BargedJoin Date: 2014-05-18
Post Count: 2726 |
Link to first thread: http://www.roblox.com/Forum/ShowPost.aspx?PostID=136393120
Read the first thread before you read this one.
Tonight
I've always been told to do what is right,
But I won't, not ever again, not tonight;
Tonight is the night I want to get out alright,
Escape this place devoid of my struggled fight.
Tonight is the night I leave my lonely past,
Crying out from pain that is now my last;
Tonight I'll fight back with my blessed contrast,
My rebellion only leaves them open and aghast.
Tonight is the night I use my proven brash,
Use it against all of those who before would clash;
Tonight is the night I leave my home of trash,
The night I leave is the night we turn to crystal ash.
I can't remember why I wrote this one, but it's old.
The Color Blue
I see this wonderful hue that they call blue,
Blue, just a name, I think, but not the same,
The color blue has left me without a clue,
I feel the blame for the color blue I claim.
I like this poem, although it's short.
A Curvy Line
Life is not always straight such as a curvy line
That curves in and out like a beautiful vine,
But it can also be like a straight park path,
Then again, it could also be like a bubbly bath.
Life can be difficult sometimes you thought,
But don't let it take away from how you fought,
For life is the greatest gift of them all,
A little like a curvy line, but straight at the fall.
Life may go up and down like a carnival ride,
Curving in and out but not losing its stride,
Life is like a curvy line without any compare,
With those few who fall off fair and square.
Life can be a treasure that one may behold,
For others it is one that will be quickly sold,
Life is a sort that I myself cannot easily define,
My image of life is that of my own, a curvy line.
I like this poem, but it's not a favorite.
O' Father Time
O' Father Time, the slyness that you use,
The slyness is what you use and wield.
O' Father time, your bomb we shall diffuse,
The bomb shall be stopped by our shield.
O' Father Time, there is one thing you lack,
The greatest of them all: the ability to attack.
O' Father Time, you are great with imperfection,
All of the time you think of what will happen next.
O' Father Time, staring back is your own reflection,
All that happens is to be written down in holy text.
O' Father Time, we will withstand your painful rust,
All of this will not destroy us until we turn to dust.
O' Father Time, your destruction cracks our land,
Staring back at you as you destroy our own soil.
O' Father Time, spreading your own fateful hand,
Staring back at you our anger will heat and broil.
O' Father Time, your wickedness spreads out West,
Staring back at you, we know we have been blest.
I like the repetition in this poem, and I hope you do too.
Sound of Spring
Yes, I hear it, a sound impossible to miss,
The sound of Spring is here one time more,
A sound I know so easily and I do adore,
The sound of Spring is one I cannot dismiss,
I hear it call out loud, the sound of Spring,
That joyous sound I hear - let freedom ring!
Oh, it sweeps through the air at a quick pace,
I wish I could fly forward just as fast as Spring,
Flying past towns where children now sing,
They sing quite loud to not look out of place,
As the sound of Spring conquers all the land,
The ringing sound of Spring makes a final stand.
Happiness and joy are for all who it may bring,
Quickly, Spring must sound throughout all,
Before Summer will come and Spring will fall,
Yes, Summer will come and strike a fateful sting,
But, we still have to enjoy it while it may last,
Because, before we know it - Spring will be Past.
Old poem about spring. It's not very good, unfortunately.
Scarlet Spider
Mysteries swarm on the side left unknown,
Others may be etched into time and stone,
Or left in the forest where we do not reside,
Some may be left forgotten upon a lonely throne,
But others can be remembered deep inside,
Left alone and weary by its fate-driven rider
This is the mystery of the great Scarlet Spider.
Once long ago as a man walked along a road,
On his left, a silver, sparkling river flowed,
But, on his right, he saw with his favored eye,
A mystifying mystery such that he now slowed,
An unusual sort he had not seen or known why,
But, there was one thing that he could now see,
An odd sight indeed, a Scarlet Spider tied to a tree.
He walked over to the Scarlet Spider all alone,
Witnessing a sight that chilled him to the bone,
The Scarlet Spider was in a silent, struggling fight,
Fighting against the rope, it let out a low groan,
It could not escape, even with all its will and might,
So the man walked over and helped the Scarlet Spider,
And then it was he who became its new rider.
A friendship began that started with an evil snare,
Now the Scarlet Spider was protected by a prayer,
The man had put the Scarlet Spider under his spell,
A bond that now formed with no room to spare,
Ah, but what happened to them, time would tell,
One thing was sure: together they were whole,
They filled up the void that had been their soul.
Together they worked all of their life, day or night,
Oh, the two of them together, a beautiful sight,
A wonderful life that they would live every day,
Through difficulties they struggled to stay upright,
They fought through bitterness and foggy gray,
For this is the story of the majestic Scarlet Spider,
And, of course, of myself - the one and only rider!
I like this poem, although it's a long read. (Took a while to write, too!)
Black and White
Look over there and tell me what it is you see,
Maybe, just possibly, it could be the same as me,
But when I look I see with my heart, not eyes,
When I look my heart soars higher than the skies,
Saddening me is the disadvantage I must fight,
Haunting me until my death, I see black and white.
Others may see all the colors on a painted wall,
Not me, for I only see black and white down a hall,
Or black and white when the birds sing and wake,
But, I'll never be able to see what colors can make,
Never will I be able to see a golden rainbow's light,
Oh, I see only in blank black and woeful white.
I wish to see the colors instead of this blank slate,
I bid my time wisely, a hope gleaming as I wait,
Maybe one day I'll see the colors instead of gray,
Wait, wait, wait, I must wait, that is what they say,
I stay waiting until that special day or maybe night,
That special one where I will not see in black or white.
I like this poem, but it's still not a favorite.
Rain
Celebrate now that Winter has been slain,
Winter was abolished by one they call Rain,
Left out to dry in this blazing yellow sun,
The path of the seasons is an endless chain,
While one season lasts, it is often quite fun,
Other times it may be a season that must end,
One thing is for sure, Rain is a natural trend.
Rain comes at the end of the Winter season,
He comes whether or not you think it treason,
Or if you think it a subtle end to a long year,
He will come, even if he comes for no reason,
Rain is a treasure that we should love so dear,
So be thankful that he comes in our time of need,
Be sure to treasure him; do not turn to greed.
Rain will come in during March, April, and May,
And with it comes sunshine to stay every day,
Rain may stop at times during summer's heat,
Spring and summer are times to frolic and play,
Before you know it, you will be back to defeat,
Because after the seasons pass over in their vain,
It will all start over at where it began, with Rain.
Once again, there was a very long winter, and I was looking forward to spring.
*A Lonely Tree*
A lonely tree is perched up high,
Close enough to touch the sky,
Nearly, but still in distant reach,
Upon its branches sits one peach,
A symbol of hope and power,
It will fall in our timely hour.
Reaching for the peach I stretch,
It is not to be for I am wretch,
So I pull back my wicked hand,
And the peach falls to the land,
Falling and drifting out of sight,
Until it is gone in this dark night.
The peach is now forever gone,
A tale of woe that is now spawn,
A peach is like a goal or dream,
Don't let them turn upstream,
Or you will be that lonely tree,
Alone with nothing left, you see.
I wrote this poem when my best friend on ROBLOX unfriended me. We were friends for over two years, and, almost out of nowhere, he unfriended me. This poem is a favorite of mine because of the parallel meaning.
Mother Nature
Once in a place that we called home,
Where plants grew and people did roam,
Mother Nature started to spit and stir,
And stir she did and often did recur,
Upset she was with us nasty people,
She destroyed whole town and steeple,
Not once forgiving what people brought,
No, Mother Nature just fought and fought.
People were startled at Mother Nature's fight,
They quickly tried to answer her needy plight,
Try and try to repent their fateful ways,
It was not to be, that is until People's last days,
When Mother Nature kicked them off her Earth,
That was the last of them, the last rebirth.
I wrote a poem about 'Father Time' so why not about 'Mother Nature'?
The Chosen Path
A boy just off the chosen path,
Bathed himself in a neatly bath,
That is until a man stopped by,
And told the boy to quickly dry,
"We have business, I will not lie."
The boy cluelessly began to dress,
Hopped into his clothes all a mess,
Looking at the man with placid stare,
He fell under the man's costly glare,
"Do not stare into my eyes, so beware."
The boy was dull and did not listen,
His eyes so crystal began to glisten,
And he fell under the dreamly spell,
Now he was trapped inside a shell,
"You cannot escape fate, I will tell."
An old poem, and it's a little silly. Actually, very silly.
Retreat
I sheath my blade upon darkened time,
A sheath that holds back a hatred crime,
The battle was lost, but a war now starts,
From shivering sea to sea the war parts,
A war begins, but for some it is the end,
I wish it was us who could begin to mend,
And mend we will, for life is an endless fight,
Although, all of us have a choice to do right,
Maybe the fighting will cause all bitter defeat,
Or, if you are smart, it could be smooth retreat.
I personally love this poem, although it's not a favorite.
Green Leaves
Autumn is a time where the leaves fall,
The picky leaves hang on longer to stall,
Winter is a season full of the icy cold,
And snowflakes so gentle that we hold,
Summer is when we feel a blast of heat,
However hot it may be, we can't be beat,
Spring is a time full of new green leaves,
A royalty that holds life's woven weaves.
All of the seasons have their special gold,
Just as all stores have their inventory sold,
But, spring is a special season in my mind,
Oh, but no others can see for they are blind,
No, nobody else has my ability to see this,
What I see is the same thing that they miss,
Their soul is blinded by the eyes of thieves,
And they will never see those green leaves.
Nature poems rock. :P
*Bottle of Ink*
Life is something difficult for me to tell,
Such as a bad product that cannot sell,
For some, life is like ink in the bottle,
And they rush through life full throttle,
But, they do not stop during the ride,
As if they are on a tour without a guide,
And one day their bottle of ink will dry,
Heeding this warning you shall comply.
If you do not listen, no ink will be left,
And your life will be gone by your theft,
So listen to me and you will then gain,
Wisdom, which will come from your pain,
Read between these hollow paper lines,
Discover a secret inside these confines,
Expand your knowledge and try to think,
Or maybe see inside your bottle of ink.
Look inside your bottle of ink so deep,
Careful, do not fall over the edge so steep,
Gently, do not spill even a single drop,
Or else you will find your heart at a stop,
Look deep down, do not be a silly fool,
Or your ink will end up in a fateful pool,
So be slow as you teeter on the brink,
But still keep looking in your bottle of ink.
As you attempt to look into your soul,
A soul that life swept in quick and stole,
Be sure to look through the bottle of glass,
If not, the meaning of life will then pass,
So be sure to stare through murk and dust,
Or stare through memories beginning to rust,
But remember every time that you blink,
Life does not wait, such as a bottle of ink.
There is just something about this poem that I love. It's a favorite of mine.
Reminder
Go now and trust this reminder,
Perhaps you'll be the first finder,
The one to find hope in this twist,
Take with your much bountiful list,
A list that uncovers this frozen mist.
We are in a land lost in frozen time,
A land full of hardships and crime,
You are the one who can save us all,
This land that we live must end befall,
We will crack through this covered wall.
Maybe it takes time to end all our pain,
How much we lose is how much we gain,
All the world needs is a new fresh start,
Hopefully this time we will try to be smart,
A reminder to you so we do not fall apart.
The poem speaks for itself.
Depart
He got off the train at the station,
A medal of honor around his neck,
A true patriot from our own nation,
His war memories now just a speck.
Then they come rushing back to him,
A painful truth he will soon dislike,
Haunting a tortured mind limb by limb,
His memories have come to strike.
Wounded men spread on the ground,
Groaning with pain in dying breath,
Dying is not a very pleasant sound,
The men now ready to visit Death.
On the grassy field is no pretty sight,
Blood coats the wet grass like paint,
Howling screams shrieking tonight,
Fading slowly until they are so faint.
Close to death, on that field all alone,
Spread with men across and apart,
To be buried under time and stone,
They enter the world to then depart.
I like this poem, although it is a little on the 'dark' side.
Spring Breeze
It soothes me like a warm bath,
Coating my skin like a winter frost,
Down the road or beaten path,
It can't be bought; it has no cost,
I enjoy it even when I am lost.
It can at times be a grateful thrill,
Ah, a lovely thing, spring breeze,
Or it could give your body a chill,
Not enough to make you freeze,
It is an artifact I'd love to seize.
I love nothing more than to hear,
Hear the sound of traveling air,
Flying strong and fast by my ear,
Where it comes, I know not where,
When it does, it messes up my hair!
A silly poem I wrote on a windy day.
My Master's Lair
Oh, how I wish upon this star,
To take me to a place gone afar,
No, I'm stuck with distant stare,
Left here to tear out my gray hair,
I've been beaten from head to toe,
My life, says He, is what I now owe,
Oh, how I wish to leave Master's lair!
To escape my Master's lair, my dreams,
An impossible one, or so it seems,
For in my soul He makes an incision,
Worse than death is my new decision,
I'm not sure how much He knows,
Of my plans, I think not or it shows,
Escaping this prison is my new vision.
My plan begins with a formation,
One that brings a fine new elation,
A great feeling to now have emotion,
Before there was only Master's notion,
But now I have my plan at work in hand,
Beginning now from where I stand,
Time to cause my only great commotion.
I evade Master's guards with my stealth,
Like a robber trying to steal His wealth,
I glide across the walls and stone floor,
If I'm caught, I picture what is in store,
Servants are to be punished by force,
I was, and still am, a servant, of course,
And I know I can't go back anymore.
The tortures of what happened before,
When I snuck out the bedroom door,
Still as clear as glass and fresh in mind,
After that, Master would often remind,
Never to sneak out when He was gone,
Especially in the covered light of dawn,
Or I'd be terrified of what I'd then find.
For now, I dash and hop a red brick wall,
Feeling glad that this time I did not fall,
On the other side I say a silent prayer,
Still, I'm quite surprised no sirens blare,
Yet, Master seems to care not for me,
This is why he did not give me His key,
The key, that is, to my Master's lair!
A long poem, but I like it, although it may not be to your taste.
Distant Shelf
My heart is on a distant shelf,
Stuck on things past and delt,
A string of feelings I have felt,
More than I know myself.
On the top shelf my heart sits,
Patiently waiting to come out,
Trying hard not to shout,
On the shelf my heart fits.
Then my heart topples over,
Flying down without a sound,
Beating until it hits the ground,
Landing smoothly on a clover.
I like this poem. It's simple and short.
Misty Mist
The mind is cloudy deep inside,
Clouded by its own great mystery,
Filtered by its own rich history,
Sadly by its own rules to abide,
The mind is like that misty mist,
All alone it is left in the midst.
A fuel burns with needed force,
Pushing strong when others stop,
Like a glass of tea filled to the top,
Staying on the needed course,
The mind is like that misty mist,
Closed alone inside a dark fist.
Away from planes that may stall,
To bring havoc when needed not,
Halting those with sinister plot,
Away from planes that may fall,
The mind is like that misty mist,
Swept away if it ever did exist.
I like this poem, but I wish I would have wrote it differently.
*One Mistake*
All it takes is just one mistake,
Which is all I ever seem to make,
Mistakes come in a neat order,
With no distinctly colored border,
One more mistake will ruin me,
Look closely and then you will see.
They call it just a simple mistake,
One of many in life's great lake,
But I know somewhere down deep,
It is my fault that people weep,
One more mistake to the list,
A list of many that will persist.
When all is fine and fair at hand,
My actions bring torment to land,
And torment lands upon my soul,
Stealing myself away to be whole,
One more mistake upon my plate,
How I wish to have a blank slate.
Turmoil spreads from my heart,
Yet I know it was me from the start,
It was me from which this sprung,
Leaving a foul taste upon my tongue,
One more mistake to now spread,
How I wish to start this over instead.
People run from me out of fear,
I do not blame them to stay clear,
For I am lost in my own fatal trap,
My life is gone for just a scrap,
One more mistake is how I will end,
I deny it and instead play pretend.
This poem is a favorite because, hey, we all make mistakes, right?
Three and a Half
Step aside for one more time,
On this painted line I will dance,
If only I was given a single chance,
To wash away all of the grime,
Then the clock strikes with a laugh,
The time is not yet three and a half.
A little goofy, but I like this poem, still.
Sails
I host the sails high in the air,
My ship moves out to the sea,
A sea so vast and nearly bare,
All is gone except my joyous glee,
For my ship has hosted the sails,
Out at sea I will leave no trails.
On my left side hops many a fish,
On my right side the sea shines forth,
Soon I am sick of the sea and my wish,
Still I head onwards to the north,
For my ship has hosted the sails,
And my crew will tell our new tales.
Our hope diminishes as time passes,
Time seems to slow more and more,
Again my crew fills their empty glasses,
Then enter shock as I spot the shore,
For my ship has hosted the sails,
My crew can afford no more fails.
Through day we sail against the wind,
But we will not care when we arrive,
Looking into the sun we may be blind,
Towards the shore we will strive,
For my ship has lowered the sails,
At least this is the story He entails.
I can't remember why, but I clearly made the poem say "host" instead of "hoist". No, it's not an error, although I should probably change it.
END OF THREAD #2.
I just barged in. |