All of my old poems, in one post. Excluding the WantsOut poems.

Tophat's picture

Interestingly, I'm going to make a dramatic reading of some of these.

Poems

I want To See Your Face

I Stop I drop I roll
And still I want to know
Why can't I see your face
Why can't I feel your grace
I want to believe in you
and yet I cannot do
the things you ask of me
I do not think I see
I feel so lonely now
I cannot see the sun
This ever-lasting
bleakness that overrides the moon
It seeps into my skin
It reflects to me my sin
I want to see your face
I want to see your grace
I'm lost and cannot see
these chains are binding me
I wait to be set free
and yet I will not be
I wish to know you're there
but I can't be unfair
I've always had my doubts
but now it seems all-out
I don't see anything
that shows that you are there
amazing grace no more
dismissed as ancient lore
Why can't I see your face
why can't I feel your grace?

To See The Real Me All At Once

Under the Surface of my precious skin_hides another man much kinder than I
Under the facade and this noisy din_is someone who is avoiding your eyes
I try hard to hide him and I am succeeding,_but because I hide him I think I am bleeding.
I'm hiding myself with this cruelty and hate_For I no longer want you to be in my fate
I act like a misanthrope, angry and mean,_just to keep everyone from ever seeing
I don't know how longer I can take this madness_this hatred, this fear, and mostly this sadness
I can no longer wear this despicable mask,_but if it is removed, how long shall I last?
I cannot decide, truth or lies,_the pain inside compels me,
The world outside seems not to care,_I cannot help but deny I am aware.
As I debate with myself what I cannot do,_I suddenly wonder how I'll affect you.
Can my unmasking benefit others around me,_will I help them now see what I want to be?
I want to be loved, I want your acceptance,_I want you to see the real me all at once
I want to be known for who I am truly,_I want you to see the real me all at once
I want the cold mask of hatred to leave me,_I want you to see the real me all at once
I want to be who I am, what I am inside,_This mask must be torn off,
These walls must be torn down,_I want you all to see the real me all at once

(Not a poem) Masks- A lecture
I think that we, as humans, avoid looking at ourselves too closely for fear that we might see something we don't like. We're afraid that deep down, there's something wrong with us. Or we're afraid that looking too deeply might show us something that would change our lives... For better or for worse.
If only we had the courage to truly look inside ourselves. If only we didn't set up barriers from ourselves...
I may be speaking about myself, but I am sure that others have these barriers as well. We all build walls, if you will, and we use them to keep people from seeing what's truly inside of us. But perhaps we use them to keep ourselves inside, to keep our actual selves from reaching the surface.
Perhaps I will try and go to the beginning...
When we are born, we are pure innocence, and we want nothing but what WE want. We are the essence of the Id. But the world soon batters us, bruising us. We build barricades around ourselves. The walls built vary, I am sure, depending on the life experience. But from the beginning we are shown by the world that innocence will not be tolerated.
We learn to obey the laws. The walls built vary from person to person, some people hiding behind intellectualism, others hiding behind feigned stupidity. Some hide behind a black, dry humor, others hide behind a cheery disposition that shows no pain.
We look upon others, and see their facade, just as they see ours. But what hides underneath? I believe that we can get a hint of the true personality by observing the facade.
The intellectual may find it difficult to deal with the uncertainties of the world, so he rejects all things illogical.
The fool may be intelligent enough to see what is wrong with his surroundings, so he hides behind stupidity, and pretends not to see.
The black-humored fellow may find the world a dark, black place, and uses humor, albeit sometimes morbid and cruel, to try and lighten up the darkness, at the same time avoiding acknowledging the seriousness of the problem.
The cheerful fellow may hide his immense pain behind his cheerfulness so as not to hurt those around him.
These are merely my observations, and of course there are exceptions.
I say we must look past the barriers we use to hide ourselves from ourselves, and look to see who we really are. Look past the fear, the hate, the sadness that you hide behind. Look, O man, and see your true face.

In The Black And In The Clear
Am I living, am I dead?
Did Art Carney lose his head?
Shall I shoot the Fiddler's Green?
Shall I drop the Guillotine?
Shall I find the dramamine,
With the Lady Mondegreen?
Am I living, am I dead?
Am I sitting in the shed?
In the black and in the clear,
Don't you think I saw you here?
Am I shooting weather vanes?
Am I licking sugar canes?
Am I sane or am I mad?
Am I lame or am I sad?
Can I die with dignity?
Shall I sigh resignedly?
Am I living, am I dead?
Shall I end up like old Ted?

As The Wind Blows From East To West, So Does My Soul (A Story)
I feel... Finally.
The men who tried to perfect me were gentle, for the most part, and seemed to really be trying to correct my various errors. They couldn't solve the problem of the Elongation, but I already knew that was permanent, as the Benefit Denouncer was an imperfect machine. The other experiments were usually distorted in some way as well... I am not the only one to be Elongated. The Twins seem to have been elongated as well, but their mental state has diminished. I'm sane. That I know.
When the men told me that I was going to regain my soul, I knew that science had truly progressed. Not even the Twins had successfully regained their soul.
The Twins scare me. They are in the same room as I, and they are frightening. I am taller than they, but their hats make them seem even larger. Such long, skinny top hats. And the chains... They are chained together by the one wrist and a chain around their necks...
The Twins scare me. They are jealous that I have a soul and they don't. They tried to rape me. they almost did, too. If the night guard hadn't heard me cry out...
The Twins scare me. They make noises at night... they call it "incest". The chaplain calls it sinful, and told me not to watch them or my soul would be lost to hell again.
I am going to be released soon. The men tell me that if the next treatment is successful I can be rereleased into the general population.
The Twins are asleep as I write my journal now. I can hear them speaking in their sleep- they do that a lot. They act so nice asleep... Why not awake?
I sleep now. In the morning I shall resume.
I t is morning, and the Twins are awake... They are kissing each other. I write earlier than usual so as not to watch and lose my soul.
I don't remember what happened before I lost my soul. The Twins know, but they won't tell me. I don't even know my real name.
I think I was once called Jacques, but the nice men say I was called Sean. I trust them.
The Twins have been called out of the room. I can hear noises from the hallway. It sounds like a struggle. I see nothing.
The Twins have re-entered the room. They are bloody. I feel thirsty, but drinking blood means you lose your soul. The Twins' mouths are covered in blood. I think that that is why they can't get their souls. They drink blood.
The Twins have been naughty, the warden tells me. They've been moved out of my sector. Another man has come in. He doesn't talk. He wears a mask. He never moves. He is odd. I sketched him earlier. I think I was an artist once.
The man has not moved since he got here. I think he's a sinner, though, because he stares at me all the time. When I move, his head follows.
The Chaplain told me that he lost his soul a long time ago. His name is Harvey. I think of a rabbit, I'm not sure why.
The Twins entered our sector again. They were smiling. I don't know why. The Twins are wearing badges. The warden hired them, they said. We have to do what they say.
The Twins have instructed the men and women to seperate. I don't know why. They said that we need to be seperate or the naughtyness of 'hetrow' will get to us. I asked the Chaplain, and he doesn't know what they're saying.
I think that I was an artist. I don't know.
The Twins have called in Harvey for a test, they say.
It's been three hours, Harvey is still gone. The Twins are giggling more than usual.
The Twins have been kissing again. The Chaplain talked to them about it. They fired him.
I miss the Chaplain.
The Twins are sleeping. I went up to them. My hand was trembling. I dropped the knife, and The Twins woke up. They grabbed my arm and pulled me onto the bed. They said I was naughty. They did things to me. The Twins scare me.
I am writing this now in my room. The Twins said I couldn't be released because I was naughty. I don't like them. They said that I'd learn to love them.
The Twins are wonderful the Twins are beautiful.
The Twins are merciful the Twins are loving.

I AM BUT AM I TRULY
Am I alive?
Well? Am I?
I've been asking this question for so long.
I bleed to see if I'm even human.
These scars... They show who I am.
Perhaps they will show me.
They haven't yet.
Angels.
I hope they exist, so very badly.
I need one.
I wish I could see him.
I hear that angels are beautiful.
The clocks. They tick...
My future is coming, my present is leaving, the past is haunting.
Shall I see the truth?
I think I already do.
Life is the miserable space between fantasies.
My delusions are all that keep me sane.
Can you understand that?
The pins, the needles, they prick at me.
Anger, disgust, hate.
They enter my mind.
They bleed into my emotions, unbidden, unwanted.
I do not want these emotions.
I do not want these thoughts.
I cannot stop them.
The days rush past, but move so slowly.
I believe my pain rests in my delusions.
But my delusions save me from pain.
This never-ending cycle shall do just that.
It shall never end.
Perhaps I was once Van Gogh, tortured by the art he created.
Perhaps I was once Alexander the Great, weeping over his success.
Perhaps I was- and am- nobody.
Perhaps I am merely a speck in the dark world.
I have retreated within my own mind, only able to communicate through what I write.
But is what I write even my own thoughts?
I wear my heart on my sleeve, but is it my heart or merely a fake?
I do not know myself.
Perhaps I am a madman, ranting about nothing.
Perhaps I am God.

Hope
Hope_Can it be found anywhere?_Can the world see such a beautiful thing_even if it stands before them?_Or will despair forever hold dominion over mankind?_Will it be stifled by religion_that which claims to be_the sole holder and provider_of the light?_That which deceives the millions_and destroys the world_slowly but surely?_Shall the shadows overwhelm thee_shall death overcome thee?
Nay

Croix- A Poem Of Pondering
Croix- So Empty, So Cold, So Dead
Boy- So Full, So Warm, So Lively
Die- Necessary, Inescapable, Comforting
Why- A question, so deep, So Shallow
Hell- Flame, Sword, Eternity
Well- Water, Refreshment, Civilization
Nothing- Everything

REALITY
Can you seek a sacred stone?
Can you find it all alone?
Can you see it in my eyes?
I can see all your surprise.
I am with you, never fear,
I shall forever be near.
If I love you will you too?
There is so much more to do.
I can't breath for all the air,
Can't find my heart anywhere;
Will you find it, will you dare,
In this horrible bomb scare?
Can I find my sacred stone,
Can I find it all alone?

(Jack’s Poem)
Der Herr mit ein schwortz Mantel (the dark-coated gentleman)
Soothe thy inner flame_It burns thy soul and body_Not to thy knowledge
Thy actions call forth_To the man ensconced in black_His name is Herr Tote
By thy very deed_Thou hast cast a mental call_Of “Come, thou, to me!”
May thy life be long!_May this stranger never come,_To darken thy door!
O this forlorn hope!_O this package of false joy!_That hath passed mine lips!
For He shall come hence,_Be it soon or in far years,_Sir Death shall meet all!

DEATH
Ah, Death, my dear old frend,
welcome back to my home,
it gets so lonely here,
morbid silence, all alone,
Do me a favor dear,
take me with you now,
I know i'm before my time,
But what was I to do, now?
C'mon, dear, please don't judge,
simply take me with you,
I'm tired of this sludge
that they call the human race

SUICIDE
I have seen death,_welcomed her.
She would not come,_to my chagrin.
I have felt the brush of cold steel on soft flesh,_She smiled and left.
I have felt lead enter my brain,_The same.
I have felt the impact of spinal cord to windshield,_No difference.
And now she stares at me,_as the doctor fills me with morphine.
At my request,_I die.

I FEEL
I scream.
Nobody hears me.
I bleed, my wounds deep.
Nobody sees me.
I die, my flesh rotting as I lay in the street.
I am trampled.
I call for my friends to hold me, revive me.
I am ignored.
I flood the streets with my woeful cries.
Windows and doors slam shut.
I sleep in the lake.
I am not missed.

ASHES TO ASHES
He walks down the street, so beautiful, his skin radiant.
I want to reach out and hold him to me, but the sun burns me as I step.
I call to him, he smiles and waves for me to come to him.
I tell him I cannot,
He looks at me sideways, smiles,
and leaves.
My heart breaks, and I resolve that I will be brave.
"Wait!",
I call to him.
He stops.
I muster all my might,
run out after him,
And I burn
I am ashes.
Dead.

STILL AS WATER
Still as water
Dead as dust
Blood is hotter
Red as rust
Nothing changes
In this place
It rearranges
The same face
Hot and cold
Moist as mold
God is dead
Hell is dread
All is lost
for the solution
What's the cost
of evolution?

I AM HERE
can you hear me if I whisper to you,
see me if I stand before you,
Do you even know that I am here?
will you kiss me if I press up to you,
hold me if I say I love you,
Or will you simply push me away?
if I say that I want to be with you,
say that I will always kiss you,
Can you even see that I am here?
if I say that I am going to die,
that I'm going to end my own life,
Will you tell me that I'm worth much more?
You won't
I know
Cuz you don't even know that I am here...

DEATH
Can I speak my mind?
No.
Can I be loving?
No.
Does God love me?
No.
Can I see the truth?
No.
Can I speak the truth?
No.
Can I die?
Yes.

THE HOUSE BY THE SEA
I recently moved to the seaside. I now own a pretty little home, a bright blue home. It matches the sky.
My friends moved me here. There were butlers that brought me in. They all wore these very nice suits. White. Like clouds.
The walls inside are white, and soft, velvety.
I like it here.

THE HOUSE BY THE SEA Pt.2
They made me nice and cozy here...
A new sweater. White. I give myself a big hug... :]
They spoonfeed me... I don't even have to chew.
I like it here.

THE QUEER CASE OF THE TOMB
On a dark and lonely evening_A young man did come to mourn
and see his father's tombstone,_Which was covered by many a flower,_hid 'midst many a thorn.
As he kneeled to pray by this old grave_he noticed something strange.
Into a shape that seemed quite familiar_the flowers did arrange,
into the face of his old father,_who, 'till recently had stayed dead.
Thorns had formed his gnashing teeth,_flowers, eyes full of dread.
"Son!" the apparition sighed,_"Why did you bury me?
Why not let crows peck out my eyes?_It's not like I could see.
It's natural for animals_upon my flesh to feast,
Then my cadaver has a use_after I am deceased.
But in the tomb in which it lays_all it does is rot.
Does it help the living world?_No, I do think not.''
The father's son was terrified_at what he'd seen and heard,
And yet he found the whole idea_really quite absurd.
"But father," The young man did say,_"Do you remember not?
In your will you specified_your cadaver was to rot
In precisely this old tomb_in which it des now lay.
You wrote that will in last December,_and promptly died that day."
At those words the apparition_moaned in agony,
And disappeared into te flowers_never again seen.
As for the son, he only shrugged,_and retreated to his rooms,
and at that time rewrote his will_to simply read "No Tombs."

A WORLDVIEW
The world is like a flower.
Beautiful when first seen.
But as you grow older, it does too.
And it rots.
While many find dead flower ugly and depressing,
I find it beautiful, artful.
How can you look at a coal plant and say
"What an eyesore!"
when it is beauty in its finest hour?
A corpse is ugly, smelly, and sad,
if that's true how can you make art from it?
Beauty is temporary,
ugliness is forever,
why bother with the former?

MY ONLY LOVE
I need you.
I hate you.
however,
I need you.
Please save me,
wherever
you are now,
I am lost.
I am gone.
I fade from
your eye's sight.
But I think
that you know
I am here.
Can you feel
my loving
caressing?
I hold you,
I whisper
into your
ears, my love,
my sweet love,
your bitter
tears wash away
in my own.
I hate you
for the love
you caused in
my dark soul.

LIEBE IST ALLES
Liebe ist alles_Es gibt nichts, was ohne sie_Es gibt keinen Gott_Dhamma Niyama ist weg_wenn es keine Liebe_Die Welt hat kein Gleichgewicht_aber nur ohne Liebe_können Sie erreichen, Nirvana

VISHNU- THE RING

Are you with me, are you not?
Will you leave me here to rot?
When the bright sun goes away
all the vampies come to play.
The everygod fills up my room
which I think is now my tomb.
Can your brother come to play,
Will your father learn to pay?
Through the fields of Reisling Wine,
Life's a ring, so take your time.

POETIC JUSTICE
Lick the pole your tongue is stuck
tell the president she sucks
show the world you are a schmuck
if u aren't feeling the burn
cry as you watch the world turn
listen to the burning fern
if u say that it's ur turn
get ready for the gurney.
see the picture black and blue
see how i am also bruised
watch the bastard take a cruise
and get ready for the gurney.
with your fingers in my ass
no thank u i think ill pass
poetic justice- take the class
as you get ready for the gurney.

Comments

TotalGeek42's picture

Imonna be honest here and

Imonna be honest here and admit that I didn't read through any of your poems... but mostly because I got too distracted by the EPICNESS of your icon.

Alexxxx. :D

Should I be so excited for a rapist murderer beat-upper person? >>

"Assets, assets..."

"Well I've got a banana, and in a pinch you could put up some shelves..."

"Dreaming that someone unknown has died means that either you've been watching too much CSI..." - 5thstory

Tophat's picture

Lol.

Thanks, I think. :P

Yes, you should be.

It is true that liberty is precious; so precious that it must be carefully rationed.
-Vladimir Ilyich Lenin

TotalGeek42's picture

Haha, fair enough.

Haha, fair enough. xD

"Assets, assets..."

"Well I've got a banana, and in a pinch you could put up some shelves..."

"Dreaming that someone unknown has died means that either you've been watching too much CSI..." - 5thstory