My old poetry

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Editorial and Opinion  |  House: Booksie Classic
setting up a bit

Submitted: August 25, 2013

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Submitted: August 25, 2013




I walked away, far from where I've come.
To a new place, so that I would think,
and kept on thinking,
until it gets worse.

Another cigarette was burnt
as I watched the lighter slipped of my
sweaty palms of hatred,
I looked at the table, messed
with ashes and empty glasses
whom used to fill with joy.

I have wished for the time to stop,
as I look out the window,
hoping for the trees to stop moving,
day by day.
Still, It is only an empty bottle
of wishing faces and laughter
whom I have long forgotten.

I missed those days.










I leaped unto such dismiss,
for a never ending bliss,
reached for my inner desires,
a smile for an even attire.

I kept on wandering through this dessert,
for nothing which I think
for years I have fought and even though for reasons
I lay down my conceptions and begin my confessions.

I hold up my head to see my misconceptions
I hold up my hands sky high
so high i can touch the skies
but the truth was there,
lurking in the dark empty space in my heart.

I miss her....









I was strolling through the crowd
The heat is pulling me
My legs chained me to the ground
My hands tied by a word,

The pace never stops
It beats throughout the day
It beats throughout the night
But different at times.

Inside the pulsing crowds
There's a boy pointing at me
I looked up and stare
Just I knew it was there

Finally an end to remember
It was gloomy and dark
Red colored and dirt
I can no longer stare

Something kept me alive
A light and a hand
It made a shade behind
To remind me the time.








When the loveless retains the love it has lost,
they gain none but futile dust
and whispering winds
of fragile speeches that is reformed
by whimpering pains of the dead.
This love seeks the seekers
and the burning souls of the damned.

With such gothic textures went by my lips,
they crave indigestion of knowledge
beating the terror of the hate.
The lady in black showed her palm,
decorated by patents of mass clearance
of genius structural creation by god.
"I believe" said the man, "I oppose the creation”,
and he then took a deep breath and died in her arms.













The wind blows the warmth at the back of my ears,
whispering the words as said and wrote,
changes which gives a breathing effect,
I know the will and how to fulfill,
but i did not.

Sentence trapped by mumbling whispers
as a torment, wrapped in sweetness and flakes
that non were on your shoulders
where wanderers would have lived on

The sad face solitude remained
as much as long as words written
I took refuge in fate
where then subsides a hate
as the road taken were empty
as punished, I am guilty.







Why must the fewest of the some were the ones?
and that i would be blamed?
and that i would be it?
the one?
a blink in the horde?
a mistake?

Then if that if I am, I fear not
for the truth, no hypocrisy and fraud,
I will keep it in my mind...










A tree I see,
Under a glance a honey bee
no gloom
no stress
no expressions.

Below it was an apple
but that is not an apple tree
I know what I see,
a honey bee.

How is it, the truth?
With the strands below the roots?
is it a conspiracy?
a well planned one?

Am I the scapegoat?
Or the string for the puppet
maybe with the clothes on
is that what I see?

Am I still sleeping with my eyes open?
is that where I’ll be?









Without even thinking,
I tried to fly
and again
and again
without knowing how to stop
without knowing pain
without having strains
with no emotional motives
no directions
no flaws
no meaning
just to find
a peace of mind
in the shade
in the glowing dark
endless without an infinite...







As I trace myself deep within the course of fate in which I despise, 

gladly I found my old self, stuffed by complete hatred towards reality,

as what I knew about the whole thing that had dragged me deep within myself,

“I knew about those people and their screwed ideas”, but what can I do about it,

to it against it, is it one of my impaired ways of thinking?

By provoking others just because I did it my way?

Do they want me to be just like them

with the things that they do from what they learnt from the fake media?

Does what the TV do?

To think like the TV think?

And to say what they say?

And why do I have to be one of them

to be myself?







Is it best word unspoken?

In a co-inspired legacy of the unearthened?

As a vengeful trance of impurity

In a vile matter

Am I living for that

Or maybe, in that?






Sleeping Deadly (8,May,2011)


|I really wanted to hold her in my arms longer, but soon i have to part with her, sooner. |

 |I wished the time to stop so that i can look into her deep blue eyes, even more.|

|I never felt so powerless, as she hold my hands, smiling, those smiles.|

 |I could see her tears falling, as it on a white shattered porcelain in the rain. |

|The dirt on her face and her hands, had seemed to fade by time, slowly.|

 |This hand was shaking, now it stops moving, pale as dead.|

|This skin has blood on it, now dried and cold. |

 | A light, wasn't  there before, a big one. |

|A drought finally wet my lips, a winter never felt so warm.|

| My eyes now sealed tight but i can still feel her heartbeat. |

 |"i'm going to sleep now, for a long-long time" |



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