No Reason to wonder, I'm all alone.

This place my prison, so long ago my home.

Endless heart break, this my legacy remains.

A sea of tears my companion only, the ghosts of memory know my name.

Once a happy youth, a summer of love.

Now a forgotten face. A seemless shadow.

These words you dont hear, just a whisper of my pain.

Of course you ingnore them, to you its all the same.

A slipping daily rhythm, that you are hardly even aware of.

A guilt of rememberance of life you no longer live.

This is my journey, here shall it end.

One day you like the others will forget easy as sin.

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A Foot is to a Shoe, As A...

Writing in the dark night,
He could only think--
When he was alone--
On what to write next.

Completed at last;
An equation for the max--
For speed, and power--
She was quite satisfied.

He spoke to the crowd--
Only did they not know;
He was nervous in a single--
conversation; still he moved them.

She saw all things;
And that is what she did;
Knowing well--
Painting them into forever.

World champion he is--
Fighter of such skill--
Just the right spot--
Nothing impossible in his space.

She charmed everyone she met--
Thinking she'd do great in a speech--
She broke down--
Shaking uncontrollably.

And forever,
There is infinite stories--
I couldn't tell you all--
There is to know.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Ooh. Ahh.

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My Addictions are My Life

As he did,
Entirely on what--
that is, desires.

Love, it was,
For some, and for he.
And that is,
All we can do.

Live for what is;
That is--What makes us live.
That's all there is to it,
And as such, you must.

Once he realized,
She realized,
And together they were,

Their life taken,
Because another's life,
Another's life is crime,
And only that.

Captured was that another,
For there is one that lives--
To protect all.
And that one lives for justice.

The circle of what is;
Life and living for life,
That a lie, for we live for
What makes us live.

And so he said upon all,
"My addictions are my life."

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I love music.

But that has nothing to do with this poem.
Maybe. =)

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Entirely Full of Music

We can realize one thing--
Through all the knowledge we know--
We can perceive sounds as color--
And color as sounds.

And who could imagine--
That something else could be--
Something else entirely--
To someone else.

Is it possible,
Do you know,
If you could feel,
The entire world--

Entirely of Music?

We play games,
Instruments and devices,
We mock ourselves,
In a grim way--

Music is every emotion possible.

Or is it?

Could it be--
Everything we see--
Everything we feel--
Everything we are--

Is that of a note?

Go, and find out;
We should discover this truth;
And unfortunately;
We can never validate it.

Accept it--
Reality is our own.

Author's Notes/Comments: 


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For What Little Bit is Left

The music plays,
and then it comes,
the bands of unity disrupted,
And all is quiet now.

The colors fade,
The interlace gone,
Falling apart,
Into isolation.

Hands of lovers,
Apart forever,
'Til death do we part,
And it's all gone.

Settle on the bottom,
Purity is again,
The water finds itself,
Alone again.

The bonds that once held,
Are fallen away,
What once was,
Is no longer.

So we find that time,
Is the only thing,
That defeats everything--
Even all of our love.

Author's Notes/Comments: 


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So it's Death that Takes Me

Excuse me while I drink this water,
Such a fancy wine it is,
Along with this pill,
That offers no cure.

Examine, and reexamine.
There's nothing wrong.
What is it?
All in the mind.

Nothing satisfies--
In fact, who cares?
That's a controversy on its own.
Love is the only thing worth living for;

The only thing worth dying for.

So one may find themselves in these catacombs--
Such as it were,
Welcome to my abode,
If I knew the meaning of joy;

Joy that is.

If I want to die,
It seems to ever long ago,
And now it seems I want to,
And without a will--

How could I try?

It's so simple to fall into instincts,
And become pure apathy.
That is everything,
And everything is fallen within.

After all this living, I find nothing brings it--
Joy, of course--
So what does?
And that would be Death.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I just.

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By Muriel Palanca

I sit on steps of stairs so cold

Everything is silent

The world's put on hold

I see not a star

Just an endless black sky

It slowly moves closer

But it passes me by

I feel no more sadness

I feel no more pain

I can't say I'm happy

It's hard to explain

no one will touch me

If they do I won't care

they can hug me or beat me

All i'll do is stare

I won't stop and embrace them

I won't fight to the end

I won't call them my enemy

I won't call them my friend

I can hear no more voices

Not a songs melody

I don't stop to think

There's nothing to see

I don't wish I could live

I dont wish I were dead

I'm somewhere between

There are no thoughts in my head

I don't see my future

I don't remember my past

I'm certainof nothing

I wont take a chance

I can't feel my body

My flesh is so numb

I'm drifting away

And yet I'm not done

I dont care anymore

For what others say

They can try to insult me

Any way which way

The bonds that have held me

Are letting me go

I'm free

And yet I'm the one saying no

My shell is so empty

It feels lighter than air

I'm missing my soul

It like I'm not even there

No one can find me

If I call they wont come

No one can come save me

Because I'm so numb

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I got the Inspiration for this poem from an experience I had at a dance. There was a really terrible slow song and i didn't want to look like an idiot just standing there while everyone else couple danced. So, i went outside and sat on the steps with one of my friends. It was crisp and cold outside and the stars were really beautiful. And it helped that i wasn't feeling miserable all by myself. Plus we each learned a little bit more about each other.

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Katana of life

Older stuff

Swing, the lost blade has no accuracy in the yeilding light. Contact is made to the skin, but not of the enemy. Flesh wound, sever pain to enscribe the loss of ones own mental capacity. Think hard and sink into the inevitable loss of sympathy and gradual emotions to feel the things that are no longer yours. Dont take chances with the shielded warriors, they are impossible to penetrate so dont try to break down their mental barriers. Concentrate on the focusing blade still in offensive position...the sword is drawn to the neck of the false hopes of the misleaded warrior, for he has lost his mind to happyness and doesn't see the bittersweet reality to life, one swing and an intimidating stance has left him to fall to the ground, cold and lifeless...with a smug look of self satisfaction and the accomplishment now carried on your shoulder...eyes piercing the cold night only to see the other side of darkness, and embrace what life has left to give because over-confidence is a trait only those with many weaknesses can pull off so amazingly in-sync to the last move. Liars get caught in there own web of lies and are left to die even when their best of friend are to walk by. The last move is a simple stab, to the man of no potential, the one guy who's very usefullness can be compared to that of an amoeba. You laugh as you sheath your blade, and continue your walk of pride carrying your two accomplishments as a gift from the war of life.

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Individuality Within

So we're composed like an instrument--
One that is compelled to copy itself--
Make itself better--
And be forever.

How to, what is,
That is what we are to.
I find we're all the same--

Inevitably, nothing ever can be that;
Exactly that;
The same;
One and true.

I grow tired--
Do you?
Because I reminded you are.

We are the same--
A design of molecules--
But so different,
And how?

That of which we think,
a soul,
Does it reside?
And that is, one question.

Finding tastes of the fruit of all,
From all that is existence,
And we find everything inside,
If we inquiry of ourselvs.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

And I forgot the original poem.


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