Last man standing, he wonders out loud.
Questioning all that he is, cogito ergo sum.
Emotion is an instinct, from long dead times,
He buries that last connection, to what he was.
Days become fragments of his mind, broken.
No one sees him, hears him, feels him, believes him.
How can he die if he cannot live?
He finds meaning at last. The answer, a paradox of thought.
would you keep author rights??, jaja, however im going to post one thats mine
swallows the dark day
seeds of hate reach cries
where the hidden lost progessed one
grabbed his last beath and signed
freezed with the answer
cheap words wont weight into his back
your deal is going to be a surprise
and i have no more, my english is no so good and i dont even know why did i post this, guess i have nothing to do and maybe it is not a poem
would you keep author rights??, jaja, however im going to post one thats mine
swallows the dark day
seeds of hate reach cries
where the hidden lost progessed one
grabbed his last beath and signed
freezed with the answer
cheap words wont weight into his back
your deal is going to be a surprise
and i have no more, my english is no so good and i dont even know why did i post this, guess i have nothing to do and maybe it is not a poem
There are loads of poeple writing their own poems seperately so why not have a thread to put them in?
Post Your poems or comment on others. How about marks out of 10 for each one?
Anyone can post the first poem...
Thats like condensing the whole idea of this section of the board into a thread? your work is cool though mate.:)
I dont mind if no one replys to my poems, free verse off the cuff vents.
I write them to get them out of me.
If people want to read them or reply to them then that is there choice.:)
Thats like condensing the whole idea of this section of the board into a thread? your work is cool though mate.:)
I dont mind if no one replys to my poems, free verse off the cuff vents.
I write them to get them out of me.
If people want to read them or reply to them then that is there choice.:)
Thanks, This post is basically a way for the less confident to post among lots of other poems but not many other people post :(
Thanks, This post is basically a way for the less confident to post among lots of other poems but not many other people post :(
I posted
I posted,
I wrote my thought down
and put them in a tiny glass bottle boat
I threw them into the pit
where they floated,
virtually,
towards the cybershore
they were read, praised and criticised
but during a fierce storm
or database terror
the tiny glass bottle boat capsized
I posted,
I wrote my thought down
and put them in a tiny glass bottle boat
I threw them into the pit
where they floated,
virtually,
towards the cybershore
they were read, praised and criticised
but during a fierce storm
or database terror
the tiny glass bottle boat capsized
I posted,
I wrote my thought down
and put them in a tiny glass bottle boat
I threw them into the pit
where they floated,
virtually,
towards the cybershore
they were read, praised and criticised
but during a fierce storm
or database terror
the tiny glass bottle boat capsized
Comments
Well I hope not! :( I like your poems.
*~You're IT Bert!~*
Hold on to the thread
The currents will shift
Still here, but I think I haven't moved since I wrote that.
Numbers are wholesome, indisputible,
Something he can understand.
Gifted in his knowledge.
Ridicule is hate.
A study of life, he finds
It is nothing special.
Elements explain reality.
Ridicule is shame.
He laughs at ignorance,
Society, life.
Inside he laughs at himself.
Ridicule is pain,
He never sleeps.
Ridicule is fear,
He hides inside himself.
Ridicule is anguish,
He feels no emotion
Him being who he is.
Ridicule is why
I shot myself
swallows the dark day
seeds of hate reach cries
where the hidden lost progessed one
grabbed his last beath and signed
freezed with the answer
cheap words wont weight into his back
your deal is going to be a surprise
and i have no more, my english is no so good and i dont even know why did i post this, guess i have nothing to do and maybe it is not a poem
swallows the dark day
seeds of hate reach cries
where the hidden lost progessed one
grabbed his last beath and signed
freezed with the answer
cheap words wont weight into his back
your deal is going to be a surprise
and i have no more, my english is no so good and i dont even know why did i post this, guess i have nothing to do and maybe it is not a poem
That's really nice!
Thanks.
You can't stop it
Rising up, rising up.
Can you feel it
Building up, Building up?
Crashing in
On your shore.
You can't stop it
Coming in, coming in.
Can you feel it
Crashing down, crashing down?
This is
My Wave
Thats like condensing the whole idea of this section of the board into a thread? your work is cool though mate.:)
I dont mind if no one replys to my poems, free verse off the cuff vents.
I write them to get them out of me.
If people want to read them or reply to them then that is there choice.:)
Thanks, This post is basically a way for the less confident to post among lots of other poems but not many other people post :(
I posted
I posted,
I wrote my thought down
and put them in a tiny glass bottle boat
I threw them into the pit
where they floated,
virtually,
towards the cybershore
they were read, praised and criticised
but during a fierce storm
or database terror
the tiny glass bottle boat capsized
naděje umírá poslední
Nice.:D
NICE, like it.
Keep up the good work;)