LoD's attempts

Discussion in 'Poet's Corner' started by LoD, Mar 23, 2007.

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  1. LoD

    LoD Well-Known Member

    Okay, I'm warning you here and now. Failure to read this first sentence will cause a direct miscommunication and will lead towards you wasting time. I'm not good at writing. I just know a lot of words, I have no capability of using them. Do not read this if you're looking for high-class poetry, this is low level poetry that has most likely no meaning to anyone but me. I'm posting them here not to get recognition, in fact, I have no idea why I'm posting them.

    So, here goes.

    Tried so hard to find the way,
    Only to be suffering,
    Trying to pull away,
    Words tried to hold you there,
    Failed miserably did they,
    Failure is not tolerated,
    Suffered I did; with many
    So I suffer alone

    An empty helping hand
    Reaching out a hand,
    To the fallen in your mind,
    Left alone with nothing,
    Nothing to hold close,
    That’s just what you get,
    For trying to be kind
  2. theleastofthese

    theleastofthese SF Friend Staff Alumni

    I write poems to express myself, especially when I'm having feelings of despair and depression. You're likely posting for the same reason - to let your feelings out so that they won't build up and then blow up inside you. I like your poems.:smile: Thank you for sharing with us.

  3. LoD

    LoD Well-Known Member

    Re: LoD's attempts *language*

    Okay, this is no poetry, this is a rant of mine. I have a 2 pages long story of this kind of stuff which I wrote up one day, I just hit enter a few times and removed a psychotic line or 2. I wrote this down in the exact words my mind spoke, not sure it makes sense, but I thought it sounded nice. :p

    Okay, I started reading it myself, I started cutting out huge bits of it, I put most back in now and decided to just press submit, this piece I love to have feedback of.

    Let me know what you think.

    Why must I suffer, why must I care?
    As if life is funny to bear?
    If only I could say; “fuck that shit”
    I’d like it. I’d love it. I’d fucking hug it.
    I’d hug my words, each fucking time said.
    Why can’t I utter them in a way that my mind believes?
    Believes it as much as I want it to?
    The questions arise as your mind tells tales.
    Madness crawls it creeps and stalks.
    Slowly and painfully, each step it takes,
    is like a knife stabbed straight through the heart,
    Though you can’t hear, see or touch it.
    Ignorant for what you're aware of, in a way.
    Madness is such a great word to talk about.
    Such a realistic feature in my life…
    I wonder how long it will take,
    I know of few people who went mad,
    at such a young age,
    Isn’t that a weird thing to think about?
    That you can feel your mind slowly eroding?
    Eroding away as you write this story out.
    Slowly less and less stability is left
    You erode faster with each passing moment
    As you think about it, it only increases
    The more you focus, the less concentration you have.
    Slowly but surely, I think myself to pieces.
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