Gloomy

To my darkest fear

In days of dark I dream of loneliness
In the light, I see her face.
Time moves slowly then,
But is limited, yet.

The thought is etched into me
Like a witch's curse
Her voice, though it calls,
When will it dim?

I awake to tired pictures,
To videos and notes that bleed.
I recall the times we had
And I see the light, once again.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Hello anyone listening, i'd like to tell a short story followed by a short poem. As much as it pains me to seem like your average young poet writer, I am an 18 year old man, and have suffered with many issues since I was a child. I have isolated myself from others, I wish to always be alone. I work a dead end job to make ends meet, I do not talk to employees, and they seem to enjoy it that way. I recently talked to a girl, she was nice, but it was clear she was different than the other faces I come across everyday, meaningless and odd as they seem. She seemed unhappy, though it was clear she wanted to seem otherwise. We talked, and though we have never said a word about it, we both have a similar outlook on life, we both disregard other people and similarly, don't seem able to understand ourselves despite it. But we understand each other. We both make sense to the alternate. I know I sound painfully like a child in love, trying to make sense of nonsense, but this feeling is meaningful to me. I don't mean to share my life story or anything, but lately, I wonder what is to become of us, and it has worried me. My dreams are unconventional, I see her beauty masked by the grip of death and darkness veiling her body, and i've turned to art to help me explain the reality of this to myself. Poetry has made me see the light in death, and unravel its' mysteries and monstrosities, so I wanted to write something, to give back to an art form which has graced my life, and to share it with the few that shall take the time to read and understand what I am trying to say. I don't do this for attention or fame, even the fun of it is in question of absolute, but it calms me, and I love to hear the stories of people with similar experience.

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For

This is for the one who never gets sleep at night.

This for the one who's always into fights.

This is for the one who never slipped a smile.

This is for the one who's been travelling for miles.

This is for the one who's still finding life's right track.

This is for the one who loves, but is never loved back.

Most importantly, this is for you.

I hope you had a bit of a clue.

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I Am A Dark Poet

Folder: 
Poems

I am a dark poet

nothing more, nothing less.

I will never experience

joy or happiness.

 

I write about suicide.

I write about murder.

I write about depression

and other subjects further.

 

Suicide on my mind

and death in my soul,

I wonder if I'll ever

be considered whole.

 

Everyday at school

a plastic smile on my face,

and you think Im happy

but that is not the case.

 

I am full of depression,

insecurity, and anger.

There is no possibility

of me being tamer.

 

Unless, of course,

I kill myself.

And put this life

up on the shelf.

 

Only then,

will I be at peace.

And safe,

from the world's pain, at least.

 

But Death may have something

in store for me when I die.

And I have no choice

but to sit there and not wonder why.

 

For if it is Hell,

then that's what I deserve.

And if it is Heaven,

the he's got some nerve.

 

For now I'm stuck here,

tortured everyday.

I need to kill myself,

it's the only way.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This one is pretty heavy, I wrote this when I was very depressed. Ironically, I wrote this in study hall 2 years ago and now I'm posting it on here while I'm in study hall. Any criticism is welcome and appreciated.

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June Dance

Folder: 
Endure

Wake up in the morning
To a gloomy sky
But listen to the sparrows chirping
It lifts the spirit high

Rain drench foliage so green
Freshen up day dreams
And here I sit to write
A few lines how it feels today in Berlin

Through the windows
Catch a glimpse
The cold wind spring and prance
Beckon, ‘Wake up, June let’s dance’

Author's Notes/Comments: 

The weather around here is gloomy and cold in June morning - it is supposed to be a warm and cosy summer but...!

Where am I?

Upon a night which I’ve reminisced about the lost fractions of memories gone astray
I felt the stench of loneliness and despair gnaw at my skin, and cast upon me stagnation
The twilight prevailing the resonance of lost fates twinkles upon my eyes, and wipes tears away
I dissolve further into the mysterious fluorescence of the night, and venture to unpredictability

The breeze of this wavering night whispers the voices of those whose silence has overtaken
It unravels the desideratum of the souls lost in the fabric of inexplicable misery, and the passions latent within
It screams out the genuinely expressed intuition who crave the embrace of true transcendence
It cries through the ripples of rain drops the tales of what could have been, of what should have been

The breaths associated with the pace of my walk slowly drifts into the mode of contemplation
I witness the slow wavering of the trees in the night, the tickling of the whispering wind crawling up my spine, the motion of car lights and objects into the fading distance, the flickering of the moon’s shine in the gloom of the night, the beats of my overwhelmed heart, and the thoughts racing through my head all at once, then I stand in awe and wonder,
Where am I?

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Hope you enjoy it :)

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White Ravens

 

We were walking down
a midnight road,
the stars were new
but now they're old.
He took my hand
and held it close.
The skies were bleeding,
raining ghosts.

I heard a single
shrill cry call,
the kind of call
that makes you fall
and slip into
the land beyond.
The dreaming land
of mist and cloud,
the hazy land
where hell-hounds are found.

He held my hand close
and I stayed on firm ground.
No slipping or falling,
no hell-hounds around.

We watched as a raven
flew past our heads,
calling and calling,
soon its voice will be dead.

But he held my hand close
and I stayed on firm ground.
No slipping or falling,
no hell-hounds around.

And the ravens, they gathered,
white ravens, They flew
just like bright ash
in a chimney flue.

The full moon rose high,
casting its shadow,
blinking its eye,
watching the ravens,
ravens, white ravens,
watching the ravens
crying their cry.

But he held my hand close
and I stayed on firm ground,
no slipping or falling,
no hell-hounds around.

The feathers, they fell
off the tails of the birds.
The feathers, they floated
away like my words.

And the midnight shadows
danced and they fell.
Were they running away?
I couldn't tell.

But he held my hand close,
still here on firm ground,
no slipping, no falling,
no hell-hounds around.

The ravens, they dived,
the ravens they dove,
ravens, white ravens,
right past my bones.

And they went straight for him,
eyes, red as blood,
and they continued to come,
pouring in like a flood.

And he fell and he fell,
And he rose and he rose.
But the ravens kept coming,
holding their pose.

I held his hand close,
but firm ground was long gone,
he was slipping and falling,
what could I have done?

He took one last breath
and said in my ear;
"I love you,
I love you,
please do not fear."

But the ravens were circling,
the ravens were there,
the ravens, white ravens,
how could they dare?

His hand, it was slipping,
falling and falling.
The ravens were done.
They'd finished their calling.

And though he was gone,
though the night faded to grey,
his words, they still lingered,
forever they'd stay.

I watched as the sun
Rose bright and round.
I wonder if it knew
that terror had come down.

As the dawn struck me,
as the clouds danced,
and the colours sung
I knew it was forever
that he'd be gone.

But his words were still there,
still inside my ear;
"I love you, I love you,
please do not fear."

And so I live on,
for every day
as long as I continue
to let those words play.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

NOT my perspective, just a fictional character but the meaning is real.