[x]

I Am a WriterI am a writer.
Yes, it’s easy for me to fall into a dream.
But there is nothing wrong with being tighter
With a story’s theme.

I am a writer.
That is all I will ever want to be
In the end, my story will be lighter,
And my characters will finally be free.

I am a writer.
There is nothing easier to say than that.
I will never let a story wither
Nor let a story fall flat

I am a soon to be author.
With several books ready to be read,
I want them to have great honor
And wish there will be tears shed.

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.

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.

Take Death's HandI do not fear Death.
My life has been long enough.
It's time I take my last breath.
I shall not rebuff.
Death stands by my side,
his hand extended for me to take.
His face is veiled like that of a bride.
This life I now forsake
as Death takes me away.
I do not regret
for I am free of the fray.
Please do not fret
for I am okay.

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

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.

Through an Angel's Eye

Some see the world through their 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 the eye to the soul is a window,
some find such introspect lame.
Still others 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 beauty of God in her lens.
By virtue of her work nature is unfurled,
earning her many a friend.

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.

SuicideThere's no blood on her hands
Bullet holes in the door
Nothing but colored pills
And her lying on the floor

You look at her face
There's despair in her eyes
And you wonder what she thought
As she fell and died

And maybe you're begging her to come back
And maybe you're asking why she let go
The hurt in your chest feels like a heart attack
And now you finally know

Maybe you could've helped her
If you'd looked past your own nose
Maybe she'd be alive now
You had a chance, this is what you chose
Now maybe you'll learn from things
That you didn't see
Maybe you'll open your eyes
And rescue him, or her, or me
Maybe she cried a prayer
For the oth

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.

WarWhen stories of battle are shared,
They are full of fame and glory.
No one knows what war really holds,
That is, until they hear this story.
At first there is much excitement,
Your chance to be a hero.
Then homesickness begins to set in,
The sorrow makes you feel like zero.
Then the supplies get cut off,
Your stomach cries out for food.
It rains then it droughts, and then you want out,
You'd laugh at your situation but you're not in the mood.
No sanitation, no garbage cans,
You are living in human waste.
The tents are torn up, the beds full of lice,
You wish you were in a different place.
Then you finally go to fight,
This is your chance to prove yourself.
All your comrades are shot down,
So much for fame and wealth...
Cleaning up the bodies,
Of those who used to be your friends.
Not even time for a proper burial,
Too many injuries to attend.
Then there's the sneak attack,
You are all caught by surprise.
A brutal, bloody, massacre,
A bullet between your eyes.
In this little game o

One WindowOne window is all I need
To see the world for what it truly is
With my mind a system of creed.
My talent can depict or dismiss
This world of goals, so hear my heed.

I sit down beside a journal,
My fingers clutching a pencil.
I will make my character’s life spiral
And send them off to a council
Where they must advance through the next trial.

One window is all I need
To watch them afar a long, hazy field,
Where I can study their speed
Of understanding when they will yield
Of life, itself, so they need to hear my heed.

My character’s goal,
As well as mine,
Is to be whole
And see how bright life can shine
Even through the darkness

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Blind EyeLook away, look away
It's not safe to stay where dragons lay
You cannot slay the beast, only fall into dismay

Pass by the blood baths or body bags or gruesome scenes
Or every other horrid thing your eyes should not have seen

Turn away, turn away
From what your fellow man allows
Reaching for a better now with foolish fibs and broken vows

Forget tomorrow's sorrows or the happiness you stole
Borrow strength, face trials today, and pay the debts you've owed

Keep them hidden, don't display
Those happy carefree grins that keep the careless shy
Don't spread love, just hide and shun the sunshine inside

Keep living in a bubble and ignore

Running With Scissors 5The rain hadn't let up since it started to fall. She was cold, shivering, walking alone alongside the empty highway in the dark. It might have been worse if her mind wasn't in the process of overloading. Not only did the pitter-patter send nostalgic scaly touches to trace her skin as they had in her satisfied memories, but the greatest thing to ever happen to her had preceded this ankle-throbbing wet hell by just a few hours.

A stolen kiss from her heart's desired love; it was impossible to forget. The feel of his squirming tongue, his lips against hers, and his smell were all fabricated from the sugary clouds of her highest and sweetest dr

Moonah 2Alone Not For A Day Or So, But More For Like A Week Or Two

I Knew By Then What Plans To Make And Everything I Wished To Do

My Family Leaving Out The Door Could Never Happen Too Soon

Resumed Sitting In Bed Nude To Marinate In Solitude

Pacing While I Place Out Preparations For The Scheme

I Knew The Plot Would Thicken When I Heard The Cellphone Ring

It Was You, Told By The Specially Selected Tune

Simon And Garfunkel- Song About The Moon

"Hey There Mai My Dear, My Lovely Moonah Darling"

"Hey Bum! Don't You Start With All Your Cheesy Charming"

We Share A Laugh, And Then You Ask, "Why'd You Want Me To Call?"

I Stalled, Paused To Think Si

My Cat Jazzy 2Poor beloved kitten, hope you know how much I miss you
Held me tearful nights, and gave my sloppy life a tissue
Helped me fight my strife and dissolved my petty issues
But after years of laughs and love I know you feel misused

Abused and neglected like a common house pet
Affected by my dumb past affectionate upsets
Testament to our bond you stayed long enough to check
That I was truly happy with her, then suddenly you left

Delightful divine insightful feline
Deserving of my infatuate lines
And valentines and heart shaped be mines
I apologize for wasting your lives, all nine

Jealousy seems to kill more cats then curiosity
I shed a

A Blind Man's PhotographA creature no bigger than your palm;

Small…

Sticky...

Slimy…

It hops into frame, speeding in midair, like a gust of wind, and lands with a hair's gentleness on a knee-high blade of Mother Earth's natural strands.

It stands, defying gravity, clinging to the side and nearly blending in with nature's lashes as it bends ever so slightly under the weight of the weightless being.

All life flowing in the area is vividly displayed, verified under the intense radiance of the powerful star that hovers over humble soil.

Everything is real…

Everything is solid…

Everything is beautiful…

As I behold my canvas breathe with

Who I AcceptSometimes I feel like a rainbow to the blind
Bright and beautiful, but still out of sight out of mind
And they don't know what they're missing...
I try to provide a description but lack the permission
To enter their heads and prescribe them the light
Yet they claim comfort in their sightless omission
They choose not to trust me, not to see what's there
Their eyes remain broken and their hearts must be bare
A valuable bag of pennies swept away with the trash
A tossed fortune lost before changing to cash
I claim I would do anything for their approving love
But they take advantage of me and I'm made a fool of
They use and abuse then

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Submitted: November 4, 2012
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Peace

by =Tory-Steller, Nov 4, 2012, 1:07:21 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Traditional Fixed Forms

Peace is not a body lying next to you in bed
Peace is someone letting you hold them while they sleep

Peace is not being isolated, living in your head
Peace comes from the company you keep

Peace is not screaming your pain into a pillow
Peace is the result of exercised strife

Peace does not sit still in silence either
Peace is the hushed buzzing hum of life

Peace is not having all of your teeth
Peace is accepting what ones you have left

Peace has never been dying to live
Peace is living lovingly until you rest

Yes, death is peace, but there's one peace above
True peace is the calming effect of self-love

Peaceby =Tory-Steller

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Traditional Fixed Forms

A piece I wrote over a year ago. I thought it was lost when my computer crashed, but apparently I managed to save it.

*Mumikansou Nov 5, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

I like it. You win money!

~DejaPulido Nov 4, 2012

Nice poem

=Tory-Steller Nov 5, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you

!Cleostine Nov 4, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

It's a nice poem and i really love the way you described the state of peace, but i think the ending part is a bit inappropriate and it also kills the musicality of it.

=Tory-Steller Nov 4, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Yeah, maybe. I don't even relate to this one anymore. I wrote this during a period where I wanted peace more than happiness, when events in my life were giving me a hard time. The last line was me convincing myself how embracing love was the preferred option over suicide. Maybe "self love" fits better.

Thanks though, I appreciate your kind words and criticism!

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Peaceby =Tory-Steller

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