overnight...
Gone are the smiling faces.

A stranger I've become,
To feelings once enchanted.
With ideals and possibilities,
That seem too foreign to exist...
With the presence of indignities.

A stranger I've become,
And today I'm getting use to welcoming this.
I am getting use to having memories,
From a time I knew had existed.
And few today as I grow older and gray,
Seem to have gone, disappeared...
With similar memories on their minds.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Meaning Of Life Is Unique To Us All

When I was five I wanted to be ten,
How I longed to be a young man,
My mind would wander every now and then,
I wanted to be in the grown ups clan.

When I reached ten I thought of being twenty,
By then I'd be driving my car,
Time for the future, well I still had plenty,
Getting older was a distance too far.

Now I've hit twenty I've nothing to fear,
Time goes past so very slow,
I'm still a young man so I've nothing to fear
I've still got a long time to go.

Thirty years old and it's still not too bad,
I've a wife and children I love,
My health is good I love being a Dad,
My life is a gift from above,

The big four zero has finally come,
I now watch, as my parents grow frail,
The thought of that is making me feel numb,
To prevent it should be our holy grail.

I'm now in my fifties my children have flown,
This life can be really quite strange,
Back when I was five I wish I had known,
Growing older you cannot exchange.

Be careful what you wish for it may come true,
Take your time for life is too short,
Enjoy every minute, age you cannot subdue,
When young the facts you distort.

I'm now in my eighties how I wish I were five,
My time here has just flown by,
All those I loved would still be alive,
Now their memories still make me cry.

The moral is don't wish your life away,
Treat each living second as your last,
Enjoy your years every glorious day,
For in the blink of an eye it has passed.

Scientists spend billions asking why we exist,
Look outside, what you see will enthrall,
It is solely for living is the point they've all missed,

‘‘ The Meaning Of Life Is Unique To Us All ‘'

poem by Bri Mar
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Back Roads Of My Mind

Your memories fill each waking hour
You face fills each and every thought
Of the times we had together
That surface from the back roads of my mind

I remember the fields of bluebells
Where we used to walk hand in hand
The trees we used to lean upon
While we rested for a while

All these things and more linger for eternity
And you will find them
Written with a special love
On the back road of my mind

They were written with love’s pen
And if you look close into my eyes
You will see them there all the time
Written on the backs roads of my mind

Your memories are anchored there
Never straying away
Resting with love forever
On the back roads of my mind

31 March 2007

poem by David Harris
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43

It is an afternoon
Walk by the
Beach

An orange sunset
Follows me
Like
I am closely
Guarded for some
Unknown
Danger

I walk alone
The sea foams
surging

from
Time to time
Touch my
heels and toes

An alternate
Of sand
Foam
And sea
And sunset
Rinsing
My footsteps

I am looking
For some
Shells of
My past

On a sunset shore
Retracing
It to
The mouth
Of the river
At the
Other end

River
Meets
Sea as
I closely watch

The sunset closely guarding.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Yann tersen

It is an afternoon
Walk by the
Beach

An orange sunset
Follows me
Like
I am closely
Guarded for some
Unknown
Danger

I walk alone

The sea foams
surging
from
Time to time
Touching my
heels and toes

An alternate
Of sand
Foam
And sea
And sunset
Rinsing
My footsteps

I am looking
For some
Shells of
My past

On a sunset shore
Retracing
It to
The mouth
Of the river
At the
Other end

River
Meets
Sea as
I closely watch

The sunset
is still
closely guarding.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sunset As I Remember It

It is an afternoon
Walk by the Beach

An orange sunset
Follows me Like
I am closely
Guarded for some
Unknown Danger

I walk alone
The sea foams
surging from
Time to time
Touch my
heels and toes

An alternate
Of sand Foam
And sea
And sunset
Rinsing
My footsteps

I am looking
For some Shells of
My past

On a sunset shore
Retracing It to
The mouth
Of the river
At the Other end

River Meets
Sea as I closely watch

The sunset closely guarding.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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March of Memories

Left, right - left, right . . .
We march today for memories (the grizzled Digger said)
Memories of lost dreams and comrades gone ahead
Comrades bloody war took, dreams that men have slain
(Left, right - left, right . . .) Not ours to dream again.
There was Shorty Hall and Len Pratt, Long Joe and Blue,
Skeet and Brolga Houlihan, and Fat and me and you:
Bright lads, the old bunch; eager lads and keen
That first day we marched down thro' this familiar scene.
Dreams were ours, and high hopes went with us overseas.
(Left, right - left, right . . . ) And now 'tis memories.

We march again for memories (the grizzled Digger sighed)
Memories of lost mates, of foolish hopes that died.
First, Shorty got his issue on the beach at Sari Bair.
(Left, right - left, right . . .) The vision of him there
Brought the dawn of disillusion. I needed little more
To blood me to the butchery, the filthiness called war.
Shorty, like a limp rag, slung there anyhow,
Sprawling on the warm sand like I can see him now.
Always was a merry mate, a rare lad for fun.
(Left, right - left, right . . .) And Shorty, that was one.

We march today for memories; and they come crowding fast
As each year adds another page to the story of the past.
Pratt went west at Mena Base; raved of home and peace.
(Left, right - left, right . . . ) His was a kind release.
For a Lone Pine shell-burst got him; and he was less than man.
'Twas a sniper's bullet bore the name of Brolga Houlihan.
We called him Happy Houlihan, the man who took a chance.
Then the Reaper paused and plotted for the rest of them in France -
Except Long Joe, the luckless, a youth ill-shaped for war.
(Left, right - left, right . . .) And Long Joe was four.

We march today for memories. Little else had we
When we marched home as veterans. Blue and you and me.
For Skeet went with a night raid, and none came back alive.
(Left, right - left, right . . .) So Skeet, he tallied five.
Five gone and four to fight; us and Blue and Fat,
Who vowed he was too big to hit; but a whizz-bang settled that.
Yet Fat was lucky to the end - an end that held no pain.
All hell erupted where he stood; and none saw him again.
And Blue marched, and you marched, and I, a war-torn three.
(Left. right - left, right . . . ) Marched with memory.

We march again with memories (the grizzled Digger spake)
One year? Ten years? How soon shall we awake
To glorious reality? For lately it would seem -
(Left, right - left, right . . .) - we march within a dream.
Where Shorty is, and Blue is, and Happy Houlihan,
That seems the only real land, with rest for weary man.
For Blue went out three years ago; and cruel slow to kill
Was the war-god, the grim god who claims victims still.
But you and I, old Digger friend, will soon march with the rest.
(Left, right - left, right . . .) In the Army of the West!

Today we march with memories, and years dull the pain.
But God help the young 'uns, mate, if they must march again,
(Left, right - left, right . . .) For the young must ever dream.
But we march with memories, and ghosts go at our side -
Len Pratt and Long Joe, whom men say have died.
And you walk like a ghost, mate; you do not turn to hear.
Or is it - Did the boys say you passed last year?
Out of this tangled dreaming has your troubled spirit flown?
(Left, right - left, right . . .) And I march alone.

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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