no regrets



who cares if there 

are flowers on my corpse 

if I'm dead?

if love is your intent

then bring me

some good memories

and things you learned 

to make your life easier

and more worth living.

wrap it up in a rusted coffee can

from some dark alley where babies lie in dumpsters

and place it somewhere all can see and be comforted

that someone thought about them, and cared

about why their lives ended, and tried to understand

not to punish, but to prevent it.


give me life in my death,

and not sorrow for

what you forgot to do

or not do, to prevent 

yourself from being hurt

on the day I leave here.

funerals are for the ones who are left here,

because the only thing I intend 

to leave you after material possessions

are divied out,

is the same thing since the day 

I first looked in your eyes,

the gratitude for having shared moments together.

we have all been dying since the day we were born,

and if we arrive at our final resting place in peace,

and not at the hands of violence,

then we have been granted more than enough

to say we have been blessed.

I spend my days now thinking what a beautiful soul you are.


5:35 PM 8/4/2013 ©

inspired by http://www.postpoems.org/authors/huliganfish/poem/964713




Our experiences of pain are as worthy of validation as are our experiences of love and joy. One big error that people make is to repress and ignore the pain.  They do not realise that when they do this, they repress much of the joy and love with it.  Everyone's childhood is full of joys and sorrows, whether they acknowledge it or not.  When we can grow to accept both together as part of our reason for existence is when we begin to live in abundance.  The stages of deep trauma surface each individual in their own unique way.  There is no deadline in transcending the past, only inevitable changes that will occur due to how we choose to embrace or postpone the realities of how we allowed it to affect our personal power.











View nightlight1220's Full Portfolio

Installed Perception

My style is real life but you ain't gotta make a choice,

I'm shading in the blanks with the sound of my voice,

I speak on some real shit, not just boasting about dollars,

letting loose some stories about the blue collars.

This ones for the people punching the clock twice a day,

barely sliding by from there measly ass pay,

hardworking motherfuckers who deserve another raise,

who get talked down to and deal with it anyway.

Cuz they know no other way, they all got plenty to say,

on holidays theyre working cuz the bills force them to stay.

They make this world tick but somehow go unnoticed,

I'll give you some facts in case you didn't know this,

this world likes to glorify the rich and the famous,

it's all over TV our whole lives can you blame us?

For wantin to grow up and live like a baller,

we believed money brought  happiness and shrunk problems smaller, but some lessons can only be learned with experience,

your advice to me will hardly ever make sense,

until I go through it and afterwards shake my head,

if I would have just listened to what my parents said.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Hit me with some feedback if you have any, thanks!!

View freshheirlyrics's Full Portfolio


I am tired and need much-needed rest
Peace, love and undisturbed care.
I do not want to think at all
About anything -- I need the best
Of all that a loving woman can spare.
I have been toiling and working hard
In everything I did I put all my heart
I even loved as best as I could
The fairest 'Marian' of my 'Sherwood'.
My bold and daring beautiful 'Jane'
While I was her 'Tarzan' in the game
We played in between school and home
Life went on till she too left me 'lame'.
I do not know Fate Writer's mysteries
Why my first love still haunts my brain!
I am now loved by a model of femininity
Endowed even with rare inner beauty.
Her love for me is like a mythical tale
Inspired and written at the Muses Vale.
I have suffered a lot for many folks
Sacrificed my youth to cunning strokes.
Now I am distraught and left with the option
To destroy evil and end it all like Samson.
Or to pray to my Maker to ease my stay
And give me a bed made of love's hay.
And ample provision of manna and dew
(I am not thankless like the Biblical Jew).
All I need is freedom from worry
Peace, rest and love till eternity.
What more can my worn-out self want
Save love and care which He can grant.
Like I told you before, I am tired to the core
And may turn invisible and be seen no more...
Like my old poet friend Alexander Po'e
Vanish from those I don't want to know...
(Written by Muhammad Naveed Ahmed/Emmenay. Posted on the 4th of September, 2011).

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This poem was composed sometime during the moments of my grief and sorrow on losing my beautiful Daphne John -- my schoolmate and unforgettable first love. I have revised it and posted it here today. I did not hint anywhere about you in my poem "Action and Reaction" my poetess friend Melissa Lundeen. Mistake me not. And what I did with the young brat (You know who) is something he asked for...No decent man in his right mind and in his thirties talks to a decent lady like you even in his poetic dreamy ways. So he needed the lesson. Poppy is a wonderful poetess and a gem of a person at heart. I don't care what the jerks think of her but she is my friend and I will be loyal to her as a true friend must...that is it! Am I not the same "Strange Man" you often mention I am? Then worry not. All is fine. Peace!

View emmenay's Full Portfolio

Dancing trees and Forest Sprints

Perhaps it is not wise of me,
So pardon me if I do sound odd,
I cannot control my enthusiasm,
Life is seeming queer,
Oblivion in front of me,
Chaos to my right,
Years leaping through thoughts
Back to where I’ve been,
Interesting that I had not known,
Never suppose what you acknowledge.

View opensesame123's Full Portfolio


There was a time
When harsh winds howled
And the night breeze sighed:
When deep within something grew
And withered
To grow again...
I used to stand in awe
Wondering and perplexed
Why some things
Never remained the same
Even sometimes...
Now nothing affects me
Neither joy or sorrow
For I have come to know
The futility of this world
And its self-worshipping people.
I mingle not too much
With those who know little
And think they know all...
Instead of them I visit the saints
The sufis and the mystics
The gypsies and all those
Who like me
Are fed up of this
"Sorry scheme of things..."
But for a wound
Caused by a flower
I bother not or feel for
Even fame or power...
I wait for the time
When my Almighty
Proves once again
That He is my beloved He.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Like I have mentioned before, a few days ago, I have been through a series of deceptions and backstabs, by those who I thought would never do it to me -- the pain, aches and sorrows, the grief, the restlessness and the angst they inflicted on me, for no fault of mine other than telling them to be good. However, I have left it to God Almighty now, for He is the best of judges.

View emmenay's Full Portfolio