random poem of fate

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Life

what is life? Four letters, four letters that are the most powerful streams of our existences. A single ex drug addict mother scrambling for money to pay the bills for her three kids, her daughter 17 years of age working a part time job at a restuarant trying to save up enough money for her family for chirstmas, she just wants to fit in, she just wants to make friends, she wants to be loved. She sees a future, that she wants so desperately to grasp, she sees what life can be, what she wants her life to be. Life. This is my life. I want this four letters to feel my existances and to make me my desires come about. Life. What is life?

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Pleasant Hill

Tue, 06/14/2016 - 23:34 -- dericka

 

I've been guilty of my actions and not wanting to take the blame,

 I've brushed it off and put my weight on another man’s shoulders thinking my sins will soon go away.

It's wrong,

 knowing I knew better,

I didn't know what better I knew.

Finally, I came to a Pleasant Hill and found out he was the man I handed my flaws to.

Being raised in a church,

Praying before every meal,

And bending down on my knees worshipping the one I knew was ideal.

I must admit,

 I understood the rules and regulations of Christ to the fullest,  

And there's no way around it.

So there's no running, ducking, hiding.

There's no beating around the bush.

Every breath and step I take is being recorded,

My evidence has been gathered and collected faster than any investigator.

He is more accurate than any other individual.

His name?

His name is God.

And without him I wouldn't be able to do what I love the most.

I wouldn't be able to touch this pen and scribble on this paper about his glorious name.

I wouldn't be able to stand and speak in front of a quiet crowd and spread the sweetness of the name of Jesus.

I wouldn't be able to hug this art the way I should without him.

The fact that I tried is wrong.

How dare I lie?

How dare I cheat?

How dare I walk around in public and fuss, fight, and cuss like a sailor. 

Knowing that I should be spreading his word and thanking him for his mercy.

Who am I to shut my life off,

 and sit in a hot room and eat all day because I am sad?.

When knowing he gave me this life for a purpose.

And here I was,

  I’d believed my past haunted my present,

while my present made my future a victim of murder.

He made no mistakes in my past, present, or future.

 Everything is for a reason,

His reason.

I hide my opinionated voice and tears behind society, to show that I am strong.

But love and let go when I'm alone.

But you,

You always remain in attendance of me.

My God, Jah, Dios, Allah, Khodd,

 The all powerful, Almighty, creator, divine being, king of all kings…

My idol.

The selfish I,

 cannot compare to the worthy you.

You sent your son down to earth to warn us

"Beat the bell before the bell beats you.”

And I'm willing.

I'm willing to give up my wild ways for you.

Because you,

 Are worth more than silver and gold.

As I close my eyes at night,

 I know you're there to tuck and hide my fears.

So I'm waving my white flag,

I'm surrendering my soul here.

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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Dear My Lost One.

Dear my lost one,

I'm sad that you have left me

In an event that I couldn't foresee

Its tragic to loose someone

We all live without guarantee

But you weren't even thirty,

Maybe you'll be the key

For them all to see,

I'll try not to cry

But it's time for me to say goodbye.

 

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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The Ticking Wheel

Location

Once upon a time
I wrote a stupid rhyme
go up the hill,
spin the wheel,
and youll come down alright



Up I traveled
far it was
and how beautiful the scenery



Up and up
the farther i went
the air was clearing fast



For how long it was
I did not know
the time was passing over



Tick tock
12 went the clock
how loud the sound rang
when i reached the top
I found the wheel, spun it around,and sang

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Corrupt Cycle of Blame

The teacher blames it on the kid,

The kid blames it on the home,

The home is composed of the parents,

And the parents blame it on the system,

The system blames it on society,

The society is composed of the media,

And the media blames it on the desire,

The desire is blamed on the people,

The people is composed of the kid, the parent, and the teacher,

And the teacher blames it on…

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itita3

12 years ago

Nice! I liked the ending, it is a "corrupt cycle of blame".

Beauty and the Beast

Once Upon a Time, there was a maiden named Belle. She was no doubt the most beautiful in her small town. Strange, yes, but beautiful. She dreamed of far off places, daring sword fights, a world of adventure and fantasy. There is not much to do in her small town but dream and let your mind wander. Belle was one of seven siblings. She was the most humble of all her siblings. She had learned to adjust quickly to the small town life after her father lost most of their wealth. One day, her father told her that he was to be gone for three days for a business trip and soon went off. On the third day of his expected return, he ran into some trouble and did not return. Two days passed and Belle became worried. The family horse then returned alone and made Belle distraught. Their horse led Belle to the place where her father never came back from. A large, gloomy, desolate castle loomed before her. She needed to find him. She wandered throughout the castle for hours looking for signs of her father when she came upon something. Something she knew very well. A gold cape. The gold cape she gave to her father for his birthday except it was no longer gold- it was stained crimson red. Blood. As she looked up, she saw a trail- a trail of blood leading to a nearby door. Cautiously, she made her way to the door. As the door opened, she was hit with a foul stench and a wave of nausea. Suddenly, a bright light shined upon her exposing her and she froze in fear. After her eyes adjusted to the blinding light her eyes widened in horror. Mutilated bodies were everywhere. Limbs thrown about everywhere, blood coated the gray brick walls. Laying right at her feet, was what was left of her father- his bloody tattered clothes. She remains tense as her hairs stand on end when she hears a deep guttural growl coming from the corner of the room. Slam! The door shuts on its own behind her and the lights go out shrouding her in complete darkness. Belle and her father were never heard from again.

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America

Sun, 04/10/2016 - 11:02 -- Kitsag

Donald trump no good 

This poem is about: 
My community

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Objective Sciences, Subjective Views

there are a trillion galaxies in the universe

and people think,

well at least they think, 
 
they're thinking.
 
i'm just doing what I've been taught.
 
subjected to social constructs,
 
subjected to nurture theories,
 
subjected to water-based eyes,
 
with no insight.
 
yet teeming with awareness:
 
memory composed.
 
strung together by past encounters,
 
past awareness, 
 
or better yet,
 
my memory of them.
 
language and symbolism constantly
 
tap my consciousness; 
 
feeding and leeching
 
from different aspects of me.
 
a me I would never know otherwise,
 
all through the unseen;
 
vast neurological communications in the brain.
 
and with all these happenings,
 
all this conscious awareness,
 
people have only begun to realize that they have ruined the world.
 
transforming my fate in the process, or
 
what the essence of my fate used to be. 
 
And, in this everyday life of mine,
 
fate is only a subjective scapegoat.
 
a subjective view, in a subjective poem, based on objective sciences.

Comments

chicagoan

11 years ago

Read. Enjoy. Read again.

With out it all?

When you see that pretty lone flower you pick.

When you see the random round rock you kick it.

When you see me you see nothing different,

a pretty brown girl with long hair walking and talking like she doesn't give a single care

in the world, but thats just the vision.

Traveling to her mind is an impossible mission.

There you will find an  entirely foregin space, filled complex thought moving at a rapid pace

not stress not worry just ideas and words.  Floating around like butterflies and bees.

Calming thoughts like palm trees. But thats only when she gets her peace.

She doesn't like the outside scene.  Going to clubs and having to pretend that shes mean.

She like to read books, and study but thats boring to most so she pretends,

That she likes make up, fake nails, and girly things to fit in.

Nobody should still be a tom boy at 25. 

Wearing sweat pants is not for ladies, put on a dress, a tight one that shows a little thigh. 

Don't dare tie your hair up let it touch your back.

Do you think a man will marry a woman who doesn't put a napkin on her lap?

Not that I would care or even consider, the fact that I would marry someone who would.

I just want to live a life thats not misunderstood. 

So if you thought I was the lone flower would you pick me?

Or would you call me the random round rock and kick me?

This poem is about: 
Me

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