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Just a ThoughtYou know the irony of life
is that you have these dreams and ideas
about where you want to be,

but once you get there
you start to dream about where you came from,
where you’ve been.

I suppose that’s part of the circle of our lives,
like the hands of a clock going round.
If only we could wind it back
and return to a time when the dream first began,

we might find
it really wasn’t all that important
to begin with.

Mindless HeartstringsCut my heartstrings
Toy with my mind,
Hide me from the world,
By turning me blind.

Noticing MeEvery night,
I cry myself to sleep.
And while I sleep,
I dream.

I dream that I’ll be noticed,
Not shut off in a cage,
I dream that I’m full of joy,
Not full of rage.

But when I wake up,
In the morning, hoping,
That my dream was reality,
I find myself not coping.

So I close myself away,
And I listen to sad songs,
And I’m ignored by all,
All day long.

I call for my mum,
And she answers, but doesn’t reply,
So I bury myself away,
And inside, I cry.

When my friends call for me,
But ignore when I’m there,
I wonder if I should blank them,
But never would I dare.

Maybe I’m too soft,
Unhuman, perhaps.
But if

Free SoulLiving pure,
Living free,
That is how I want to be.
A wild bird in the trees,
Doing by all means
To survive,
Stay alive.
No matter what, I must not die.
I will take on
Everything and everyone.
I will take on myself,
Force the past off of the shelf.
I will free myself of my mind,
Which once again has left me behind.
And I will finally end this pain,
For once, I will let it rain.
The rain can clean the stains,
And wash away the pains
Of loneliness and suffering,
The product of never-ending falling.
I will let my heart become one
With my soul, now I will run my own show.
I will make bad choices,
I will not listen to the voices,
I can finally breath easy,
Knowing my path is not as windy.
Finally, I can live purely.
Without this past, I can live freely.
This is how I've always wanted to be,
I'm a wild bird in the trees,
Surviving by all means.
And no matter what, I will not die.
Because my soul will always be alive.

Poetry On The WallsNobody wants
To hang poetry on their walls
For all
the heavier lines
would fall
and the word soaked walls
would pine
and be pained
like a poets pen does
When a poet's heart rains

The poet starts writing
finding insightful sightings
into the poets own mind
though the feeling
is a lonely one
and the reeling
thoughts knot
and won't come undone
if the words of the poet
are hurt
they will show it
And the world will know
It can't be slowed
To accommodate those
Left behind in a pile
Of wavering words
Either gentle or vile

Words of love
Or words of life
Become something of
A struggle to stifle
The muddled mouth's attempts
To bend a lies rival

Yet

Arms Like CanvasI don't know your name.
Only the hate lines on your wrist,
the story-lines you write there,
the hints everyone has missed.
I'm sorry we've all crushed you,
let your halo fall,
My head hangs here in shame,
as I speak for humanity, for us all.
It's a sick, sad world,
when 15 can be the last year.
When faggot, worthless, and fatass are thrown around like salutations,
as we drown in a sea of hushed prayers and fear.

DISCLAIMER

the stage is set
the lights are lit
if no one comes
get over it
the sound is right
the pose is struck
no promise made
not to suck
watch your step
you may fall
face first
into the brawl
take a seat
not too close
no apologies
for bloody nose
opinions count
but not here
put them all
up your rear
forget everything
you think you know
just shut up
and enjoy the show.

Fairytales"No more glass slippers,
It's time to grow up.
Forget the fairy tales,
The ones you used to love.

No more lying puppets,
Or boys who never age,
It's time to think like an adult,
Where the economy is a cage.

Cinderella's married,
Snow White isn't dead.
Aurora is awake now
Get the thoughts out of your head."

But they all live in castles,
Or happily in another place,
They're kind and gold of heart,
and Beautiful of face.

Is it so bad to remember,
Those who taught us all?
They reminded me when all was bad,
there was always love to call.

They told me to be bold,
to follow only my heart,
And though it's not always wise,
Believe the best in the

A Pencil's Life A Pencil's Life
I sit on the shelf,
Day by day.
I wait for someone to pick me up,
But I don't see anyone coming.
Each week,
new pencils arrive,
and I only get pushed to the back.
It's the 19th of August,
And almost time for school,
It's the time where most pencils get picked,
But I,
No,
I just sit and wait
for another year to go by.
I'm the last one on the shelf,
And it's almost time for school,
But alas,
Someone has picked me up.
They take me home,
And put me away,
So that I am ready for the first day!
I am excited!
I am restless!
I can't wait for tomorrow.
It is finally morning,
And I am ready,
to take on what comes at me.
I was sharp,
But now I'm dull.
I can't wait for the next day to come.
Once I'm sharpened,
I'm ready to go,
Ready to take on more challenges.

Only Then Do I Remember YouOnly the dreams, the stories…
They come in flashes, little spurts from time to time…
Only then do I remember.
When the songs of your favorite artists come to ear,
Those lyrics come to mind,
Those memories flash right back.
Only when your name comes up,
Or the pictures reappear.
Only when my mind wanders,
Most often seldom and random,
To times and places long forgotten,
Only then do I remember.
Only then do I remember you.

runrun and run and run
until the day is done
you cannot overcome
the setting of the sun
but when the world's away
and when the mice do play
then you and I will stay
away for ever and a day.
so run with me and run
until we see the sun
away from the ravage of time
until you are with me and mine

To pierce the veil of nightA weary worn traveler strung out from miles of life’s highway stream
I am an unwilling an endless sojourner racing blindly toward the veil of night, a chance to dream. Adrift in the surreal tunnel-visioned plane of nascent sleep, I lay down, a dog-tired sailor upon the lissome luxury of satin sheet.

Pestiferous feelings of loneliness fervidly plague weighing an already heavy mind, as dreams whisk me away on yet another journey of a different kind. Now lavishly adorned in the velvet cloak of night, I embark a swift winged spirit upon unconscious flight.

Paroxysms of longing grow ardent with each passing night, as my hearts appetenc

Acheyep yep the veil is us
yet yet they fail the trust
next step betrayal is dust
next says the cable is cut

PolarThere are days when I want to
shout;
scream with the might of the world and
run
until I can no longer feel my legs.
Days where I want to make
a miracle,
or go on a life-changing journey;
create memories that I will
someday tell my children about.
These are the days
when the world is infinite
and nothing is impossible.

However, there are some days
that I feel nothing,
and there is no greater urge in the day
than to lay down,
curl up in a ball,
and simply
breathe.

Her Name is Misery.I saw a girl today with red marks on her arms,
that match the scars on mine.
I asked her for a spare story,
she laughed and said, "I'm fine".

I saw her waver,
I saw her smile falter a bit.
She needed friendship,
but didn't know what to make of it.

So I sat there,
In a crowded room of two.
I listened to her raindrops,
and her stories of people so cruel.

Now, I chronicle her,
so you all can see.
Her tale of lonely sunlight,
and how cold this world can be.

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Assassination of the soulThe assassination of the soul, but when did it occur?
The day we chose to please our greed, not think of future hurt.

We looked into the river, for fish initially,
But blocking the search was another sight, of me, me, me, me, me.

Our deep concern for shallow things soon turned our glee to plea,
Desperation for more this, more that, more me, me, me.

Like a dagger through the soul, life saw our selfish wants unfold,
What qualities we held before; just myths told by the old.

The tainted hearts we soon possessed were teaching the pure child,
That money is the key to all, so hang up what nature dialled.

Perceptual TruthWhen truth is defined by perception made by mind,
And perception just portays what an individual says,
Are we wrapping up in riddles, not comprehending middles,
Or are we seeing what is there, but as a colourblinded flare?

A moment of silenceEver close your eyes, to see the colours dance?
Peaceful smiling sighs, the beginning of a trance.

All which can be heard is beyond your current mind,
A momentary silence holding your ears blind.

The thud of bloodflow sings, but nothing else is clear,
The silence of the moment, clenching eye and ear.

Physical senses are reduced, you have nothing to fear,
Your inner voice can sing; that is all you wish to hear.

RealityIf we gaze into a crystal ball, we see us upside-down.
We form a smile, but just to see the image start to frown.
This sense we have of "you" or "I" is really just thread bare.
Honesty, compassion, replaced with "I don't care".
We touch our faces on the mirror, perceive the reflection true,
But on a human journey like our own, it's best to look straight through.
We seem to lose touch with what we are, absorb only what we view,
Physical sense which we rely on; it's as strange as deja vu.
As far as I can see, you see, the chi is flowing infinitely.
We toss and turn in discontent, our appreciation seldom spent.

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Clear Mist

by ~mossky, Dec 29, 2009, 9:43:32 AM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Urban & Spoken Word

How big can it be, this cycle we see?
An infinite abyss, or a dust of clear mist?
If the energies unfolded and the sun turned dry,
For how long would we stand solid, beneath the sky?
Would we appreciate the beauty that Mother Nature holds?
Or would we cling to our iPods, not loosening our hold?
Would we choose to reminisce upon the chances we missed?
Or would we sink into bliss, accepting what is, as it is?

Clear Mistby ~mossky

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Urban & Spoken Word

It's quite unlike me to write poetry. I'm good with words, but poetry's never been greatly appealing to me. However, I picked up a pen on my 16th Birthday at 3am, and the ink started flowing..

© Kelly Moss 2009

*Phyllipa Dec 29, 2009 Hobbyist General Artist

Wonderful my dear, I love it, especially the reference to how we would turn straight to technology for comfort in the case of ragnarokesque happenings

~mossky Dec 29, 2009 Hobbyist General Artist

Thankyouuuu! It has the Pippa seal of approval, so I'z happy! ^^

*Phyllipa Dec 29, 2009 Hobbyist General Artist

Haha

*hugs tight*

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Clear Mist

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