24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
I’m trapped in this cell of my own making,
The walls all around me make me want to cry,
I can’t leave, I made this cell for myself,
And I’ve lost the key,
It’s so dark in here, so empty,
I feel so lonely and trapped,
I think I could get out, if I tried
But I’m scared of what might happen if I leave,
So I stay here,
Trapped in a cell of my own making
At twenty years old
I gave up all my crutches
All my fears returned.
I’d wasted three years
Had nothing to show
And no more money to burn.
All the fear came back
And brought more with it
Leaving me helpless and alone.
Full panic attacks now
Afraid to live, afraid to die
I knew my hope was gone.
One day my sister – married now –
Asked me to come to church.
I was raised that way, what could it hurt?
When I went that night I felt something
That made tears run down my face.
It was acceptance, it was love, I felt my path divert.
It doesn’t mean that all was great
Like someone waved a magic wand,
But things had turned for better now.
I had new friends, good examples to watch
Smarter choices, calmer living, smiles instead of frowns
Though my father tried to pull me back, that, I would not allow.
Peace, quiet
Happiness, joy
Contentment and hope.
I never looked back
Everything was new
I was cleaned by more than soap.
A series of unfortunate events
Turned love
Into
Bitter hate.
Misunderstandings,
And setups.
Create a fire so massive,
Love cannot
Live here
Anymore.
She cries for him,
He moves on from her.
A beautiful tragedy
In life.
Emails are the new paper trail.
Logged in apps
The new PIs.
And all we do
Is search for the
Lies over truth,
Hate over love,
Instead of searching
For the beauty of
Stars
And the moon.
We look for the ugly
In it all.
And she found it,
In twisted truths.
It seems as if it would be fun to have around. Frankly, I’ve always been a bit more fixated on
my license to live. It was gifted to me as a child and I couldn’t comprehend its full value until the pretrichor filled my lungs to the brim and engulfed me in its shadow.
I wanted to destroy it. It’s still intact but not for lack of trying. Somehow, it has withstood countless attempts on its life and remains a good sport through it all.
I understand now why the sunlight engrosses me through its own rays of optimism as it simultaneously shrouds me in darkness. I look down at it and keep it on hand at all times.
“Wait for me to grow up and appreciate what I’ve yet to lose”
Why sing of love at this hour?
When the big hand is at 4
All I desire is my nightly rest
I’ve worked and walked all day
Yet you stroll in early in the morn’
To sing of your painful suffering
She doesn’t care for your love
Yesterday, I saw her leaving
With another around her arm
Go home and give it a break
Your strings won’t do the trick
No matter what, she isn’t yours
You’ve got to get going
My mind can’t function
Work is already a pain
Pebbles to her window
Are sirens in my ears
Oh, stop this mess now!
If you won’t hush this mess,
I’ll have to give it a try
Maybe I’ll court her tonight
Only then, will you leave me be
If she is with me, then no worries
I’ll be able to sleep a full 8 hrs.
Second Fight episode 1
Sixteen assassins fought Dasher
He escaped to the base
Told the other superheroes
The base was put into lock-down
Sixteen assassins followed Dasher
Made their attack using a chopper
They broke in and met Superkick
Powerful kicking superhero
I grow old … I grow old …
Over the years I have grown bold
I have sought out new adventures
Tried many different sorts of food.
I have traveled many places
Whatever suits my mood.
In my youth I was very quiet
My tears fell on the floor
Now that I have grown older
I’m not as emotional as before.
I laugh and smile,
I love to sing
I work with children,
Such joy they bring.
I aimed for the moon
But found the stars
Life is good
Even if sometimes bizarre.
So many things I like to do
I travel, karaoke, bake and write
I would rather keep smiling
I don’t like to fight.
I grow old … I grow old …
Yet I’m young at heart
Life is good
I don’t doubt my part.
Italicized lines are from T.S. Eliot’s The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
Do not throw Elliot at me, you babylonian slouch
gaze upon my work, ye Nightingale and despair
with hours to go before I sleep
I have seen the greatest minds of my generation
destroyed by such a hollow man
as I sing the body bandersnatch
and hear the tambourine man’s song
in this hour of lead
and Lenore left us so young
The art of losing isn’t hard to master – Elizabeth Bishop
When you told me the
lines I drew in my skin were art
intricate patterns of
pain you saw as love, and the blood that I was losing
as sweet elixir, I knew this isn’t
the way to treat a hard
case so determined to
make pain its master.
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
A subdued lunatic
Following the bloody riddles
Of his father
Stagnant in grief;
How rigid, yet emotional
How brutal, yet loving
An impossible man,
For one so tortured
Is destined to tear himself apart