I Am Surrounded By My Own Tiredness
I AM SURROUNDED BY MY OWN TIREDNESS
I am surrounded by my own tiredness
Sickness makes me too slow to escape-
I try to write
But my mind too cannot defy its own prison –
I have written many poems
And I have gotten away from pain before
But I am not young anymore
And the fear of death plays too upon the darkness of my soul –
I know I will get out this time-
The sun is almost here -
I am a master of evading my own sadder moods
But inside and far away
I do not know –
At the end of the day
There is a sleep which may give no rest,
And an end to tiredness
that need not mean
An easier breath.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Tiredness Of Old Age Is A Terrible Tiredness
THE TIREDNESS OF OLD AGE IS A TERRIBLE TIREDNESS
The tiredness of old age is a terrible tiredness-
It is a tiredness which knows it will die if it cannot sleep.
It is just so so weary and weak
‘Willpower' says nothing to it.
The tiredness of old age is a terrible tiredness
Which does not have the strength
Not to give in to itself-
It is a tiredness of no resistance
And incredible impatience
To just lie down forever-
It will give anything to be out of feeling itself
It will give its life gladly just to stop feeling the way it does.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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It's Your Soul
I'm feeling the stress
I'm feeling the pressure
It's setting in
It's breaking me down
I don't know how much longer I can take it
I don't know how much more I can take
I'm seeing the end of myself
I'm seeing that this is all I got
Man I'm depressed
Man I cant do this
I'd never say it out loud, but this is too much
My friend are great they help me forget
I turn to my sins, to my addictions
It's turning me into an empty person
This pressure will break me
I won't say it out loud but I can't take it anymore
I won't say it out loud but this is true horror
I dress it up, I put on a smile, I deaden the pain for awhile
But it's all an act
The pain is quite real
I say I'm tired
And yeah I got no rest
I say I'm sleep deprived, and believe me I don't sleep
But even in my quiet hours...
There is no peace
I say I'm sleep deprived, but it doesn't matter how much I sleep
I'm still tired
It's a never ending tiredness
The feeling is wearing me out
Wearing me out
Until I'm just
Weary
There is no sleep in sleeping
There is no rest and resting
I can't find peace in inner peace
I can't find peace in outer peace
A vacation won't do
So I tell you
It's your soul
The tiredness
It's your soul
The weariness
It's your soul
The depression and longing for more
It's your soul
The brokenness and stress
It's your soul
Feeling like you can't do it
It's your soul
Feeling overwhelmed because it's all too much to handle
It's your soul
The reason you're restless even in times of rest is because
It's your soul
The tiredness and brokenness is in your soul
So let go for once
So let God for once
This problem is deep inside
And no matter how hard you try to hide
You need help
Because it's your soul
So let Jesus restore your soul, because that's rest
So let God give you peace, because He's the only one who can
So let the Holy Spirit comfort you, because He'll mend your soul
It's funny that we always look forward to this vacation or the next
It's funny that we think there's an end to the stress
It's funny that we think we're tired because we don't sleep
It's funny we don't realize we're lost sheep
Because the problem is our soul
Go to Jesus because He promises
'Come to me all who are weary and heavy laden with burden and I will give you rest...'
poem by David Knox
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A white depression
on the green grass in the corner of relaxation
heaps of peaceful patience
life is pointless, a hole to nowhere
all constructions must be reconstructed again and again, a
tiredness in a tiredness
just a breath-flower for a moment but it can fly, not contagious.
There Is A Poem Of The Evening
THERE IS A POEM OF THE EVENING
There is a poem of the evening
never written before.
The tiredness of time
And the tiredness of mind
take flight.
when in the cool corner
of the silent light
Lines are put down
Slowly
One by one,
As if in forgiveness
For all the sins of omission
Of a life
that never came to be
what it dreamed
In the evening here
After the long day
And who knows how much time he has left
as these lines are written.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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If only my eyes do not pain
If only my eyes do not pain
If only these eyes do not get tired
Eyes they are of a human frailty
I could have written a thousand
More poems in
256 ghz
but I am just a man
a mere mortal
with mortal eyes
I am not Dracula
I am not God
I have eyes that pain
I have fingers that tremble
I have a body that is frail
I have a soul that once in a while
Falter and fall and stumble
So please bear with me
In my tiredness the words slow down
Like dying soldiers in the front
While the war rages on and on and on
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I'm Tired Of It All
I am tired of it all
I am tired of today
I am tired of the summer heat-
I am tired of all the years of trying to be something
And still being nothing and no one
I am tired of myself and my ambition
I am tired of reading the great poems of others
I am tired of Poetry
I am tired of being old
I am tired of no longer having the means to help those I care for-
I am tired of having written for so many years
And having so little to show for it-
I am tired of being an old man getting older -
I am tired of being afraid of what is going to happen to me
And those close to me
I am tired of having so many sick friends-
I am tired of having more and more people I have known who are dead
I am tired of a world in which violence and stupidity play such a great part
I am tired of all the problems that should have been solved years ago
And yet persist-
I am tired of cruelty
I am tired of rudeness and petty selfishness
I am tired of seeing the evil get away with it
I am tired truly tired
Tired of being tired also
Tired of myself and my complaints-
And my failure all these years
To make things right-
And yet and yet with all the tiredness
I know there is so much else even in myself-
I still want to live and dream and hope and help those I love
I still want to write still a few lines of poetry
that will be read by others
And help them
Dream to begin again
I still want to give to those I love
The little I still have to give
I still want to live
For life itself is life itself is still good
Despite the tiredness.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Getting More Laughter And Happiness
Morning sun makes me
Happy and cheerful
My hopes are on the peak
For a day
Full of happiness and laughter
The afternoon sun
Gives too much heat
Unable to look at it
Reminds me of hard work
I am doing
The resultant sweat
Takes some of my laughter
The evening sun
Looks very tired
Giving less shine and heat
Looks as drained as I am
Without any laughter
Only tiredness
As night sets in
I sit in the open
Underneath
The cold moon light
Ask myself
What I achieved?
After a tiring day
I feel
Satisfied and contended
For trying to do my best
With patience and dedication
Tiredness goes
Smile comes to my face
I feel happy
Go inside the room
Sleep peacefully
In the hope of
Getting more
Laughter and happiness
The next day
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
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There Is Nothing To Write
WELL, FACE THE BLANK WALL
STARE TO THIS BLANK WALL
THERE IS NOTHING TO THIS BLANK WALL
IT IS BLANK
IT IS EMPTY
IT IS A HINDRANCE TO WHAT I WANT TO SEE
IT IS AN OBSTRUCTION
TO WHAT I WANT TO BECOME
THIS WALL
THIS WALL IS MY JAIL
MY PRISON
MY BLINDNESS
THIS WALL MUST BE TORN
THIS WALL MUST BE BOMBED
THIS BLOCK
THIS WEARINESS OF THE HEART
THIS TIREDNESS OF THE SOUL
THIS MALADY OF BEING NOTHING
THIS HAVING NOTHING AT ALL
THERE IS NOTHING TO WRITE
THERE IS NOTHING
THERE IS
now i will write about something
from above
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Melancholy Blues
Depression controls every single one of us
For some people, depression barely exists
But for the rest of us, we are doomed to live depressed
Depression makes you unhappy
Makes you think trying suicide
Makes you think about the wonders about death
Depression causes us to hurt the ones we love day by day
We want to get help but never seem to be able to
A shred of hope left in us in those we love
Hoping they will save us from this black-hole
That we keep falling into
Depression controls us, our feelings and our mind…
And we battle it every day with tiredness.
poem by Casey Lyon
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When we sleep...
Before we go to sleep, we blame our conscience
When we sleep, we become unconscious
When we sleep, we dream
When we sleep, we may scream
When we sleep, we may cry
When we sleep, we may fly
When we sleep, we see our wishes
but when we get up to the reality, actually we wash the dishes
But sometimes, we see nightmares
and from the fear we feel like the snails
When we sleep, we feel relaxed
and to the bed we are waxed
We don't want to wake up
and drink the coffee cup
When we sleep, we can't resist
the tiredness that always exist.
Sleeping is a bless,
that everyone possess
But I hope human would not make it a curse,
and then we would need a nurse.
poem by Merna Ibrahim
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Moodswings
With the Gorgon's head
Flush to my cheek,
Her ungodly breath
In my nose,
Whispering to me:
'Take the extreme I give you
And plunge it into your fellow man;
For they deserve no less.'
Like an arrow I shot out eyes with my eyes,
A spear, I controlled little lives.
Having changed now,
From a simpering fool
To the devil's tool,
My core is apple-rotten,
Misbegotten,
And all I require is forgiveness
For my tiredness,
Which is the Gorgon of moods.
poem by Stan Petrovich
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How to get daytime sleep
As the night disappeared
So did my tiredness
The darkness was traded
For the sunshine
I was thinking to my self
I know im gonna pay for this
In the long run
Staying up all night
Has been fun
But when its time to get up
My awakeness is gonna
Want to run
Its gonna be hard to sleep
Now because of the sun
And if I try to stay up all day
My body is gonna be done
No need to fight
I should just let this
Sleep process begin
Eyes closed
And arms folded
Will defintely have
Sleep granted
A dark room
comfortable bed
And cozzy room
Will defintely give you
The sleep that you need
poem by Jaycee Wilkerson
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I Came To The End Of Another Long Day
I came to the end of another long day-
I was as silent as a poem I had been unable to write-
Tiredness, I hoped, would take my mind to a place beyond logical thought-
But I had no metaphors
To entertain with-
How many years
And how much less light will there be
Before I can write
Another true poem again?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The tiredness of the body is the health of the soul.
Far too often into my dreams you have dwelled (requiescat)
Too often in my dreams you have dwelled,
but tonight, in the bright silver moonlight
from me I want you to be expelled,
although I do miss you, I pray tonight
while the red sun is dying in the west
that peace and tranquillity will be yours,
in all love I am asking that you rest
in this world, in all of the darkest hours
and when our God a His time comes again
that He will raise you in righteousness,
the clouds are milling and I can smell rain
but there is just silence and darkness
while the hours pass and tiredness finds me,
in sleep there is some kind of sanctuary.
poem by Gert Strydom
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2.03 Childhood - Youth - Old Age
The three around the fire sitting,
Gossiping of Life and its doings,
Reached a point thought provoking,
Of their journey and life prevailing. [1]
CHILDHOOD:
“Please do not leave me at this time,
Youth, do take me in your prime,
For I an entertainment will but be,
With playful antics in life’s journey.” [2]
YOUTH:
“No! You can not accompany me,
As struggles exist in my journey,
Your playfulantics will but not be,
In my stride of any necessity.” [3]
When on Youth tiredness grows,
Childhood memories do then glow,
But Old Age with its aged face,
Now stares at Youth in this race. [4]
OLDAGE
“Of no use it be to remember him,
You move ahead now in this game,
Childhood once gone never returns,
Forget Childhood - Love me in turn. [5]
Struggling ahead as you had moved,
Your tiredness now I shall remove,
Come on my lap relaxingly do lie,
And sleep with my pleasant lullabies.” [6]
Thinking of Childhood - its payful taps,
The Youth now lies in Oldage’s lap,
Who caressing with weak trembling hands,
Sings cradle songs of eternal sleep grand. [7]
poem by Munnan Misra
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Not Always Is The Music Heard Inside
Not always is the music heard inside-
Not always do the poems come-
Tiredness and emptiness are often silence,
And ‘wanting' a poem is not enough
To make a poem come-
Still if one listens long enough
If one really waits to hear
If one trusts oneself and one's own inner song,
In time
There will be again some hint of beauty
That needs to be expressed-
For those who live in poetry
And for those who bear it with them
Wherever they go,
The poem will come eventually
If God gives it.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Write And Write And Cannot Write
I write and write and cannot write
Tiredness overwhelms me
To begin the day at three in the morning is not always wise
Nonetheless I write and write
But I cannot really write
I am just barely typing on-
Perhaps the morning will come soon
And I will wake
But for now I am tired too tired to write.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Too Many Aches And Ailments At Once
TOO MANY ACHES AND AILMENTS AT ONCE
Too many aches and ailments at once
A remedy for one causes new problems with another-
Tiredness is all-
Death is not feared-
Is it cowardly to want a way out?
One wills oneself to be courageous-
This thing is tried
And then another tried
One pain down another irritation up -
I cough and I ache and I long to rest
A poem cannot end the pains
Writing is only a minor distraction-
It is not good to be sick
And less good when one is old
Will I ever be alright again?
I have gotten out of this before
I will this time get out of it again-
But in the years to come?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Unborn Love
Unborn love develops inside,
A mind that cannot see,
The redness of cocoon comfort,
Warmth that sets us free.
Love lies sleeping without me,
The fear that lies within,
Longing to concede but tension,
As tiredness tries to win.
So I sit and stare at my love,
Take comfort in isolation,
Waiting for release of sleep,
To remove all that I run from.
Although we are together,
Not meant to be apart,
Just seems strange that both of us,
Is waiting for life to start.
poem by Phillip Alan Green
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