enlightenment
Learn more about other poetry terms
gym, health, science
classes fill with that unforgettable stench of used textbooks
craterfaces and jockies
everyone with the same yet different
growing and changing
none like the other
Gravity, Gravity,
Is there something you aren’t telling me?
Constantly pulling me in,
Never pushing me out to go farther than I’ve ever been,
But instead drawing me closer for eternity.
Gravity, Gravity,
The End of the tunnel,
What this holds is my own glimpse of loop,
A lamp full of treacherous flow,
Reminding us all our repetitive deeds,
Poems are confusing
Their purposes disguised
Seemingly blunt yet concealing
A plausibly traumatic demise
Whomever shall find these creatures appealing
Many can say that Poetry is a simple concept
However, they probably don’t understand that it’s difficult
to create a piece of literature with technique, symbolism, and depth
Two parts of one whole
without precieving
is to be understood
without ever seeing
just what makes you tick
in this joyous of cycles
which man has revered
since time came to birth
She watches the clock,
She hates to be timed.
Yet she loves the pressure of a short notice.
She learned not to be hesitant after her many setbacks.
She's be told of her potential, pst, like she didn't know,
I stand atop this mountain, many souls in sight
I try to converse at the fountain, they vanish into the light
Crowded with loneliness and filled with mistrust
I begin to accept it now, empty with dust
I stand atop this mountain, many souls in sight
I try to converse at the fountain, they vanish into the light
Crowded with loneliness and filled with mistrust
I begin to accept it now, empty with dust
Freedom is not a word,
Is is not an emotional state.
It is a beautiful bird that cannot be caged.
There are many that will try to take it away.
They will burn it, humiliate it--and they'll even make it cry.
I look in the mirror and I like what I see.
Curves.
Muscle.
A smile.
Scars.
A rib cage,
with a beating heart beneath it.
A head,
Look past the outskirts of the town of stray men
Where none think to trod
A black wall caging in the livestock
All together lost within an arbitrary boundary
Run blindly past the seam of shadow and light
All come into the world in the same way
We spend nine months in warm darkness
Then when it is time we are cast away
Into the cold bright sharpness
I am a man,
An American man of African and Hispanic descent,
Our forefathers and foremothers frequencies suggest they are turning circles in their graves and pits.
They dreamt of freedom and we enslave ourselves,
Do you see me?
I do not need the sun. I like the night.
Do you see them?
They do not need the sun. They like the stars.
One day when there is only night, I shall be the sun.
I am the chosen one.
If god is real, then why not the Zeus?
From retarded apes, we have diverged.
From near extinction, we have profused.
Our mental growth has been induced;
Yet irrational thought has come merged.
The moment
we breathe in the gases
of toxicity and evil
We slooooowwww down
That moment
You recognize to whiff the pure,
brush away the miasma,
and to obtain truth.
The rays from the sun hits the earth’s surfaceGiving animals and plants heat, it is nature’s furnace.Many strain to reach the desired lightBut one flower finds it too bright.The Casablanca Lily makes her appearance in the darkThe pale full moon i
Darkness
Is when all your senses
Are barred behind a high stone-walled mentality
Darkness
Is when your conscience
Is unaware of reality
Darkness
Fuck.
... ... ...
Might as well start this
With my best foot forward.
Do you want the story?
Emotional exploring?
A lot has happened
In the last 20 years.
... ... ...
Relatively so.
The Devil is trying to knock me down
The Devil is intimidated by my mental
But God says I’m the talk of the town
There is something about me that’s elemental
If I write something on the internet and I don't share it with you,
Mind your own damn business. Thanks.
If I didn't ask for your opinion,
No filter on this outgoing personality. I want to make friends with everyone and have tons of fun. No filter on my past.
You know its funny: life
Im 17 and dont know anythig about it
one time i wanted to end it wih a knife
but now i love it wth out a dobt
Im learning all of my flaws
the beautiful ones
The world describes using filters
and wearing makeup
as a way to hide our true selves from the world
I feel so alone.
Broken.
Constantly removed from all that's shown.
Solitary. Confined.
My words go unspoken.
When I look in the mirror, I see what I see,
my desires have driven me to blind true reality.
How can I tell if my soul has progressed?
Be not afraid
Stop running away
Face the dangers that they throw
I've been thinking lately
Those who changed the world were crazy
Break the shackles off of your soul,
and start seeing with your INDIGO
I feel as if there is no place for me. So it seems that everything I want is a falacy.
In this world we live in full of lies, I despise- I freed my mind and I stopped dreaming.
A cold breeze. A silent hum in the air. A breath slowly fills my lungs. Happiness fills my soul. Long hours in a quiet room. I finally escape the chaos that life has created. The leaves fall on the ground and I let it all go.
This poem is for the people who have put me in a box.
They have said: “Here you may come, and no further!”
I have been categorized.
Eyes closed, though even so seeing that which is so beautifully, magnificently whole.
Rising from raised arch,
Held firmly
Tilted toward the shadows
The room is illuminated
The empty corners
Fill with a brilliance
Leaving my years behind in this high-school-like prison, filled me with nothing more than sheer joy.
It's as if I'll awaken from my dream and learn that I was merely a psychic playing with her toy.
I don't own a lot of things
all i have are these set of strings
i played my way through the southern streams
Each day, I walk around
Looking up and looking down
Up at the sunset, with it's vivid colors
Down at the cement, With gum and painted numbers'
Sometimes, I look forward and behind
A placing a plate of cookies and glass of warm milk for Santa
On the dining room table was a waste of time
At least I got to witness my father gobble it down
If blessed are the forgetful, then what of those who remember?
I seem to never forget even the most painful details,
Every word, face, smell and feeling
Linger in my mind just waiting to come back.
Its marks are left
As the future turns into past
And the past becomes all but memory.
It can be found wearing
The gold paint of its author.
To every page turned
Its sweet, silent voice
Oh sun, Oh sun
How he does rise
To watch the cheerful play,
See him illuminate the skies,
And hide before each day,
Oh sun, oh sun
What warmth he brings,
To ever leaf and flower,
Would I choose you again
After knowing what I know now?
Would I stay around
Knowing you bring me down?
I am a poison to you
And you to me.
Yet somehow,
We make each other complete.
numbness is what I feel most
when I am alone.
tears rarely streak
across the flecked cream of my shell in solitude
all the while
The sun rises rises in my soul. The rays dance and explodelike lyrics hitting the ear. I am the song. Illusionsshatter like glass. I morph into a dazzling tapestry of shadow and light. Thesetting sun no longer reminds me of death.
Why don't you paint me like I am?
Dancing and singing
Full of life
Always looking for adventure, never looking for trouble
With close family and friends by my side
Why don't you paint me
Like I am
If you don’t feel very happy,
or if you just feel sad at this moment,
I want you to go outside and stand there
for a very long while
and try to comprehend the fact
that you are rare enough to be
I could say I write because it is an outlet, a way to release anger from a broken past and broken family.
I could say I write because my mom was not there, because sometimes I write to convince myself that I don't hate her.
Listen insideMake all your feelings rhymeBare this heartand you tear right and wrong apart
Behind jealous eyesunloved souls cry;lie snared, awaitfor arid gardens to reciprocate
You've been lied to about poems
You've been told their reflections of life
But they are more than just that
They are exaggerations, exemplifications
They are what we see and allow others to see
Hypnotic, neurotic venom of Nirvana-
You bloom like the petals within my veins.
As we sink to the ground; decomposing with an imperial clout...
Will we still seek to know our story?
The shop doors open
And the signs are turned,
Every person, ready
to strike a deal.
Market street, dressed in wares of others' vision's
Flowers, dresses, hats, grocers goods.
Have you ever just looked out and saw everything you couldn't formulate an explanation to
captured through the simple essence of nature
For instance take this cruise,
Look up at the sky, what do you see?
I see a bird looking down at me.
What does it see when it looks at me?
Nothing, as I see nothing in me.
Why do you not have any hope?
Away in her room, the little maiden sits,
Sent there for throwing too many fits.
Her brunette locks rest on her broad shoulders and cascade down,
I am a writer
A musical writer
I write in song
in rythmic song
my writing has notes
my writing may be notes
It may be whacked
Or out of order
but this is my writing
Stop
Listen
The thrumming of the music
Vibrating through your mind
Painting a picture no other can see
Stroke
Erase
Your hand moves on its own
Making the mind real
The creations from within, are inner expressions of my core self, spilled onto the canvas & Paper.
The creations from within, is a tool I use to connect with my higher guidance to guide me through new creative pathways.
The art of progression
Is something of enlightenment
The fact that you can evolve
And then involve your mind
In a split second
A fragment of your life
Becomes your whole
Time
Waisted
Its like I'm digging for gold but I ain't struck it yet ...Rockefeller oil man my lines are still slicker packing pounds of rhymes and building them poems like a lyrical building...line after line I'm passing out sublimeness as if it was just som
Why must you pull me back?
you evil thing tugging with a lion's brutality on the cords of my ankles.
then I cannot walk or run free.
and leap through those transparent but fierce and threatening walls of this cage.
Hark unto me oh ye man!!!!
For it is not the struggle of one that overcomes all, but rather the struggle of all that overcomes one. We are not definite through human shape and form, rather infinite through UNIFYING energy.
Trapped are we, souls in bodies not our own.
Longing are we to find our purpose our home.
Externally. We search this home only it is we find we are alone. Soul full of stone.
Look internally for within lies eternity.
Feel the tongue tingling words oozing from my overly active brain.
The sensation of bottle popping knowledge residing in your heart.
His words will never hurt you again
The hammer in your chest will pound no more
You'll never fit in;
You'll never be one of us.
Put your hand down,
You're not that smart.
You confuse the senses --
Your exterior hard; your skin soft.
Your face harsh; your voice smooth.