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Literature Text
This isn't my
car accident,
you know.
Bent fenders,
shattered window,
dented bumpers,
weeping willow…
It’s A-Okay-
it’s not my car!
The company
owns the tie bar,
not me.
Broken femur,
open wound,
shaken dreamer,
bleeding noses…
It’s A-Okay-
these aren't my kids!
The school system
raises eyelids,
not me.
Aimless driving,
reckless boldness,
lifeless corpses,
fading conscious…
It’s A-Okay-
it’s not my life!
Everything’s done
by my tight-knit
community.
Nothing is my
responsibility
where there’s seven
billion just like me…
A few might care
about the words in me,
but I’m a cell
to the social body.
If all is one,
we’re all at fault;
this car-wreck life
grinds to a halt.
Literature
On rainy days...
I look out the window and see the liquid drops
I hear the soothing sounds that calms my thoughts
It helps my feather heart to keep its strength
As long I keep my conscious clear my faith won’t go away
Because these are the days when I wonder the most
About my life choices and all I ever hope
The rain keeps my sanity from being overthrown
By anything troublesome and keep a peaceful tone
Literature
Replaceable.
Replaceable.
They wanted a no hoper.
Someone they could fold and mould to their liking
And with him being a self perpetuating loner.
The situation seemed too compellingly inviting.
They took advantage of his good nature.
They kept adding to his already overflowing plate
And they were not the type to ever return the favour.
He saw this transaction as a contraction of them becoming mates.
They would lie to his face and talk behind his back.
Setting him tedious tasks that were initially refused by others.
This then artfully allowed them to dart off track and slack.
Why is it that the insecure and pure are the ones that suffer?
And when he w
Literature
The Only Way
When I took this path
I knew not where it led
I followed it steadily
Not watching where I stepped
But what seemed strait was twisted
And though the path seemed light
Darkness hid roots and rocks
Shadows blocked my eyes
And onward I stumbled
Till, crippled by the path
I cannot find my way
Back to where I've been before
And now alone I find myself
Where nothing more can grow
No paths divulge in front of me
There is only one way to go
The path suddenly seems narrow
Closed in on all sides
Claustrophobic I am sickened
And now I cannot breath
The path ahead is blackened
And nothing good can come
Of following it forever
But it
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Original idea: A poem about irresponsibility.
Result: A poem about irresponsibility, but with plenty of subtext to dissect and discuss.
Final Thoughts: Human Nature? Sociopolitical? Horror? Narrative? I'm sticking this one in General Poetry...
The second poem in the deviously-acclaimed "Loud Enough" collection.
Previous:
Next:
Result: A poem about irresponsibility, but with plenty of subtext to dissect and discuss.
Final Thoughts: Human Nature? Sociopolitical? Horror? Narrative? I'm sticking this one in General Poetry...
The second poem in the deviously-acclaimed "Loud Enough" collection.
Previous:
Diamond GirlI’m looking for a
shining star-
one all will perceive
from afar
Not without blemish,
but on par-
just seeming perfect
from afar
Oh, diamond girl
lost in the darkness-
prove to the world
your fabled toughness!
I’m looking for a
role model-
of resilience
to idol
Not without a scar,
yet vital-
with intelligence
to idol
Oh, diamond girl
drowning in our hate-
prove to the world
we determine fate!
I’m looking for a
miracle-
an excitement to
chronicle
We’re frozen like a
Popsicle-
static values I
chronicle
Oh, diamond girl
with knowledge of love-
prove to the world
how to rise above!
Next:
ThinkerHe once was told
“Don’t be naïve!”
and ever since
he did conceive
that based on what
he could perceive
there’s nothing for
him to believe,
so the thinker thought
of what he had
to know.
He once was told
“Don’t be so weird!”
and ever since
he always feared
dying alone
because he neared
the foreign path
from which he veered,
so the thinker thought
of how he had
to grow.
He once was told
“Don’t be content!”
and ever since
he became bent
on proving truth
as different
from all the lies
that we invent,
so the thinker thought
of what he had
to show.
With heart bleeding
and unbelieving,
he was buying
common thinking-
never stopping,
never asking
about meaning
for his living,
so the thinker thought
and thought
and thought
and thought
to the death.
© 2013 - 2024 goldshroom
Comments5
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Nice. You make the argument a lot better than people who are paid to do so. Keep it up.