srsizzy Posted June 13, 2006 Report Share Posted June 13, 2006 (edited) Just some of what I've written in the past few months. I've become more interested in poetry more recently. Any comments or critisisms are appreciated. The World's Colors Often I ponder on the colors of the world Differing from eye to eye Some see them dull, some vibrantly What are the shades of the sky? Purple, pink, or ocean blue Those who see the same are very few When no one sees the world the same No single color can be true The same applies to all our thoughts Of the sound of silence or the shapes of clouds The ability to choose a choice Is something everyone’s allowed Is it Love? If you’re leaving notes at their door Is it love? If you can’t think anymore Is it love? If they are in your dreams Is it love? When life isn’t what it seems is it love? When you’re hiding right outside their window Watching their silent sleep, and you know It isn’t right Is it love? Or is it something more? Something that you can’t ignore Is real If you’re afraid This note is not for you So lover, don’t fear There’s nothing I won’t do For love Because I know it is love You pass me by with a smile Is it love? You sit across the room Is it love? You ignore me when I look at you Is it love? A silent love must be a true love You must love me like I know you do The wanting and the lust It's there for you too It must be It must be love If you don’t love me This note is not for you Belief To play in the Garden of Eden, and shoot of Cupid’s bow are things that we can’t do. They say these things aren’t true. If we insist, they will say no, despite our constant pleading. “To believe in myth is to have a child’s mind, a child’s hopes and dreams,” or so it has been deemed. If you try to, you will find nothing’s more false than this. Love Past The happiest of endings Still accompanied with tearings and rendings Of a forlorn, once-loved heart We are placed too far apart Walls of distance will snip our threads Days of past will flee our heads Promises of together times Waiting for telephone chimes We may say that we are trying Memories of each other dying Walls of distance between our beds Our love long passed will flee our heads The World is... A turncoat easily turned against us so fast, we’re snapped back No chance quick death In a studded coat half clipped buckles he’s tall callused knuckles don’t stare makes you scared A long drag dragged back by a smokey slipstream silent brain cells scream Cancer’s coming A long barred jail can’t leave whisper and a wispy wail pull away trapped again Don’t take the right road the left ain’t always wrong its way may be hard its way is always long A changed mind can’t easily change back when White ain’t White Black is still Black Very cold so wear a coat be a personality bold be young in body but old in soul An ending story can't and don't sleep sound hear with your sight see with your sound turn back around We’re still on solid ground Dark Dreams Heavy steps through forest, feet crunching on unseen earth. Blurry seemingly familiar trees pass by, reminiscences of false memories composed of garbled thoughts. Not one doubt of false-reality, though the reality is untrue. No way to leave, forced into the possible future, but probable past. Many voices, thought but unheard, their meaning is there but the meaning can’t be deciphered. They hide in thick shadows of imagined mists, their forms are hidden behind a veil of shut eyes. Once eyes try to open and see the images flicker to nothing, but as they remain closed they still cannot see. Frightened feelings of something there, but not seen, again, but felt. Oh so scared, the feeling is there, run and hide with unreal feet, dash through ghostly trees to a hiding place. No way to hide from a feeling, only from a touch, standing behind the wall cannot hide one from its omnipotent sight how could one run from something in one’s mind, something that is not there. So what to do, run to them, the hidden voice-like faces in the mists of shadow. No way to run now, the hunting thought is upon, no way to get to there, they just seem to be further away. Each false-step throws the stepper back, stepper to the stalker, the imaginative hunter waiting with haunting jaws. The end of this mystic state seems near as the hunter gets closer, the gaping jaws of fragment memory, so scared. All these things are placed in place with memory step, all brought together by past events, and thought up thoughts. How will this end we never know, the stepper with irritation must see its stalker, so opens the eyes that cannot see in this false reality. So open the eyelids and all thoughts wisp to none, the images of frightened past fade to nothing. It resembled opening a book, yet as it opens it closes, and as one attempts to see one cannot. As all fades into unflawed truth, real, all thoughts of what has happened fades as well. Straggling grasps reach out for what was once there, all that is known is that the end had never come, the truth had not been proven. This fleeting sheet of patched together memories has haunted this thinker’s thoughts many a time. This thought has plagued this dreamer’s dreams many a night. The dreamer wonders of future to come, the possible link of this patchwork dream with the steady flow which brings men to their graves. Would this frightening venom upon the mind amount to anything coherent, or repeat its tortures into thought for all eternity. Nightmares Such wicked havoc, I have found Resembles wicker baskets round and round The weaving forms plague sight and sound On the mind the pictures pound All trapped within its frightful lair The unheard screams fly through unreal air Trapped away from those who care So sad, the cage of a nightmare Why must these horrible memories repeat? In false skip-steps across the mind Why must the death thoughts repeat? A broken record stuck in time Such horrors yes repeat, repeat So sick these thoughts, of so sick gore Plagued flesh upon the floor These images repeat the more So sad, so sad are death and war With death unreal, it is not real Is unreal ever real, I feel The mind does never know what is real What is real, and not unreal? Why must these horrible memories repeat? In false skip-steps across the mind Why must the death thoughts repeat? A broken record stuck in time Edited June 13, 2006 by srsizzy Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Wyvern Posted June 15, 2006 Report Share Posted June 15, 2006 A nice series of poems, srsizzy. :-) You touch upon quite a few interesting images and subjects throughout them. My personal favorites of this bunch are "The World's Colors" and "The World is..." The former struck me as an excellent take on differing perceptions of the world through the uses of color, while the latter avoided common cliched metaphors for the world and painted a wide variety of intriguing bleak images (though the use of "ain't" didn't fit with the tone of the piece for me, for some reason). The free association of "Dark Dreams" was also an interesting glance into your thought processes, and I like how you tackled the subject of haunting memories in "Nightmares." "Is it Love?" was probably my least favorite poem in this series, as I felt that the concept of love was spread a bit thin through the numerous contexts... though the lines "When you’re hiding right outside their window/ Watching their silent sleep, and you know/ It isn’t right" intrigued me and hinted at something more. I'm normally not a big fan of poems that deal with very broad subjects, but I found these poems well done for the most part. :-) They struck me as well-structured and thought-provoking, and I look forward to seeing more of your stuff. Thanks for sharing these. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
srsizzy Posted June 15, 2006 Author Report Share Posted June 15, 2006 Wyv, in accordence to what you said about "Is it Love?", I actually put it in my school literary magazine for Valentines day, and the purpose was to hint at the fact that the guy was sort of stalking her, and she didn't really even know him. It was kind of supposed to be creepy, and it was anonymous so the point of "this note is not for you" was a hint that the note was something left on the ground, and not really to a specific person, but to any person who thought it was for them. Besides clearing up that, thanks for the comments. It's much appreciated. Most of this has been shown to my school, but as anonymous, so I don't really get a lot of comments or anything. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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