The Beginning

Introduction

When I was writing this poem I tried to achieve a certain tone that anyone can relate to, which I hope is present. I just wanted to be able to identify with those in pain and give a sort of voice to them. Of course, I’m not hypocritical of the extent; because I’m sure I haven’t experienced all the pain in the world, but I wanted viewers to understand that they’re not the only ones in pain encouraging them not to give up yet, though it seems the perfect choice. I was hoping people would find equality which is, in some way, the single most valuable thing in the world.

 

A day that renders helpless

The heart that must not break,

The soul that harbors weakness,

The countenance that aches.

How such a horror happens,

For one to feel such misery;

Vulnerable weeps and sorrows must exist by mistake.

You’d think one needs such sympathy

To separate the tinge;

A consonant of pity

You think you’d never take,

But it is the heart that pities

The mind that can’t remember.

Can you feel it at your skin,

The coarse bleach that falters?

Can you feel it at your lips,

The words that contrast change?

Do you think it’s never happened,

The crime that kills such shame?

The flight of stairs below,

Or the gorge that wears away,

And the ashen figure beneath,

Broken

 

 

The Middle

Introduction

Again, I wanted to write something that encourages people not to give in to the temptations of life no matter how seductive. I wanted people to understand that it’s alright to feel like you need to do something again once you’ve failed but not to seize their progression in life by doing so.

When the apocalypse approaches,

And pandemonium strives,

When all is lost,

She finds us again.

Through the rises and falls,

She hauls us back.

Through youth and senescence,

She hears our nostalgic wallows.

Through romance and heartbreak,

She brushes away our tears.

In all that we crave,

She guides our idle minds.

She is the end, crafted divine,

Boding us to go on,

Praying us to horde our short delights.

How does one look to tomorrow,

When they are trapped in yesterday?

The End?

I didn’t want to write a poem about ending a life because it’s subjective for everyone. But I guess that’s how background and media separate us when we’re really this close. I hope that whoever reads this fully acknowledges what I mean and passes it on to peers. Hopefully, it’ll do well. I’m guessing people have better things to do, but if you’ve had the time to complete reading this, I’m sure you’ll have the time to pass it on to a few others and vice versa.

Good luck,

              

     

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 07.11.2013

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Widmung:
I dedicate this to my dear uncle, Mo, for listening, the most important thing, for caring and for the hope that’s made me feel like something more. Thank you for everything, Mo. I hope what you’ve done for me will do the same for you.