Never To Win
Casualities of day dreamers...
Are buried in my reverie-
Sequined-vivid and blood stained-
Are our: 'Never To Be's; '
Broken and in total disarray...
Long before we even began-
Fragile shards of splintered dreams...
In my memory bank they just hang;
Suspended in times empty spaces...
For all of my inner-in sleep to see...
Casualties of my hopeful dreamscapes-
Of our: 'Never To Be's';
Never standing a chance in reality...
Shattered long before we could begin...
Sequined vivid blood stained shards-
Lay in a hopeless game of: 'Never To Win';
May 10,2010
poem by Theodora Onken
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Blood Stained
Atrocities
Made every day
Religiously
Their sins
They hide
Can never disguise
Blood stained hands
Blood stained times
Blood stained deeds
Blood stained lies
They wage their wars
Such profiteers
Will nail us all
Their crimes
Concealed
Despicably reveal
Blood stained hands
Blood stained times
Blood stained weapons
Blood stained lies
They fire at will
Intent to kill
They have no conscience
They have no conscience
Ethnic cleansing nothing more!
Blood of nations blood of war
Turn blind eyes
From all your crimes
You bare our souls
Show no remorse
You cannot wash
The bloodstains off
They turn their backs
While others
Commit grisly acts
Were scared
For life
By politicians greedy
Blood stained hands
Blood stained times
Blood stained weapons
Blood stained crimes
Blood stained lands
Blood stained minds
Blood stained deeds
Blood stained lies
And while such predators
Stalk this earth
Disguised as saints
They kill our faith
Obsessed by greed
Lying through their teeth
They cannot wash
The blood stains off
song performed by by Judas Priest
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Cutter's Suicide List
My friend Kayla Szpytek wrote this poem. She never thought her poems were good enough, but I took it upon myself to write some of them here for her.
She wrote his name upon her wrist
Did all the things from her suicide list
The cutter's suicide list reads,
Get a razor
Get a gun
Won't be long
'Till the job is done
Cut the veins
Blow the brains
Never again
Will it be the same
Shards of glass
Blood everywhere
Nobody notices
Nobody cares
Bath of blood
Shower stained
1,2,3
Let's play a game
Gun, razor, glass, blood
Her final closure
The list is complete, her pain.......finally over.
poem by Devin Morris
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Blood stained top
My blood stained top lies on the floor.
Coved in crimson red.
From the bursting seems of my skin.
The blood did pour.
Going all over my top.
As the blood seeps in to my top.
It has made it blood stained.
Like blood tears.
My life remains in tatters.
Like my top I cut to bits.
My skin is sliced to ribbons.
And the blood is oozing,
down my top
Making it blood stained
See the top in the morning.
A memento of the night before.
It won't stop me.
For I'll have to do it again
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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Everything Vivid oh so Real
So surreal
everything appears
too real to be real
sober wide eye lucid mind
hallucinations?
How dull our perception
what we deem to be real
hydrogen strawberry patch
purple atmosphere soil
harvest dawn
streaks of violet orange-red
blood shed
sky's living proof
cloud's ceremonial formation
channeling spirits of great
distant cousin mountain ranges
sky
vivid oh so real
trees
vivid oh so real
auto metallic body paint
vivid oh so real
neighbor's sleep eye smile
vivid oh so real
morning rabbithole obligations
vivid oh so real
stage and spot light silence
vivid oh so real
flying feathered wake-up calls
vivid oh so real
everything I see
everything I touch
vivid oh so real
everything I feel
everything I imagine
vivid oh so real
dew transfers from
air to grass to my
bare flesh
vivid oh so real
my body
everything within
everything without
vivid oh so real
tepid bitterness
lukewarm caffeine fix
vivid oh so real
every illusion
performed by the senses
vivid oh so real
meditations under fulsome
tree branches
peace of mind
vivid oh so real
poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
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The Piece Just Under The Top Right Corner
I was 'Shattered' I'm the mirror
There's broken pieces everywhere
I'm just shards now
I hold onto these shards with my hand and grip them tightly
I want to re-make myself But I won't use the ugly shards I'll grip them tighter
Let them sink into my skin
The problem
Is the paradox of me picking up myself while I'm broken
It just doesn't work
But then You came
But then You came and asked me to let go of the pieces
For all to see
The ugliness hidden deep inside of me
I'd never have let go for anyone but You
You'd offered me this chance many times too
But for some reason this time I just let go
Instead of trying to make myself into something I just let go and let You
And now my broken shards we're the pieces just under the top
The top right corner
We're.... I'm whole, and my once-makeshift shard
Has been made by the master
Into a part of the masterpiece that is Your kingdom
I'm just a piece but You saw the whole picture since the beginning
Now I'm proud to be there for all to see
But You aren't done with Your work in me
Or in this world
So now my brokenness is a beautiful mosaic of hope
A beautiful mosaic of love
All the broken pieces
Make a picture of something like a cross
To remind us that sin has no power
The sting of death is gone
So I'm just under the top right corner
But I need to gather some more pieces to make the corner
Not that it is I but You, my Lord
It's time to go out and show the world that brokenness
Brokenness healed through God's power
That's beautiful
poem by David Knox
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To hang out in a gay bar or put on a sequined halter top makes me feel like a total person.
quote by Dennis Rodman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Porcelain Heart
Though it was long ago, my heart still aches as though it just happened
That day when my heart of porcealian was shattered
It was dropped from a third story floor and fell to the ground
Breaking into a million tiny pieces
Over time the shards were gathered together
I glued them back together, and I thought I was okay
Then you came into my life, and I felt something
Something I hadn't felt in so long
It was an emotion I thought I'd lost
Even though we're just friends, I wonder
At night as I lay in my bed and the moon shines ih through my window
If we moved past being friends, I wonder
If I would be able to reciprocate any type of loving emotion you gave to me
I don't know if I could, because as I glued those shards together
I also built up a brick wall around my heart as well
So that I would never have to feel that shattering again
So that I would never have to see those shards of my heart lying on the ground again
A porcelain heart can only by put together so many times
And I don't know if mine can be put back together more than once
poem by Sae Amakura
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Tropical Recollection
The crashing of the glass
Shards of memory scattered throughout
Whilst ominous gusts of terror besiege,
Convincing the upends have come
Bellowing into disabled blue eyes,
Blurred and blinded through battles of time
The dark deep dread creeps in
Shards of memory scattered throughout
Thoughts cloud in withdrawal
A relinquishing storm of all form, all peril
Void as a dream, void of sanity
Shards of memory scattered throughout
Shattered
It was in the virgin snow
Of many a winter's past
Where memory grew some wings
It was in the form of Snow Angels**
And the winter airs crisp sting
It was a total recall of sorts
Of a broken friendships shards
It cut like glass, as it came to pass
But the snow still covers the yard
It never melted from an apology
As none ever came to pass
And so the snow remains
Along with the pain
And the shards are still sharp as glass
poem by Theodora Onken
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Now Here So Vivid
Here so vivid,
Is the experience of life given.
So vivid too are those disparities.
To allow others,
The giving of an invitation...
To come and do,
Then to go as they please.
How vivid are the actions,
On others performed.
To take what they thieve...
And upon themselves adorn.
Enriching with an enhancement,
From the day they were born.
Here so vivid,
Are atrocities.
So atrocious in implementation...
An acceptance of it,
To gather lives to ruin...
As if in a playing of monopoly.
And the game inflicted does not go away.
It stays and commands to become obeyed.
With restrictions that exist,
Using religious beliefs...
As a means to control,
In the spreading of a wickedness...
To maim and defeat,
Those depicted as enemies.
Here so vivid,
Is the experience of life given.
So vivid too are those disparities.
To allow others,
The giving of an invitation...
To come and do,
Then to go as they please.
Using deception to promote misdeeds.
To witness those doing this...
Eventually,
Unravel from their own intricate...
Strategic complexities.
Now here so vivid,
Are those so unwise.
So vivid with a clarity...
Are those removed from their disguises.
To become recognized and themselves despised.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Shards of the Cloud
The rumbling boom, vibrates all that is near the ribs,
The power of a storm, embarking over the land,
Drifting overhead eyes spot it coming, a cloud,
Dark, gloomy mists of crashing waves rise as a tide over the sky,
The arrival shades the earth with its somber tone,
Reaching to tell us what it has,
Its power,
We watch in awe as it overwhelms,
A flash beats,
Everything is flooded with the light,
Nothing left untouched by the white covering,
Then gone;
Following with the repetition of another Boom,
And the cloud falls in pieces, shattered,
The shards clash on the ground,
I walk beyond the frame of the door,
The shards prance on my head,
Bouncing as their kin at my feet,
I look to the covered firmament,
Upon my face the shards dribble and pounce,
I smile,
With correlation to my lips, my arms rise,
Fingers open,
As the shards of the shattered cloud fall,
They wet, everything and all,
This is the power of a cloud,
This is why it’s so proud,
Nothing from it can hide,
It is power,
It is water,
It is shards of clouds,
Breathing bliss into my life.
poem by Keel Lincoln
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Red Tears
The blood screams
for you to stop,
it trickles down,
then it drops.
The blood stained tears
don't make a sound
even as they hit the ground.....
The blood stained tears
they fall and fall,
until I am
nothing at all
poem by Faith Franklin
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Red Stained the Earth
When white clouds filled the land
Red stained the earth
Thunder roared and lightning struck
Red stained the earth
Darkness devoured the soul
Red stained the earth
Smoke choked the air
Red stained the earth
Cries were loud but never heard
Red stained the earth
Words misunderstood
Red stained the earth
A compromise was in vain
Red stained the earth
Land was stripped of its beauty
Red stained the earth
Raped of dignity, honor and trust
Red stained the earth
Language lost, stories untold
Red stained the earth
No more tradition, no more culture
Red stained the earth
When white clouds filled the land
Red stained the earth
poem by Ema Bovoro
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That's What Woke Me Up
In disbelief?
I was too,
Before I accepted.
There was a time,
I placed truth on trial.
Everything vivid,
Became for me a denial.
My thoughts and observations,
Were clearer than my own footsteps.
But when I began to follow my mind,
To leave doubt and fear behind...
I knew I was fine!
Not that I declared anything wrong.
I was not right with it.
And that took a long time to see.
I didn't understand that immediately.
Until I saw 'me'.
And the pieces on the outside,
Completed a total fit.
I began to see things as they were.
And not what I thought they should be.
I had been against the naturalness of it.
With interpretations I 'heard' should be mine.
I saw that to be imperfect.
And I became disturbed by it.
And doing my best to sit and fix the imperfect in me.
And God does not make mistakes on purpose.
To fake them as something done unconscious.
People do!
To unloosen but not tighten screws.
And that's what 'woke' me up!
I began to tighten up my activities quick,
To overdose on reality.
Now I've got my dosages under control.
In disbelief?
I was too,
Before I accepted.
There was a time,
I placed truth on trial.
Everything vivid,
Became for me a denial.
Until I saw 'me'.
And the pieces on the outside,
Completed a total fit.
I began to see things as they were.
And not what I thought they should be.
Because they could never be how I saw them.
I saw them to be imperfect.
Not comprehending a thing as I followed.
To become involved in an assortment of heartbreaks.
And God does not make mistakes,
To fake them as something done unconscious.
People do!
And I no longer follow those who have eyes,
They allow to remain clouded.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Sands Of Time
From the beginning of this own world,
man has shed a million tears.
Tears for the pain they've had
in their lives and for all the
wasted years.
But the saddest tears that
ever fell, fell not from
just any man's eyes. But
they were shed by my Savior
and they stained The Sands Of Time.
And as the Father looked upon His
Son, He had to turn His face away.
And as Jesus hung upon that cross,
He gave His all for us that day.
And as the tears ran down His face,
as He cried, mixed with the blood
that flowed from His side. Oh what
a sacrifice of love and it stained
The Sands Of Time.
Oh yes it stained The Sands Of Time.
It stained The Sands Of Time.
The blood that was shed for a lost
and dying world, oh yes it stained
The Sands Of Time, of time.
song performed by by LeAnn Rimes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A World Yet Saved
When | you look at me...
...here's what I see:
a world without hate,
a world without fear,
a world without hunger and sickness and sin.
a world full of love,
a world full of cheer,
a world full of plenty and healing and joy.
When | God looks at us...
...here's what He sees:
a world stained with bad,
a world stained with wrong,
a world stained with blood debt of many a man.
a world filled with filth,
a world filled with soot,
yet a world saved by naught but the blood of Jesus.
Blue night
Blue dark dusk a prelude to a moon struck night
Once more as long time before
You appeared in front of my door
Blue dark dashing night
At the edge of a city sleeping tide
Once more before the ore
Twinkling shades play behind closed door
Oh come back and take hold of me
A sensation that I long and love from thee
Oh come back in sinew and flesh so long forsaken
When body’s memory revived rekindled awakened
And old longing again moves into the blood
When lips and skin stir and remember
And hands feel as if though they touch again
And all comes back alive vivid and so plain
copy rights 2010
I'm Not A Bully
sometimes i say harsh-full things
and don't give a damn about
broken hearts, broken spirit shattering
to shards....
My bare knuckle may just collide
with their lips...but its only few blood that drip.
I may even be a telltale but
isn't it for their best?
I am not not bully though.
it is just apart of the bog circle of life-
'the weak will never prosperous'
it is okay to cry and sleep
I am not a bully.
I took no one's life and watch them die...
even though i may think it.
I'm not a bully
poem by C.F Francis
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Even When Alone
the blackened plow,
the blood stained glove.
the hammered blade,
some call it love.
the bottomless well,
cant drink enough....
the blackened plow,
the blood stained glove.
the eyes of hunger,
empty face of loss.
the wheel of man
turns despite the cost.
when you're lost at sea,
and your ship is tossed.
the eyes of hunger,
empty face of loss.
and still the takers take
till the blood is drawn.
while the innocent pray
in the dark before dawn.
the weak sacrificed
to feed the strong...
the takers take
till the blood is drawn.
love plots no revenge,
stands even when alone
with the heart of right
forgives the wrong.
knows there has to be more
than just flesh and bones...
love plots no revenge,
stands even when alone!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Murder is a Colorful Thing
Red is the color of the blood splashed on the walls of my home.
Orange is the color of her stained shirt because of the red of the blood splashed on the walls of my home.
Yellow is the color of her shirt before it was stained orange because of the red of the blood splashed on the walls of my home.
Green is the color of her stomach as I cut her tummy open through her once yellow shirt stained orange because of the red of the blood splashed on the walls of my home.
Blue is the color of the happy sky while I cut into the green of her tummy through her once yellow shirt now stained orange because of the red of the blood splashed on the walls of my home.
Violet is the color of my swollen face from crying under the blue happy sky while I cut into the green of her tummy through her once yellow shirt now stained orange because of the red of the blood splashed on the walls of my home.
Murder is a colorful thing...
poem by Tamara Buengener
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