Does anyone else write?
I do it more just as somthing to get my emotions out onto -somthing-. Generic as it sounds, my feelings get bottled up sometimes. So, anyone else write poetry? I'll share a few with you guys, interested if you guys will to the shame. Share a little creativity! : P
I gaze up at the night sky, wind rushing past my face.
My eyes glance down, and I see thousands of glistening lights.
Each one *****ling, dancing before my stunned pupils.
Not even the wind holds resistance now, it sighs resignedly with a slight gale.
My feet are left on the ground, I'm shooting through the night!
The wind catches it's breath, it can't keep up with me.
I'm rocketing now, the world can't stop me.
And I'm so free, every vein is tingling! Every fibre is beating!
And I'm laughing my lungs dry with joy.
And I stop, in the middle of it all.
And I'm on top of the world, far above it.
Gravity has no grasp on me now, but I realise...
In the dazzling lights, in the pandemonium.
Something is missing.
You're not there.
____________________________________________
No-one can choose my fate now, no-one can change my future.
But I'm laughing.
And I'm falling,
but I'm rising,
Flying!
but I'm plummeting.
Because I feel so alive, yet I feel tired,
my limbs are aching.
And everything doesn't make sense when I'm around you.
Tremble, shake.
Build the foundations to break them down.
Rise up, sift through the rubble, burn it into a fortress fit for a king.
But don't laugh at me for trying.
Don't laugh at me because I try too hard.
Because I'm free now, freer than I've ever been.
Free to run.
No-one can set my path, I can't see anything but laughter.
Bottle it up, rip it apart, break through the night with feet pounding faster than light.
My mind is freed up, no accepted thoughts, proper manners or red tape can bind me.
You can't run from the truth, and I love mine.
I'm happy here, so why did it have to be you?
I'm lying here on this operating table.
I see my world through a glass screen.
The LED lights flash in front of me. Trying to hypnotize me with their illuminant glow.
Perhaps I am human, or perhaps I am perfect.
Do I have imperfections? Am I -meant- to?
Nothing makes sense. I'm drawn by the headlines and the shocking stories.
The fashion and the gossip.
They blabber senselessly, yet I find myself glued.
God, help me, I can't peel away.
(God won't help you now.
God's part of it.
God's what they had before this.)
Am I shattered, or am I still whole? I can't feel myself, now.
Hold together, dammit, get a grip of yourself!
Find your individuality!
I can feel it now, magazines are wrapping their coarse, paper leafs around me.
Go ahead, scream.
They're not going to hear you.
I'm subjugated, torn of what I thought was reality.
(Reality or dreams, I had a dream. I found myself.)
But I didn't find myself.
(Am I lost, or am I found? Am I sitting in an office somewhere with writing on me, to be claimed by: - .... . / . .- .-. - .... )
Wind won't reach me here, neither rain, nor wind.
Neither s..-n no.-. / ... .... ..ne, and no- .... .. -. --. / .. ... / .-. . .- .-.. .-.-.-
I liked the first one. By no means am I a poetry aficionado, but I'll check out a poetry book every now and then. I wish I could write something that wasn't laughable, though. >_>
Poetry.
