I show you my poems, not for praise, but help.
These verses are pleas on paper.
You say 'beautiful',
I scream mercy.
Is it not clear enough?
Are my sufferings my fault?
I guess now,
if you decide to help after reading this,
you'll have to go to my grave.
Eyes closed breathing deeply
This is it i tell myself
I open my mouth to speak
These are the words that come out
Hand in hand we walk together
The stars light the night
Imagine us together again
Eating under the big oak tree
Laughing at my not so funny jokes
Remember the time we stole your moms keys
And took a ride to the park
Just so we could get on the swings
Or the time i lost my favorite t-shirt
You bought me a new one so i would have to
When you broke up with your girlfriend
I was there to comfort you
Here lies someone who we once loved dearly.
She was too kind and bubbly for us to handle
She gave light to the world and people would dim it.
They hated it,
Despised her cheeriness.
They wondered how she did it,
Perhaps it was all an act.
But as she grew older she grew colder
The people that once despised her missed her,
Said she was now too closed off and stale.
And how she answered to that was with a cold glare,
It said more than she bothered to voice.
So.. r.i.p to the old me,
'cause she was too kind and naive,
Trying to give others what was hers
And in return all she got was a broken soul and a lost mind.
everyone is here
even her stupid husband
they're all crying
I'm pretty sure it's fake
cause
I've never
Seen any of them
before
they have the balls
to glare at me like that
'Cause I'm just the
guy she cheated on with
but she loved me
she loved me
i set the flowers down
on the gravestone
I dwell in a lonely house I know
That vanished many a summer ago,
And left no trace but the cellar walls,
And a cellar in which the daylight falls,
And the purple-stemmed wild raspberries grow.
O’er ruined fences the grape-vines shield
The woods come back to the mowing field;
The orchard tree has grown one copse
Of new wood and old where the woodpecker chops;
The footpath down to the well is healed.
I dwell with a strangely aching heart
In that vanished abode there far apart
On that disused and forgotten road
That has no dust-bath now for the toad.
Night comes; the black bats tumble and dart;
The whippoorwill is coming to shout
If tired of trees I seek again mankind,
Well I know where to hie me--in the dawn,
To a slope where the cattle keep the lawn.
There amid lolling juniper reclined,
Myself unseen, I see in white defined
Far off the homes of men, and farther still,
The graves of men on an opposing hill,
Living or dead, whichever are to mind.
And if by noon I have too much of these,
I have but to turn on my arm, and lo,
The sun-burned hillside sets my face aglow,
My breathing shakes the bluet like a breeze,
I smell the earth, I smell the bruisèd plant,
I look into the crater of the ant.
Through bushes half obscured, a marble slab
Peers out like a pale face. Inscribed upon
Its weathered surface that the lichen growth
And winter’s storms have blurred, a few brief words
The curious eye may spell with labored care.
To “H” and “M” - perhaps - and the terse phrase
So haunting in its stark simplicity
And pathos, - “Lost at sea.” The changeless gulfs
Of ocean knew the dead man mentioned here
Where bushes riot o’er an empty grave,
But what old friend remembers him today?
Ofttimes, no doubt, upon the wet sea sand
He traced his name in childhood, while the waves
Erased the halting script. Another hand
Has etched that name in form more durable;
But year by year, the ceaseless ebb and flow
O bony relic of forgotten days,
Which, from my bookshelf, dominates the room,
Your empty sockets, with sardonic gaze,
Follow me weirdly in the deepening gloom!
I often think, if sudden speech returned,
You might reveal that secret, grisly jest
You're grinning at—or tell me what you've learned
Of that dark realm to which we're all addressed.
By what rude hands were you exhumed, and why
Wrenched from your body in its earthy bed?
Who knows but such indignity will I
Receive at other hands, when I am dead,
And, strangely resurrected, may adorn
The wall or desk of one as yet unborn!
What space
is left
for time to flow freely through
when,
with each stretched instant,
small bits of me
die
falling away
to fill the graves
of unknown heros
and fertilize
wilted flowers?
They step aside letting me clean their graves
There is a pagoda in the garden where they wait talking as I mourn
I hear a voice granting me this
That I can give up my life for anyone I wish brought back to life
But only one
Father of sacrifice needs no help to draw my pity
That is piteous
Mother of passion reigned over me
I resent that
Brother of empire I would re-instate
But why
Sister of sullenness I feel for
And ignore
Lovers of the moment I cannot deny
But they did not wait for me
Children of untold stories make the most promises
Dead night. The wood resounds with cries.
Abandoned child, I think.
I rush into the thicket, find a path.
My eye expands into the moonless dark.
Wet from the rain-filled leaves upturned
In my run, I find the source:
On a mound where six markers neatly grew,
A tree had crashed upon an infant’s grave.
Bits of straw and clay and woman's hair, —
So shall be builded my house :
Oh to lose the world and gain a song !
Let the clouds flit through the window at the left ;
The dancers shapeless in pain and pride,
From the right dance in as a tide :
A spirit of pagan days, sick in joy,
That rose at the sound of their stamping feet,
I'll sing a song that makes the seas the hills.
(Morality begins, I am afraid, where I stop my song.)
Rags to roll me in, pieces of dream,
So with my heart of nocturnal fear ;
I have choice of the sky red in memory and art.
Let the stars fall in the garden rose :
The leaves and my souls in a thousand guises
Hurry to the ground to build a grave.