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Through an Angel's Eye

Some see the world through rose-colored glasses,
some see it only as bad.
Some see man split into one of three classes,
some see it only as sad.

They say that the eye to the soul is a window,
some find such introspect lame.
Still others may prefer to focus on shadow,
some look for fortune and fame.

To see the world softly through colors sublime,
requires a heart that is pure.
Yes, to see the world as an angelic rhyme,
the eye must be steady and sure.

Through the eyes of an angel she captures our world,
the wonder of God in her lens.
By virtue of her work beauty is unfurled,
earning her many a friend.

To HooverHoover state: waking up to sleep
because that’s all I’m good for;
out of work, out of time again
and my brother won’t spare a dime.

Blanket sweat reminds me of this
Hoover state: waking up to sleep
in depressions of this planet;
the moon weeps for me in daytime.

I yank my pockets out, like it's
my country's flag; punch-line of the
Hoover state: waking up to sleep
in my sagging skin on decline.

I've no penny to my name,
jumping out the window (one
last time) makes me worth more in this
Hoover state: waking up to sleep.

Twinkle StarTwinkle twinkle little star
Noone cares just who you are
When you fall the fall is far
Twinkle twinkle superstar.

The Soldier's Letter To HomeI write this from my death bed
My eyes fading in the light
Drowned in crimson red,
Drowned in shaking fright.
The enemy has won
The war now has ended
And though killed by my son
May his sins be ammended.
For this is Civil War
I cannot change the tide
So from you I implore
Do what is right.

Bury me somewhere nice
Near, and fair to look at
And forgive my son his sins;
For in war, no one wins.

Stand StrongI stand in awe at the strong winds blowing
Hurricanes rising and tornadoes growing
Housing blown away and long hair flowing
Killing the crops of this year's sowing.
Stay strong, dear brothers; Strong in disaster
Stout in the winds that blow ever faster
Stay strong for your children, strong for your wives,
To get to the morning you must first traverse the night.

A Poem for LokiRhyming is hard
Just so you know
But for a friend
I'm giving it a go

His name is Loki
From Scotland, of course
Today is his birthday
I heard from a source

Plays Pokemon for fun
and Nuzlockes them too
Though one in particular
Might need a redo

His adventure in Hoenn
Was not quite grand
Many comrades died
Of course, not planned

But in the end he won
With a badass team
Including a Mightyena
Who reigned supreme

Not forgetting Mad6
Who replaced 5 before him
His chances of survival
Were really quite slim

And then there was Boom
Who exploded with glee
Against a troll Milotic
We won't forget thee

Tittypank is next
In the list of honours
Though

ContrariwiseSilly little Alice,
Forget all you thought you knew,
For deep inside your head,
Everything is all askew.

If they tell you that one plus one,
Equals twelve and half, my dear,
Don't worry yourself about it,
For two is so last year.

Don't even try to be different,
Or it'll be "Off with her head!",
And you'll find it's better to live a lie,
Than it is to end up dead.

So heed this socially accepted advice,
Ditch any scraps of your insanity,
To cavort with the Hare in March,
Join the Hatter for a cup of tea.

Fritter your days away,
Dancing under a Cheshire moon,
Don't mind the surrounding chaos,
Ignore impending doom.

But even as you join in

Continuous VoicesIt all began when I was ten
I found what lingered in my head disturbing
And it wasn’t until I grabbed a pen
And saw what truly lingered when I began writing.

There were continuous voices within my head
I was not one to favor them dead
Although, they had violet images attached
The way I wrote them matched.

Since then, the voices have changed
Octaves have risen and lowered
Their words have exchanged
And eventually became uncensored.

These continuous voices have brought war
Ones with an uprising roar
And at moments I want to kill the sound
For they are so profound.

Yet, they continue to crescendo
And welcome me to a hidden story
And so

Aur si plumbUn gând de aur, dar se simte
mai greu ca un pumnal de plumb
ce intră-n coaste, se învârte,
și caută să iasă prin minte...
Stilou de aur, scrie versuri,
dar lasă urme ca de plumb,
pe foi mânjite de cerneală,
și de cafea, și alte resturi...

Un glonţ de aur, dar se simte
mai tandru ca o zi de plumb,
îl pun aici, închid capacul,
și ca un gând, îl scot prin minte.

EndlingHere am I, the captive thylacine
Treading my tiger-striped, ungainly way
Around the metal-mesh confinement of my cage
Here am I, exhibited, exhumed
Brought from the brink to pace another day
A living testament, a final thumbmarked page
Here am I, the only specimen
Bereft of mate, of pups, of kin, of kind
Watching the claws of history extending
Here am I, the final thylacine
The only one, the last, the lost, the endling.

Who Was HeHe stood at the average height for men.
His built was quite average.
His eyes were that of cyan.
Nonetheless, he was average.

His hair was that of blonde,
Nearly, white.
His walk and personality had a great bond.
He was a confident sight.

His skin was a delicate peach.
His muscles were quite firm.
So irresistible, a teasing reach.
His appearance had its own term.

One that the dictionary cannot confirm.

Who was he?
That man with his own sea?
He was one without a name.
His appearance was a taunting game.
He was one without a number for an age.
Forget it, he’s fake on this page.

An Aching NeedAn Aching Need

This Kingdom of magic and wonder suits me very well, for I am without want.

I rule absolutely over my ugly subjects, like a puppet-master maneuvering strings.

The sting of want may not exist, but I have an aching desire for the one I hunt.

They are fairly simple , yet very beautiful to me; I NEED them above all other things.

My wiles and trials to win them over have led to a devious act, for which I regret not.

Whisked away through my mystical Labyrinth, her beloved brother sits upon my capable lap.

Though through her luck, and some help, she has made it to me, and ruin she has wrought.

And even though I thought myself

A man such as meHow do you think it would be,
to be like a man such as me?

Copper mane unkempt, unruly, distort,
from showers too long and sleep too short.
Eyes darting erratically, vibrant and blue,
sunken in purple pits, looking blackened and bruised.
A nose, big and red, once hit with a bat,
a maw full of teeth, yellowed, crooked and that.
A beard full and lush, fit for a king,
(one I should trim one evening...)

Betwixt my shoulders lies a beating heart
one which stirs for music, words and art,
one which constantly yearns for intimate love,
but is under command by the grey matter above.
A pair of lungs, tightly restricted by my bulk,
only shallow breath

SandmanSleepwalking in tainted dreams
Falling through its open seams
Caving into unsure grounds
In a dream where fear abounds

Tightrope nerves are torn right through
All the facts become untrue
Screams are muted and lost midway
Still terror exists to my dismay

Faces change the closer I peer
The way I feel becomes unclear
And in the end I know it's fake
The pivotal moment when I awake

But still disturbed and afraid to dream
I wonder if they are at all what they seem
So I close my eyes and there you are
Staring at me looking bizarre

You told me you were there for me
To fight off the frauds valiantly
Trusting you I did what you said
I unmasked the

What may be a dream?Oh, what may be a dream but wishes mute?
Those thoughts that dance and prance a time or two?
The silent longings of the heart set free
To lift the spirit from chambers dark and cold.
A dream is as a morning mist of spring;
Refreshing, light, and gently promising
To all who sleep and wake in time to catch
The welcome peace and glory they behold.
But woe to waking hours; the bitterness they bring
When dreams escape the loving hold of thought!
The plaintive heart starts longing once again
To sink into the realms of possibility.

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Last RitesOne regret, still so fresh
One last chance to say goodbye
As the bullet burrows in your flesh
Make the choice to live or die

Two’s a date, three’s a crowd
Make it quick and worth my while
Standing tall and standing proud
You’re so god damned versatile

Can you dodge inevitability
When there are no brakes?
There goes your infallibility
Come and meet your past mistakes

Watch the dot, it’s getting nearer
A rabbit caught in hunter’s sights
The end is now becoming clearer
Time to read you your last rites

Feelings InterruptedErase me off your computer screen
Unplug and stow away like a used machine
Pretend I don’t exist and cannot survive
Assume I’m inert and arguably not alive

Deprive me of the emotional zeros and ones
Lock away in a compartment with loaded guns
Bury six feet under and promptly drive away
Blame it all on society’s immoral decay

Discharge your responsibility, shrug commitment aside
Ignore things as they come, take it all in stride
Misuse the naivety, put it all in chains
Grab the needles, one by one, stab them in my veins

Block out screams of horror, oblivious to my pain
Drive them deeper, watch blood trickle further d

This IsThis is a story best untold
This is a sorrow most foretold
This is a hand that slipped away
This is a feeling kept at bay

All the could have beens and fragile memories
The story ended before it begun
Never got the chance to admire your qualities
Too quick to pull the trigger on the gun

This is a drama in the making
This is constantly aggravating
This is a hopeless situation
This is a world of frustration

Left you alone in the eye of the storm
Rejected, dejected, forever denied
Walked away to have fun on my own
Paid no attention to the tears you cried

This is a regret I’ll always bear
This is a reflection of despair
This

Rear-View MirrorIt was perfection beyond words untold
At the pearly gates of the heaven’s door
Through the looking glass of your shattered dream
Things are rarely what they seem

When having found ideality you cannot commit
Flattery is rarely a substitute for wit
Your attitude will make a holy man stray
Things don’t always turn out that way

With the realization of a wasted time dawning
The futility of endeavors, ass kissing and fawning
With broken illusions, prowling the streets in fear
Objects in rear-view mirror are closer than they appear

End of the LineAnother lesson learnt
Another hand bitten
Another letter burnt
Another soul smitten

So we run,
Run towards the sun
Away from what we’ve done
From under the loaded gun

Another complex solution
Another misguided attempt
Another lost revolution
Another feeling unkempt

So we run,
Run from all that’s undone
Away from what we’ve begun
From that which we can’t outrun

Another memory forgotten
Another poem written
Another apple rotten
Another foe beaten

So we run,
Till we cannot run any more
When we can no longer ignore
There’s nothing left to explore

Too LateIt’s too late to apologize
There’s no other way but down
No need to emphasize
Grasping for air, left to drown

It’s too late to apologize
There’s nothing left to do
Let’s gather ‘round to hypothesize
No one left here to talk to

It’s too late to apologize
The phone that never rings
No means to anesthetize
The piercing pain that stings

It’s too late to apologize
Walking out the door
So quick to bastardize
Everything left in the “before”

It’s too late to apologize
Shed a tear for your dead saviour
Desperate to contextualize
Your indecent behaviour

It’s too late to apo

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Submitted: April 9, 2008
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Ain't It Sweet

by ~n-g-e, Apr 9, 2008, 12:35:40 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Traditional Fixed Forms

A late night conversation
A table for two
Some candles, some music
It’s not that hard to do
A schizophrenic desire
Shunned, forgotten, but true

The empty gaze in the mirror
Staring right back at you
What’s beyond those tired eyes?
If only I knew
Things were simpler once
When I had nothing to prove

Walking on eggshells
And breaking them all
Beating a dead horse
Head, blood, against wall
Do I throw it all away?
Exit, stage left, another day

I could listen to you all day long
Inspired, enchanted, carried a song
So where did we go wrong?
On a freeway of life
A one way street
Just my luck, a dead end, well ain’t that sweet

Ain't It Sweetby ~n-g-e

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Traditional Fixed Forms

©2008-2013 ~n-g-e

I know it's disjointed, lacks rhythm and is all over the place. It's meant that way.

~Kilmyana Apr 10, 2008 Hobbyist General Artist

This is great! It all works together so well...and such truth found as well.

Reply

~Tar1988 Apr 10, 2008

That life has a 'dead' end, sounds rather true to me

For that line alone, I would have fav'd it

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*Black-Roses-Fall Apr 9, 2008 Hobbyist Writer

Mmm. Fantasic piece is fantastic.

Faved for sure

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~n-g-e Apr 10, 2008

Thank you

Reply

~Konjuku Apr 9, 2008 Hobbyist Writer

Disjoint? I liked it.

Loved the rhyme and how it flew.

The sudden end, seems rough, abrupt... Like a dead end, now, ain't that sweet?

Reply

~n-g-e Apr 10, 2008

Haha

Thanks

Reply

~WisemanBrandon Apr 9, 2008

It's, interesting.
It's like, out there, and the sporadicalness is intriguing. I like it

Reply

~n-g-e Apr 10, 2008

Thanks mate, glad you enjoyed it

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