[x]

I Am a WriterI am a writer.
Yes, it’s easy for me to fall into a dream.
But there is nothing wrong with being tighter
With a story’s theme.

I am a writer.
That is all I will ever want to be
In the end, my story will be lighter,
And my characters will finally be free.

I am a writer.
There is nothing easier to say than that.
I will never let a story wither
Nor let a story fall flat

I am a soon to be author.
With several books ready to be read,
I want them to have great honor
And wish there will be tears shed.

To HooverHoover state: waking up to sleep
because that’s all I’m good for;
out of work, out of time again
and my brother won’t spare a dime.

Blanket sweat reminds me of this
Hoover state: waking up to sleep
in depressions of this planet;
the moon weeps for me in daytime.

I yank my pockets out, like it's
my country's flag; punch-line of the
Hoover state: waking up to sleep
in my sagging skin on decline.

I've no penny to my name,
jumping out the window (one
last time) makes me worth more in this
Hoover state: waking up to sleep.

Twinkle StarTwinkle twinkle little star
Noone cares just who you are
When you fall the fall is far
Twinkle twinkle superstar.

The Soldier's Letter To HomeI write this from my death bed
My eyes fading in the light
Drowned in crimson red,
Drowned in shaking fright.
The enemy has won
The war now has ended
And though killed by my son
May his sins be ammended.
For this is Civil War
I cannot change the tide
So from you I implore
Do what is right.

Bury me somewhere nice
Near, and fair to look at
And forgive my son his sins;
For in war, no one wins.

Take Death's HandI do not fear Death.
My life has been long enough.
It's time I take my last breath.
I shall not rebuff.
Death stands by my side,
his hand extended for me to take.
His face is veiled like that of a bride.
This life I now forsake
as Death takes me away.
I do not regret
for I am free of the fray.
Please do not fret
for I am okay.

Continuous VoicesIt all began when I was ten
I found what lingered in my head disturbing
And it wasn’t until I grabbed a pen
And saw what truly lingered when I began writing.

There were continuous voices within my head
I was not one to favor them dead
Although, they had violet images attached
The way I wrote them matched.

Since then, the voices have changed
Octaves have risen and lowered
Their words have exchanged
And eventually became uncensored.

These continuous voices have brought war
Ones with an uprising roar
And at moments I want to kill the sound
For they are so profound.

Yet, they continue to crescendo
And welcome me to a hidden story
And so

Aur si plumbUn gând de aur, dar se simte
mai greu ca un pumnal de plumb
ce intră-n coaste, se învârte,
și caută să iasă prin minte...
Stilou de aur, scrie versuri,
dar lasă urme ca de plumb,
pe foi mânjite de cerneală,
și de cafea, și alte resturi...

Un glonţ de aur, dar se simte
mai tandru ca o zi de plumb,
îl pun aici, închid capacul,
și ca un gând, îl scot prin minte.

EndlingHere am I, the captive thylacine
Treading my tiger-striped, ungainly way
Around the metal-mesh confinement of my cage
Here am I, exhibited, exhumed
Brought from the brink to pace another day
A living testament, a final thumbmarked page
Here am I, the only specimen
Bereft of mate, of pups, of kin, of kind
Watching the claws of history extending
Here am I, the final thylacine
The only one, the last, the lost, the endling.

~Evil creatures~

They're evil creatures in the night
Lurking in the shadows but still seeing there sight
From they're pale skin and glowing eyes
Out there graves they will rise
Moaning and groaning is what you hear
Your body will soon fill with fear

They walk or run in a fast pace
Here they come for the chase
Get ready for the fear
Coming through the door they are here
Board up the windows to keep them away
This is the place you don't want to stay

It's too late now they're breaking in
It's a fight you may not win
Grab you shotgun prepare for the fight
This battle may last all night
Pain and blood come from your arm
A bite from these creatures can cause muc

ContrariwiseSilly little Alice,
Forget all you thought you knew,
For deep inside your head,
Everything is all askew.

If they tell you that one plus one,
Equals twelve and half, my dear,
Don't worry yourself about it,
For two is so last year.

Don't even try to be different,
Or it'll be "Off with her head!",
And you'll find it's better to live a lie,
Than it is to end up dead.

So heed this socially accepted advice,
Ditch any scraps of your insanity,
To cavort with the Hare in March,
Join the Hatter for a cup of tea.

Fritter your days away,
Dancing under a Cheshire moon,
Don't mind the surrounding chaos,
Ignore impending doom.

But even as you join in

Who Was HeHe stood at the average height for men.
His built was quite average.
His eyes were that of cyan.
Nonetheless, he was average.

His hair was that of blonde,
Nearly, white.
His walk and personality had a great bond.
He was a confident sight.

His skin was a delicate peach.
His muscles were quite firm.
So irresistible, a teasing reach.
His appearance had its own term.

One that the dictionary cannot confirm.

Who was he?
That man with his own sea?
He was one without a name.
His appearance was a taunting game.
He was one without a number for an age.
Forget it, he’s fake on this page.

SuicideThere's no blood on her hands
Bullet holes in the door
Nothing but colored pills
And her lying on the floor

You look at her face
There's despair in her eyes
And you wonder what she thought
As she fell and died

And maybe you're begging her to come back
And maybe you're asking why she let go
The hurt in your chest feels like a heart attack
And now you finally know

Maybe you could've helped her
If you'd looked past your own nose
Maybe she'd be alive now
You had a chance, this is what you chose
Now maybe you'll learn from things
That you didn't see
Maybe you'll open your eyes
And rescue him, or her, or me
Maybe she cried a prayer
For the oth

WarWhen stories of battle are shared,
They are full of fame and glory.
No one knows what war really holds,
That is, until they hear this story.
At first there is much excitement,
Your chance to be a hero.
Then homesickness begins to set in,
The sorrow makes you feel like zero.
Then the supplies get cut off,
Your stomach cries out for food.
It rains then it droughts, and then you want out,
You'd laugh at your situation but you're not in the mood.
No sanitation, no garbage cans,
You are living in human waste.
The tents are torn up, the beds full of lice,
You wish you were in a different place.
Then you finally go to fight,
This is your chance to prove yourself.
All your comrades are shot down,
So much for fame and wealth...
Cleaning up the bodies,
Of those who used to be your friends.
Not even time for a proper burial,
Too many injuries to attend.
Then there's the sneak attack,
You are all caught by surprise.
A brutal, bloody, massacre,
A bullet between your eyes.
In this little game o

One WindowOne window is all I need
To see the world for what it truly is
With my mind a system of creed.
My talent can depict or dismiss
This world of goals, so hear my heed.

I sit down beside a journal,
My fingers clutching a pencil.
I will make my character’s life spiral
And send them off to a council
Where they must advance through the next trial.

One window is all I need
To watch them afar a long, hazy field,
Where I can study their speed
Of understanding when they will yield
Of life, itself, so they need to hear my heed.

My character’s goal,
As well as mine,
Is to be whole
And see how bright life can shine
Even through the darkness

Oh, Holy FatherOh, Holy Father above, please hear me tonight,
Give me the strength to continue the fight
Against the evil that lies within my heart –
Purify me, let me bleed and tear me apart.
Cleanse me, I beg of you, set my soul free
From the demons that have such a hold on me.
I am a man, a mere mortal, dedicated and just,
I steer clear from sinners and am not swayed by lust.
I am loyal and honest and faithful and true,
And, in my time of need, I turn to you.
I am wounded and broken and on my knees, I pray,
Save me before the sun greets another day.
Protect me from the darkness, let my torment end,
So I can be your Man of God once again.

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Love/Music/Art/MathI don't understand these numbers,
Flashing powers in my head
Their mystery
Lends credibility
to their encrypted beauty

I know they all mean something
It's just a language I can't speak
A parabola I can't escape
With my current velocity

I need you to translate it for me so I can understand
as fluently as I understand the lines in the graph of the palm of your hand

I'm in awe of how they paint a picture:
An art spoken not in words
But quantities
Of quantifiable data
And other qualities
unheard

They sing the song
I hear with my eyes
Wrap my brain in your enigma
my brain does not compute the logistics of a world
Where Irr

Deus Ex MachinaThe world was void and cold
You filled it with your presence
I felt so tired and old
but you breathed life into my essence
We came together and now we're one
let nothing tear us asunder
With you, my life has just begun
finally, I live- in awe and wonder

you're all that I've been waiting for
when I'm filled with hope, you give me more
I've shed that old life like worn-out clothes
and in this new one, my light grows

I always knew I was betrothed to you
at last, we can elope
now my sight is clear and new
as if through a telescope

Before this new life of mine came into existence
The Reaper sent his Death to find me, and I showed

UnattendedA mommy, depressed
A dad, unaffected
A house, uncleaned
A child, neglected

A water bowl empty
Plants that are dying
Needing attention,
The child keeps on trying

Mommy and daddy are there but not there
and in their silence are lying,
Because only the child
Is the one who is crying

Lies KilledI made a vow
To love, honor, and cherish you
But when I made that vow I lied

I swore to you I'd make you happy
I promised you a lovely family
I got you to say, "I do"
And to believe that I hadn't lied

Because when I told you
"I swear", "I promise"
I didn't follow through
I lied

You found out things that broke you're heart
But what hurt you more was that I lied

I got defensive and said "I hate you"
But I didn't mean it
In fact I lied

I told you to go to hell
But I wanted you to stay with me
Now I cant tell if I lied

I told you you could leave in peace
And that nothing should hold you back
I wanted to believe it

There's A Funeral In My HeartIt was like Stockholm Syndrome-

I fell in love with my captor.

He perverted our love so much.

he used it,

abused it,

and then threw it away.

I would pick up the pieces and let him convince me

that he could put them back together again;

he got sick pleasure out of it.

I wouldn't have time to heal

before he ripped open old wounds

poured the salt of my tears on them

and made them fresh again-

which was the only thing fresh about our relationship,

my wounds.

On a bad day I would say,

"Staying together is like dragging a dead body around."

Our love had died a long time ago.

I kept fighting for what could have been:

a beautiful p

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Blood and Roses

by ~OneWingAngel1117, Apr 19, 2012, 2:59:40 AM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Traditional Fixed Forms

She drew herself a bath
Since no one would for her

Candles or lights?
She chose the former

Struck a match with her hands
Ignored the sweet scent

Stared at the flames
Then into the bathtub she went

The water was scalding
But she forced herself to take it

Besides, she'd take long
And the warm water had to make it

The one who said he loved her
Was so preoccupied
That he had no idea hours had gone by

When he was ready for bed
He found she wasn't out
And she needed to be,
there were hungry kids running about

There were dishes to wash
And laundry to do
And when he went to sleep
She couldn't sleep too

He went towards the bathroom
The door locked when he got there
So he got their makeshift key:
An alligator clip from her hair

He unlocked the door
since when he knocked: no replies
Then his heart skipped a beat
over the scene before his eyes

He unknowingly steps over
A bare rose stem on the floor
His mind not ready
to accept the awaiting gore

He rushed to the one
he said "I love you" to
And when he saw she was breathing,
his heartbeat renewed

What he thought had been blood
Were just petals from a rose
In his relief he missed
what was right under his nose

He gently awoke her,
and she quickly pulled out the drain
In that dim candlelight
the water always looked the same

He handed her a towel and went off to bed
And that was that, nothing more unsettled his head

He'd not seen the ice cubes, and he had missed-
aside from the cup-
The cuts on her wrist

She had tucked a small object behind the shampoo on the ledge,
Her bathrobe hid all the cuts on her legs

Once again she puts on her invisible makeup
of a happy mom and wife
And every day she wipes it off
when she tries to end her life

Blood and Rosesby ~OneWingAngel1117

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Traditional Fixed Forms

Wrote this in my head, then jotted it down and here it is. Hopefully no one can relate to it-but I know there are people who do relate to it... Sometimes, even the people we live with don't know us, and sometimes someone's life appears to be something it's not. Especially when they suffer in silence

love 2 2

~~joy 0 0~~

~~wow 0 0~~

~~mad 0 0~~

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~heavenlytouch Apr 23, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

This is so dark and emotional piece ! I love this one very much ! Hundred thumbs for you !

~OneWingAngel1117 Apr 23, 2012

thank you, love

Im so glad you enjoyed

~heavenlytouch Apr 23, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

You're welcome.

~OneWingAngel1117 May 9, 2012

~pikalatias46 Apr 22, 2012 Student Traditional Artist

It has a dark beauty to it. Very good perspective on such a horrible and sad topic. But I love your work

~OneWingAngel1117 Apr 22, 2012

thank you very much my love

I wanted to juxtapose something beautiful with something not so beautiful, that shared a similarity of some kind. I have other poems around and in my head that include or are about a darker rose theme to them, I think that is how I feel about roses. I love them, especially the red ones, but I also acknowledge a darker side to them-according to my poems. I wouldn't have noticed I felt that way at all if I wasn't gathering my work in once place like DA.

~pikalatias46 Apr 22, 2012 Student Traditional Artist

I totally agree with you!! you never really know to what extent you express yourself until you show it to others.

~OneWingAngel1117 Apr 22, 2012

yeah!

*Mrs-Freestar-Bul Apr 22, 2012 Writer

So sad, but I know that this is the reality of so many housewives. They live miserable and pretend they are happy. They die inside so many times a day.

~OneWingAngel1117 Apr 22, 2012

yeah

I wasn't going to include the identity of a housewife at all, but it came right at the very end. I think it made the poem a little more eye-opening and tragic, since housewives in particular could get very depressed and feel so anonymous and even more so with children involved but not many people realize they can fall to these feelings as well--it added more depth to the subject. Plus, I wanted to hint at the fact that parents very much do feel like this sometimes, not just heartbroken lovers or adolescents not coping with the trials of their youth. It can happen right smack in the middle of a bustling family, and even being surrounded with responsibility and family, one can still feel very unneeded and left out of love. The housewife who is usually the symbol of a stable and happy home life felt like a strong character to drive all these points home right at the end. Thanks so much for reading

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Blood and Roses

Blood and Rosesby ~OneWingAngel1117

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