My Poetry Blog: A Mix of Genres and Poetry Styles
Why is pain a place of comfort, and not joy?
Why not the peace of a warm embrace,
Or the sound of the rain outside,
While I am safe, inside, with no complaints?
I love my own company, my love for life,
For the flowers springing up
From the concrete, the birds
Singing in the trees outside my window.
Why then, when I sit
And put my pen to my thoughts,
And my thoughts to the paper,
Do I continuously choose
For misery?
She loves the attention –
The tension with my heart.
She shares it with everyone,
Till it tears me apart.
She loves the attention,
The way she plays with my mind,
Till all the pretend confessions
Have played their essential part,
And I respond in kind.
She loves the attention –
An insult to myself,
And I won’t even mention
How the clock has struck twelve.
She loves the attention,
And why do I care?
She’s the most beautiful thing,
For all the world to share.
Take my breath
With your hand around my neck,
And cold fingers running down my spine.
I live and die
At your command,
At your hand.
Every morning I try
To walk away
But you always chase
Me endlessly, relentlessly
Till I can’t see
The light ahead of me.
You are a fading star in the dark void –
Holding onto dear life
And shining your light
As your vital signs cease.
A dramatic final statement
As you explode in silence.
At the end of it all
You were only full of gas.
But now you are nothing
As your light meets my eyes
One last time.
I’m listening to sad songs
Because there’s something wrong
In my head and I’m sad
All the time and not fine
When I want to end my bloodline with me
And can’t see how I can be free.
It’s a constant continuation
Of frustration
But I’m not hiding –
Fighting it as I just sit
And take it but I don’t fake it
Even though I wish I could
Get off at the next station
And leave this train of thought
But the ticket I bought was misunderstood
And now I don’t know what to do.
He’s not too bad,
He just gets a little bit sad and gets stuck
When he’s struck –
by the memory
And remembers me.
Because it’s him,
He,
The me that I see
In the memory:
He’s not free.
So just,
Please, I plead:
Let me be me,
And let me be free.
It was on that old second-hand pull-out sofa,
That I found myself.
A glass that was emptied too many times, in my hand
And your head on my shoulder.
Melancholic music softly played in the background,
And was only overshadowed by our eleven o’clock breathing.
It was you, me, and the two perfect sinners:
Living in a heaven where we may still cry.
(PS: No longer adding the date to each poem as it’s unnecessary, and was a left-over habit from when this was a daily poetry journal)
My doubts could not stay silent,
And neither could I.
I could see the end coming,
And made a feeble attempt to hide;
Now in your mind,
It is I, that you despise.
The blame is not all mine,
As our actions were seen by four eyes.
We clung to each other and tried to tread lightly,
But we hung on too tightly.
Alas, now that we’re awake:
You are you,
And I am me.
I closed the gate,
And looked to the night sky.
That’s when I realized,
I’ve stopped looking for Orion.
Those stars will go on their journey,
And I’ll go on mine.
Maybe one day I’ll go searching again,
And I wonder what I’ll find.
I just want to leave;
Disappear like the leaves
In the Fall and just
Give up on it all.
I just want to see the sun shine
In the Spring, and feel fine.
I want to see the flowers grow;
Watch the butterflies put on their show
As they dance in the sky above,
Proudly displaying their love.
I look forward to the Summer,
To walks in the park,
When I can hold you tightly in my arms.
But then Winter comes again,
And the leaves fade away.
But at least you’ll be there by my side,
Day after day.
JD Poetry 