Written during a rain storm in which I imagined that the rain was a sad woman weeping for the one she left behind.
Written during a rain storm in which I imagined that the rain was a sad woman weeping for the one she left behind. Please do not print or repost this poem anywhere without my permission. This poem is from my book, Heaven’s Champagne. / Order from Amazon.com
One tree, one solitary life, / One silhouette reaching into the sky. / One lone and weary traveller, / One road, that passes them by.
A mothers grief is hard to take / You sit and feel your heart will break / It wont of course but you feel so low / Oh son of mine, why did y…
A poem for my son
i whisper her name a thousand times
she came to a place where shadows cry / silenced tongue sings no relief, no sigh / draws only sorrow nigh
in some, inner pain brings reactions. / some reactions I see, / makes me fall on my knees / and cry / I want to love and hold / forever if needed / to bring a lasting sigh
*I’m not the author but I’m putting this in the writing section because I think it can get more attention here. A great note for all to r…
This was from an e-mail my mom printed out for me a long time ago. I came across it again while cleaning my room. I wonder if this is familiar to anyone. I’m not the author but I’m putting this in the writing section because I think it can get more attention there. A great note for all to read: it will just take 30 seconds to read this and change your thinking.
...colour drained from the world…
Martin the B Keeper was created as a joke – a bit of play on words for a story night with a bunch of friends. He stuck though. He was a simple lad – cartoonish – but more and more stories kept coming and his world fleshed out. There are a dozen or more now. / Martin met Rebecca when she first arrived. He was immediately smitten but she was rather a flighty soul with a past she had often, unsuccessfully tried to escape. They had already had quite a bit of history to get here. I hope they do well.
I wrote ‘Sorrow’ at one of my darkest melancholic states. Between desparately wanting to live, yet desparately wanting to die. A paradox! Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door Clean My Wounds
Does she roam every day, with her beautiful sorrow her only companion, on that simple piece of earth wherein his bones rest?
/ Inspired from a photo by Johanne Brunet
I scream to the gates of heaven / Can you hear me, my friend..
i initially posted this as a journal over at my frozenfa gallery.. but i realised that when there’s too many journal, it’ll go missing from your profile.. and for some reason.. i don’t wish this piece to go “missing”.. So i’d like to share this piece to everyone once again. I hope it’s good enough to be posted as a writing.. It’s kinda like a lyric.. Inspired by a malay song, Di Pintu Mahligai (At the Palace’s Gate), by an old malay band, iklim. Wrote this 9 Sep 2006.. i dedicate this to a friend i’ve lost, Brown.. / / i also noticed that one of my drawing posted at Frozenfa, seems to be inspired by this piece.. Aishiteru! /
I can’t be there to fight the flame. Many in this world look in sorrow at all this pain. Life so taken at ease at times. I sit here cryin…
There is no use denying / Bad happens to good people too / There is no use in crying / That bad shouldn’t happen to you
I’ve really had to put a lot of effort into learning to accept things over the last couple of years…I suppose this poem is a little about that and a little about extremism…I don’t believe you have to always see half glasses of water as half full or half empty, although logic would have me think if it was originally empty then it’s half full, if was originally full then it’s half empty, but mostly I simply accept that half of the glass is filled with water, for better or for worse, that’s just the way it is and I’ll find a way to work with that much liquid ;) I absolutely believe in having hope and being optimistic about the unknown, I just perhaps don’t feel the need to work myself into a state of denial that doesn’t let me prepare myself for if things don’t go so well. I hope and I dream, but I try not to expect…closed expectation can be very, very dangerous. Expect that things might turn out differently to how you expect them too…lolz…that’s probably the most balanced form of expectation. Perhaps this is a long winded way of saying ‘take it as it comes’? Hope for everything, expect nothing. Read & Subscribe to my blog updates at: http://rellacafa.com
This terrible hurt I feel. / The awful sorrow inside.
Hidden Sorrow / MCN:CVPE8-5LQ1K-YDR23
stars are falling from the sky, / the moon’s dissected, / the pieces of the pie are crumbling. sunlight’s gone, the sun has burnt black,...
Featured in Creative Writing And Poetry; Lifeline
the horizon tips / a wide brimmed hat / to sails out of the past / heading home to capture / majik that was cast / out among the dragons / soar…
Clock strikes, / every second my heart stabs / another injection of grief, / as streams wash the contours / rushing the valleys of guise. / ...
In this instance all repetition was intentional.
Sometimes it really does seem it is darkest before the dawn. Just had a sense of letting go of something before being able to take a new step and the feeling of the mothering of the universe as it senses this and often helps in mysterious ways …
when we sit down for supper / there seem too few legs / we don’t need five chairs / ‘round our too-small table / anymore
My older sister has just left, today, to work overseas, in London. This poem was inspired by that fact. Written 5 June 2009.
Today never knows the sorrow / That’s waiting to ambush unsuspecting souls. / Today I’m trapped in this pain-machine; / ...
the only sorrow in life is the loss of youth. / the only joy in life is the loss of innocence.
i’m opting in for a bit of controversy today. after much debate, decided to put this up. this is rather cynical, but tell me: what do you think?
You are tied tight, / woven into my fabric, too close knit to distinguish / our separate blends. So hot…the box of before, / burning i…
This is a poem about my mother: The lost, and The found of her… / She died tragically (suicide/murder) when she was 26 and I was 7…back in May of this year my uncle sent me an old box I’d never seen before, which held ominous letters written a year, a few months…and right before her death; a pair of glasses, her bronzed baby shoes, cards kept from holidays, and a few other (now sacred) seemingly insignificant keepsakes. / This box would not stop. I had to hide it, so the pull of it did not suck me down again into her ends. / This is a poem about that box. / A repost, as this was only the second poem I ever posted here and I wished it read. :)
Did you think sorrow was a tame kitten, / slipping silently into your lap, / kneading your belly until she has / settled like a heavy weight…
Leave my loneliness unbroken! – quit the bust above my door! / Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!’ / Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’ Edgar Allen Poe, The Raven The title comes from this line: Sorrow is not a raven perched persistently above a chamber door. Sorrow is a thing with teeth… Dean Koontz, The Good Guy p 249
CLAUSTROPHOBIC, / TRANSFIXED, / DELIRIOUS, / SPINNING IN A STROBE, / DROWNING IN THE LIGHT. / DREAMING STIGMATA, / ...
A FICTIONAL PIECE. / BUT SHIT HAPPENS!
When I left Lyric’s apartment, I felt like I was floating, as though some unseen force was propelling me forward. I didn’t want to awa…
In the future, I will only have three installments available to read at a time. Others will be available upon request. About Sojourner: He is unlike most adults in that he came to earth fully developed physically. However, he is an innocent because he hasn’t experienced many of the dark things that people usually experience growing up, because where he came from, there were none. These things only come when beings have free will. Therefore, everything he experiences brings him face to face with the reality that is human existence on planet earth. The good, the bad and the ugly. His question is not to be or not to be. He has chosen to be – to experience so completely and fully everything that human beings experience; to face it all head on, and forthrightly, and not to deny or shy away from any of it. Perhaps in this way, he is different than most humans. The few people that I have shared this story with assume that I am Sojourner. Yes, he is grappling with many of my ideas and he has my idealistic heart. However, I am much more jaded and cynical than he is. / It would be more accurate to say that he is the man that I would love to be, that I aspire to be. More on this later. ambient-1
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