Where Are The Lines I Wrote?
WHERE ARE THE LINES I WROTE?
Where are the lines I wrote?
The life I’ve lived?
The pain and joy I’ve known?
Where is the life I’ve lived
The pain and joy I’ve known?
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Beauty comes from a life well lived. If you've lived well, your smile lines are in the right places, and your frown lines aren't too bad, what more do you need?
quote by Jennifer Garner
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A way to end
These sorrows I had thought forgotten
Now I feel my hope has rotten
So shortly lived and quick to die
Or perhaps it found its wings to fly
To another soul who thought to borrow
A way to end this pain and sorrow
A short-lived victor in happy times
Until he returns to write his lines
Of a life that seems so cold to him
For he's never to go home again
Now he feels that he is hollow
Left with only pain and sorrow
There is no escape for him he fears
Drowning himself in his tears
It seems an ocean that he's made
He shakes, he knows that he's afraid
Because he'll never see tommorrow
It's hard to live with pain and sorrow
poem by Robert Sierra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Two Word Lines
I write
my pain
and its
just another poem
its just
the same
all the heart ache that goes onto this page
only takes me back to the place where I await
behind the curtains of an empty stage
the pain
I write
I wrote this
I locked my own cage
I threw away the key to he that did see me rage
and still
I write
yes still
I fight
hoping that I might find something you feel
because these two word lines are just rhymes
when I say them back they aren't real
I'm sick and tired of talking about better times
forcing things like a relationship two people don't really want
a mum and dad staying together for the sake of the kids when the love is really gone.
Look at this back and see my two word lines
see my two word lines
are one.
poem by Daniel McCann
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Linda Song
Music: Barry Manilow
Lyrics: Enoch Anderson
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He never wrote a song for Linda
He wrote as though he lived alone
He wrote of dreams that end
And of sad brave men
Inventing worlds he'd never known
But he never wrote a song for Linda
And she was right there all along
Loved him back to life
When his luck ran low
But he never wrote a Linda song
He nearly broke his heart at writing
Linda kept him from despair
Standin' by his side
through the hungry days
But he hardly seemed to see her there
And he never wrote a song for Linda
And she was right there all along
The one real thing in his crazy world
And he never wrote a Linda song.
When the bills piled up
He couldn't pay
He couldn't dream no more
So he hitched a ride and he rode away
And he left a note for Linda by the door
By the door
When times got rough he'd phone her
Once or twice she took the call
Then she changed her number and she turned her head
And Linda never looked back at all
He'll never write a song for Linda
And she was right there all along
All he knows is no one understands
And he never wrote a Linda song
No he never wrote a Linda song
song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Lived Most Of My Life In Delusion
I LIVED MOST OF MY LIFE IN DELUSION
I lived most of my life in delusion-
I dreamed I was writing great masterpieces-
Every life moment was hoarded
For the sacred work.
I am old now
The manuscripts are piled up
No one wants them;
I apparently was wrong about my life and work
I lived in delusion-
Now I have all the time in the world to do nothing in-
These lines too can go to the pile.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Poet Became His Own Poetry
A POET BECAME HIS OWN POETRY
A poet became his own poetry
And all he could be
Was lines and lines and lines
Inside and outside
Lines and more lines
Off- rhymes
Finding a phrase
A metaphor
Hearing listening
To sounds
His own mind made.
A poet became his own poetry
And went into the long sleep
Of being only what he wrote.
No one can know how
Reading these lines now
The poet and the poetry live
without themselves.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Wrote No Poem Today/ I Wrote No Poem Yesterday
I WROTE NO POEM TODAY/ I WROTE NO POEM YESTERDAY
I wrote no poem today-
I wrote no poem yesterday-
Will I write a poem tomorrow?
Perhaps all my lines are done-
And I must live out
The rest of my life
In silence-
God is Great
Am I a small small small voice still?
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I can't take it anymore
I cant take it any more.
I cant live my life this way.
For so long I've lived in the aftermath of abuse.
I lived in pain from the biginning.
I cant take any more.
I dont want to live.
My life I want to slay.
I cant live another day.
I cant take any more.
Razor to wrists
Not bleeding fast enough.
Pills swallowed down.
Not an instant solution.
Rope around my neck
yes thats the answer.
I cant take any more.
My life is full of pain.
I only want death.
My life I have slain
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Working At The Factory
All my life I've been a workin' man
When I was at school they said that's all you'll ever understand
No profession. I didn't figure in their plans
So they sent me down factory to be a workin' man
All I lived for, All I lived for
All I lived for was to get out of the factory
Now I'm here seemingly free, but working at the factory.
The music came along and gave new life to me
And gave me hope back in 1983
The music came and set me free
From working at the factory
All I lived for, All I lived for
All I lived for was to get out of the factory
All I lived for, All I lived for
All I lived for was to get out of the factory
Never wanted to be like everybody else
But now there are so many like me sitting on the shelf
They sold us a dream but in reality
It was just another factory
I made the music , thought that was mine
It made me free , but that was in another time
But then the corporations and the big combines
Turned musicians into factory workers on assembly lines.
All I lived for, All I lived for
All I lived for was to get out of the factory
We made the music to set ourselves free
From working at the factory.
All my life I've put in a working day
Now it's sign the contract. Get production on the way
Take the money, make the music pay
Working at the factory
All I lived for was to get out of the factory.
Never wanted to be like everybody else
But now there are so many like me sitting on the shelf
They sold us a dream but in reality
Was just another factory
Working at the factory.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Dreamy Composition
He wrote four lines of poetry
before retiring to his bed
falling off to sleep instantly.
His subconscious was unperturbed
from any indigestibles
eaten earlier while writing.
His dreams were clear, limitable,
inimitable, exacting
like the four lines of poetry
he had meticulously wrote.
Upon wakening, his psyche
through these dreams began to take note
of the images that hit home
and found the words for his poem.
poem by Albert Ahearn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Walked Last Night In A District I Lived In For Almost Twenty Years
I WALKED LAST NIGHT IN A DISTRICT I LIVED IN FOR ALMOST TWENTY YEARS
I walked last night in a district I lived in for almost twenty years
I came back after being away for a time
To visit an old and ailing friend
The streets were empty and lonely as they often were then-
I thought for the first time I understood how lonely the district itself is-
‘A lonely district’
I wondered how I managed to live there all those years
And how anyone still manages to live there-
I looked up at the sky and wrote in my mind a small poem of a kind I wrote many of in my years there
I remembered teachers and friends who had lived there
No longer of this district or any district on earth
I wondered how life goes and how from so many years so much life has been lived without having any place in my memory
I felt as empty inside as the district without
I did not have to wait long for the bus
And relieved inside it I put my heart to home
So many years had been lived there
I remembered taking my small children to the playground there
Now they thank G-d have children of their own
Oh the years go by and the life we have lived in them largely dies
Forever to be unknown again-
I put my heart and mind in a different direction
And began to do what I always do – not think of the district again
Life is this mystery and question we live through and never wholly possess even as we are experiencing it
How long before all will be gone for me
Including the district I live in now?
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Once Upon A Tiime -Any Lines I Wrote Remained Hidden
ONCE UPON A TIME -ANY LINES I WROTE REMAINED HIDDEN
Once upon a time long ago
Any lines I wrote remained hidden-
No one would ever see them
Except in my dream - Posterity.
Now any line I write
Goes out to the world easily-
It will remain there
until the Internet closes it down.
For me inside
It is better that what I write appears-
But whether that appearance means anything really-
I don’t really know.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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No More
I wrote my name on the seashore
The waves came and it was no more
I wrote my name in the air
The wind came and it was no more
I wrote my name in the sky
The clouds came and it was no more
I wrote my name in the puddles
The sun came and it was no more
i wrote my name in the dust
The rain came and it was no more
One day Gabriel wrote my name
and alas! i was no more
poem by Humna Hamid
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hopefully
When I wrote this...
You weren't ready.
You were still waiting for rainbows,
And clouds with silver lining.
You were defining life,
As I lived it with curiousity!
As I chose adventure...
Over nursury rhymes.
When I wrote this,
I knew better then
What came to me fresh
Was not someone else's collected wishes.
These gifts were mine,
And I wanted to share!
But you were hoping,
Glittering gold dust from the skies
Would pour upon you in buckets.
And wealthy you would live,
In the world to hide.
When I wrote this...then!
I knew when found,
There will be something you will come to confide.
You will awaken to realize fantasy,
As entertainment choking you with lies.
And when I wrote this,
That was true then.
And when you find this to read...
Hopefully your wounds are healing!
Hopefully some reality has been introduced!
Hopefully truth is being induced and not reduced,
By your camouflaging campaigns.
To show how well you can remain disguised!
Why?
When all that you are has been exposed!
And hopefully you will awaken,
With a wish to enhance the life you chose.
Hopefully!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Invisible Inner Power
Chronic pain is unstoppable, the doctor said,
I remember a time I was pain-free, a time of
joyous being, I wrote line upon line of new
delight in the belief great effort would make
the world different; then the challenges set
before me kept growing without respite
I learnt that the way of the believer is steep,
life took its toll and my body gave up - time
to turn my eyes to the invisible inner power
diffusing physical life, fighting chronic pain
for so long means only meditation is left
and I should stay in the eye of the storm
The book I wrote is the life I have led, challenges
faced and overcome and the things I discarded
after trying them out in my mind and finding that
harmony and beauty led somewhere else…
19 June 2012
poem by Margaret Alice Second
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A thankyou to Margaret
Some thankyous are best private;
some deserve a public airing,
in case they touch someone else who's suffered:
I wrote a poem about my mother's restless, painful death;
and you, who had just lost your husband
but whose deathbed was a memorable day
as he with cancer and you his wife
had the most beautiful, memorable hours of conversation,
about two rich lives lived together -
you, struck by the contrast, wrote to me
in sympathy. And so, my pain is eased
in sharing in your beautiful sad joy..
and you, I hope, may be the happier for this -
I wonder, do you know what good this brought?
thank you, Margaret.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In The Day's When We Are Dead
Listen! The end draws nearer,
Nearer the morning—or night—
And I see with a vision clearer
That the beginning was right!
These shall be words to remember
When all has been done and said,
And my fame is a dying ember
In the days when I am dead.
Listen! We wrote in sorrow,
And we wrote by candle light;
We took no heed of the morrow,
And I think that we were right—
(To-morrow, but not the day after,
And I think that we were right).
We wrote of a world that was human
And we wrote of blood that was red,
For a child, or a man, or a woman—
Remember when we are dead.
Listen! We wrote not for money,
And listen! We wrote not for fame—
We wrote for the milk and the honey
Of Kindness, and not for a name.
We paused not, nor faltered for any,
Though many fell back where we led;
We wrote of the few for the many—
Remember when we are dead.
We suffered as few men suffer,
Yet laughed as few men laugh;
We grin as the road grows rougher,
And a bitterer cup we quaff.
We lived for Right and for Laughter,
And we fought for a Nation ahead—
Remember it, friends, hereafter,
In the years when I am dead—
For to-morrow and not the day after,
For ourselves, and a Nation ahead.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Pain is like Suicide
My pain is like suicide
I read between the lines
that has been cut into
my thighs,
I cut there so that it won't scare the
sercets in the air,
the sercets that has this
suicide so alive.
This pain is like a never ending
nightmare that has me running
from a better life and place
to live that grateful love fill life
This pain of suicide
is so strong
I cut and cut all day long
I would stop
breathe
think
talk it out
But the pain of suicide
makes my feelings better
to share, my pain with me
poem by Miizz. Beautiiful
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The poem
I wrote a poem that didn't
ryhme,
i wrote a poem that didn't ryhme to the one I love,
i wrote a poem that didn't ryhme to the one I love
more than life,
i wrote a poem that didn't ryhme to the one I love more than life,
of which she did more than like,
the poem was short,
repeated myself alot,
but the one I loved more than life,
felt that love is like the poem I wrote,
full of joy and full of hurt,
the poem I wrote when I was full of hype,
coz the one I loved more than life is the one that now fills in my life all gaps,
the one that brings me up when am down,
a smile on my face from a frown,
music to my ears when we talk,
love in my heart when I'm near,
i wrote a poem that didn't ryhme for the one I love more than life.
poem by Kennedy Musyoka
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To Die In Vain
When they lie me in my grave
Will I had done a lot of living
Or will the people just look and say
That I had done a lot of grieving.
And on my tomb what will be wrote
Will it just be a name,
With words that many had spoke
Saying that I had died in vain.
Through a graveyard as I stroll
I read many a lonesome name
That's all I see that's all that is wrote
I guess too, they died in vain.
No living for them had they done
No feats of greatness have they achieved
So now they are hid beneath the sun
As though they never had lived.
A name on marble a heart with no soul
It equals to about the same
For one does die, the other survives
And they both just lived in vain.
A tarnished tomb I do see
Forgotten by the years gone by
So beside it I will kneel and pray
For is that how I will die.
Then the graveyard I do leave
Mournful, bitter and shamed
Now no longer will I sit and grieve
For I WILL NOT! , die in vain.
So when they lay me in the ground
I now know what the people will say
They all will make a joyful sound
While saying, I lived and enjoyed everyday.
poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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