lonely hearts

eyes deceive, what you cannot see.
Simple lies, that play hide and seek,
who can tell? Sweet lies hide, and show another side,
I'm lonely, but who can see?
The fire that burns the brightest light,
first to dim under pale moonlight.
Hearts that cry, lost in solitude,
trapped in time, waiting to see light,
fortified in dreams,
A million lonely hearts,
crying in the night, longing in the dark...

Author's Notes/Comments: 

this poem kind of has a lot of meaning to me, because I wrote this a long time ago in a old scrap book I had, kept it ever since, means a lot because it describes my feelings at the time I guess :(

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I feel my skin, my crawling flesh,
A smell so sweet, a touch too soft,
A hand too meagre, a foot too delicate,
A pain deep within, a fire inside,
But hollow and empty, drained to the core.

My heart is wrenching, falling apart,
Cheekbones to bright, a jaw not square,
A voice too sharp, the sound of despair,
Being pulled in all directions, waning to die,
My bones in the wrong order, body curved not flat,
The agony on my chest, the grimace between my legs.

Not being seen right, trying to scream,
Breaking my heart, as they look away,
No attraction, not even existing,
I am one of them, as if they care,
My dominance succumbs me, but my lack of tools declare.

My need screeching, my rejection answering,
Dreaming of pressing our bodies together, mine fitting wrong,
Our hands as one, a connection denied,
A life out of touch, a soul locked away,
Being unwanted, ignored even hated,
Being born in the wrong body, being told not to live.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A poem about being born into the wrong body.

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The Truth That Hurts

The words that cannot come
to me so that I
may tell you why we have

I can’t tell you that we got
too close too fast.
I can’t tell you, I just can’t
because the truth would
hurt you too much.

I love you so much but I’ve
become bored and annoyed
with your narrow-mindedness,
your mocking comments
and your selfish desire to crush my spirit
(to make me a numb, dull sheep like you).

I just can’t tell you the truth.

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EIN mBassador fur den frieden

F riend aller

Z est furs leben

Ein mmer pflege

L iebe fur mitmenschen



A mbassador

F riend of all

Z est for life

A lways caring

L oe for fellow-men

(c) copyright heather burns

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my cousin has a bachelors degree
but can't find a job
in the paper, yesterday
an educated man
was reduced, felt, forced to rob
survival of the fittest, you say
survival of the richest, I say
on the poorer, we prey
for the poorest, we pray
physically, out of shape
or with a light wallett
I see struggle
whichever, you call it
both struggle, with all their might, 
A devoted follower, following the rules
NOW!, struggling to do what's right
defined is economy
the management of the resources 
of a community, country, etc
WE! Did, what was right
BUT! Look where it lead ya
Author's Notes/Comments: 

FEEL FREE TO ADD TO THIS POEM AND LET'S SEE WHAT THIS WILL BECOME. Also, you can email me as well, so , we can work on this together

Why I Write

I write for the readers,
The wanderers,
The dreamers,
The ones who see with their minds.

I write for those who hope,
Those who wish,
Those who wonder.

Sometimes I write for the mad;
The ones who see things differently,
The ones who aren't afraid of the unknown,
The ones who dream by day.

I write for the poets,
The authors,
The wannabes.

I write for myself,
For my insane beliefs,
For my wandering mind,
An outlet for my thoughts.

I write for the singers,
Those who aways hear songs,
Those who can make music with anything,
Those who dance to unheard beats.

I write for the optimists,
Those who see only beauty,
Those who hear only wonderment,
Who feel only hope,
Who seek the brightness.

I write for the pessimists,
Those who see the darkness,
The ones who hear the cries,
Who wish they could hope,
Who cling to the shadows.

I'm stuck in the middle.

I don't write for publishers,
Unless they really hear me,
Unless they see my voice,
Unless they understand.

I write for the minority,
Those who don't follow the crowds,
The rebels,
The fighters.
I write for the strong-willed,
The ones who don't give up,
The ones who stick to their beliefs,
Who never back down.

I don't write what others want me to write,
I write what's in my mind,
I'll write what I want to write,
I'll write for the sake of writing.

I write for the sun and the moon,
The stars and the clouds,
The trees and the flowers,
The forest and the ocean,
The desert and the grasslands.
I won't write for the city,
I won't praise tree-chopping,
I won't praise the pollution,
I won't praise the destruction.
I write for the world.
I won't write for its death.

Writing on the spot,
Planning nothing out,
Just writing,
Letting my fingers type,
My mind spell out the words.
I'm in a trance,
I always am.

Nothing on my mind,
Music in my ears,
Letting everything fade away,
Zoning out,
Leaving the world
If only for a moment.

I write for the dreamers,
The ones who wish,
The ones who wonder,
The ones who dream by day,
The ones who read and read,
Maybe they write,
Maybe they feel the world's heartbeat beneath them.

I write for those who see what's not there,
I write for those who hear the ever-present music,
I write for those who dream.
Because the world could use some dreamers.
Only dreamers can see.
Everyone else is blind.

I write because I write.
To make the world slow down.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is why I write.

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Can't Rhyme Inspiration



Can't Rhyme Inspiration

Nothing rhymes with inspiration.
Well, yes, I know that's not true,
I know there's many words out there
but my mind isn't working right.

Writer's block,
the dreaded disease.
I can't write a thing,
a word is just a word today,
ain't got a single meaning.

Nothing rhymes with inspiration,
nothing at all today.
Nothing in my mind is clicking,
I just can't write that poem.

I scan the world outside my window,
looking for that simple word
that's stuck behind my mind.
I just can't see that light.

My mind is running far too slow,
the time keeps ticking by.
Why can't I remember?
Why can't I think?
Nothing's flowing right.

Nothing rhymes with inspiration
so I rest my head against the wall
and sigh with deep exasperation-

-My writer's block just ended.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Just a little poem about those days where you can't even make the simplest words rhyme. Writer's block, my long-time enemy.

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Written in a Geneva:

Switzerland Churchyard  


Ugonna Wachuku


A dirge and epilogue is sung for me
on your fleeing island of uninterested
unavailability. The owl hoots no more
on moonlit nights of home.  


Biblical Zacchaeus and Matthew: Oh!
Little me: "pass me not O gentle
Saviour..." Green pastures abound.
My peace unbound. Your island is
so real. The bridge stands no more
on humane pathway to landscapes. Kai!
Your island is so real, daughter of
the Almighty Creator.


Pathway to landscapes: The eagle I am
must soar this new day to welcoming
mountain-tops to view, one last time,
your pathway to landscapes.


At the stroke of midnight, this blessed
new day, I will depart your island of
unavailability; and sail for the high
seas. My smiling ship is created. The
wind from others beckons. Pines of home
whistle. The rainbow awaits. My simple
ship is set to sail; and I must bid you
farewell in God's care. I invite thee
no more on earthly footpaths. Oh!
Epitaph! This Epitaph! Would that
I wrote thee not; or perhaps
forgotten my lines on this
strange stage through life.


Heaven's gardens: Remember, when we
finally meet there, I am  the bald
Eagle that tarried for years on your
unfeeling island of unavailability :-
made whole with heavenly bounties in
His soul saving bossom.


AH! Epitaph! This farewell! This glad
dirge sung for me! This epilogue! Oh!
Little me. The owl hoots no more on
moonlit nights of home because this
glad dirge is sung. This emerald
epitaph all for you to set me freeee!
Heaven's gardens and meadow sea
shores. I set sail at midnight