Lately I've Been Drinking Fear for Breakfast – A Poem by G. S. Katz
Sometimes I fear everything
It’s easier than having selective fears
Just throw the whole mess in a blender
Then drink it as a smoothie
fear poems
Summer – A Poem by Robin Wyatt Dunn
Bold man and bold news
take out the trash
watch the sky for wind
water the tomatoes.
Heat rises into the apartment
I keep busy on the computer.
Long loves rinse clear in years
my hands older than my face.
Break out the pitcher plant face
to catch flies
and liars
practice gritting your teeth.
Whatever war is coming is inside
more than any gun
I fear who I’ll become
in summer.
More at http://www.robindunn.com.
A Woman's Dream – A Poem by Raviera
To Whoever said come out of your dreams and live in the real
world…
Dreaming is the only time to feel real freedom…
I dream of a safe environment for my sisters and daughters.
I dream of freedom.
I dream of world where love and kindness is real.
I dream of a world where I can breathe freely.
I dream of a world where I am looked upon with respect.
I dream of a world free of envy, hatred and fear
A world of justice.
I dream, I dream and I dream…and…I wish my eyes never opened…
inspired by every woman’s dream…
Going In – A Poem by Marlena Nicole Guzman
That little room in the corner,
That little room where they hold your hand but move so quickly,
every time I enter a flush of fear runs into what I know is coming,
Swift,
It’s fast,
I cannot complain about their brevity,
they’re good and practiced but now it is my turn again,
again and again,
in and then done!
I always wake with the dizzy confusion but standing comfort that for
today…it is done,
what had brought me to this?
Electric shock for my mind but devastating trauma to my soul,
Until tomorrow then
Not to Begin | Daisy
the saddest tragedy
not able to even
take one step
to try to be something
you thought you
couldn’t
enjoy life at least some
never knowing what
might have been
or never was
because you
never tried
Through the Day | Sophia Masterson
what’s going to happen
tomorrow at work
what will people
think about my project
does anybody care
am i just someone
walking through
an apparition no one
sees and thus cannot
care about
do i matter in any way
will i fail miserably
will i be able to
make it through the day
Red Socks | Marilyn Dial
Those damn red socks
that stain a white wash
pink.
Not the color of
baby girl dresses
or ballet slippers
but pink,
Like the color of ribbons
and “save the tat tas” banners
and chemotherapy drinks
and Pepto Bismol
for stomachs that wrench
in fear at each new cough
and each new pain.
A red sock dyes
like a drop of blood
on a 12 year old’s panties
and alters her dreams
from the science of physics
to the science of stains
on her favorite sheet set
and the blood of birthing.
A red sock taints
like a cruel word spoken
in a lover’s exchange,
the rosy vision
of first romance spoiled
by mistrust’s tinge.
I hate red socks
and collateral damage
that forever sullies
the pure intention
of anti-terror campaigns,
the blood of children
whose dreams are forever
altered.
No bleach, no Neverland,
no kiss, drug or media spin
can void the dye
of a red sock that worms
through a load of white wash.
The Grand Sky | Vera Ashton
She looks up at the sky,
And I never felt so high.
No drugs,
No thugs,
Nothing could compare,
to this feeling, oh! so rare!
The freedom given back to me,
As I flee,
From your misery.
The anxiety pushed out of me,
As I glee,
At your melancholy.
You’ve missed your chance,
And now,
You’re missing me.
Meaningless | Chris Way
Can I squeeze the words out that describe what I feel
The sounds heard and vocabulary real
Is it not a struggle to pour myself out
Like a fluid I fill my vessel without a doubt
The noises made have to be trained to mean
Filling the paper for others to have seen
So in my shop I sit quietly waiting
What to do and where to go is what I’m debating
The world is open and free for me to adventure in
Filled with fires and drinking and all the deadly sins
The sun is setting for the night to begin
And as it does my face grows a grin
My demons are waiting for my arrival
I’ll be alone and hardly recognizable
I’ll be covered in the ash that was left from being burned
This whole lifetime is something to be learned
The fires weren’t bad and created a new
The morphing of the molecules given new views
Now the cycle is dormant waiting to start again
These words are meaningless and this is the end
Dark Poem and or Lecture; I'm Starting to Think Some of the World's People Lack Something; Don't Know We Hate Our Madness, Darkness, a Poem, or Lecture | L Lawliet
I often realize this throughout my 23 years alive, what seems like many other lifetimes, past live’s in the world of people, humankind as a whole seem not to reach out to others they don’t get to know the real person behind what they show others they could be angry at the world or at people or at family or the past.
For example we, human or not, fear our own madness monsters, darkness but some of us still, with people surrounding us, get lost from time to time, forget who those people are, sometimes feel like them or the world is against us all so we, in our own ways, hide, fight them, grow to love what we hate in our selves, see cold hatred stared in the eyes of the people like what is this freak, like you’re not human anymore.
It’s like we’re standing alone on the edge of long high 1000 or a 100,000,000 foot cliff slowly being pushed over while that stuff we hate, our hatred, our madness, that monster inside is not human anymore as it would seem as we age, grow older, either can’t run away from or get away from, either hide or escape it.
We seem to forget as humans or non-humans that we all have something, we need a helping hand to let us know there are people in the existing hell-hole of a world we either see as friend foe or both, we truly can’t decide due to the illogicial method of wanting to exam, observe people’s every nature, mannerism, action, behavior, body language, gesture, humans studied to the fullest.
We unusually remember the face they hide behind, assume it’s fine while deep inside they’re scared, looking for the help they seek, can’t find but often lack the means to save themselves but look strong on the outer but not the inner.
There, screaming SOMEONE, ANY ONE, PLEASE HELP IN BLOODY TEAR-FILLED EYES.
They don’t know who or what will save them; they try everything, just get more lost, can’t find a light close enough to see anymore so we either see a hand, know it’s a hand or madness, hatred grab, slowly gradually pull us over the cliff, edge grasping to take us into itself, make us become it, we think it’s that same madness, hate, smack it away, try to run.
Though if you truly wish to save, help people, reach out to them no matter how they look, think, act, talk, dress, conduct themselves, how wise or dumb they can or could be, how different they might be, the world peace breed fear, hatred that’s the madness that becomes our own darkness that pulls us over the edge; so which are you, are we, is the world, am I; you decide, help, or hinder; keep me in the light finally, save us all, myself, or leave me to wonder when I
‘ll be saved, me as a whole, the whole world.
So, next time ask which you are truly through meditation or self discovery; ask, are you the man or the monster.
More at http://lrueryuzaki.deviantart.com/journal/dark-and-or-lecture-433491254.