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LonelyI look at the stars
Hoping to see something
Looking back at me.

But its just echoes
Of dead and dying
Suns and worlds.

Nothing's listening,
Nothing's speaking,
Nothing really cares.

There is no design,
No grand plans to
Make the universe spin.

There's only darkness,
Suffocating and cold,
Consuming the light.
the weather latelywhen i tilt my glass up,
dregs of iced tea powder
become an orange starscape,
an eclipse wrought with holes;
summer, beautiful and searing.
ugly hungerI.
 
the wolf in her
heart is whimpering
like a pup hungry
for pure milk
but all it is given
is blood--thick
and warm in a
foreign way
one that isn't the
love of a mother
or love of any kind.
II.
in the dry shade
lies the beast of eden,
her heavy jaw slack
from gnawing rotten 
fruit and he is saying
with sweet, red skin 
between his teeth
she was asking for it--
how her thin fingers 
wrapped and pulled
and plucked at the forbidden-
ness, this is no confession
he hisses like the snake
in his heart.
III.
we are all victims 
says god
On days like thisOn days like this,
I like to think
About just how lucky I am.

How lucky I am
To have food
And a roof over my head.

How lucky I am
To have a beating heart
And air in my lungs.

How I lucky I am
To even have been born.
Imagine...

Out of every sperm and egg,
And every unknown miscarriage,
I survived. We all did.

That in itself is amazing.
Then add on that life itself
Is amazing and wonderful.

How many systems
Must work in tandem
To keep me alive?

If one single DNA strand
Were to replicate wrong
My life would be irreparably damaged.

If my temperature is off
By just the variance between in and out,
I die.

These things astound me.
Every c
ReptileBy design, I survive hiding, quiet;
carnivorous.
I am my fangs, or my claws, or my muscle;
alien from accepted.

Please, do not forget,
my cold blood seeks heat.

The softness of scales surprises the skin
of ignorant fingers.
Lookingwhy do we as human beings
ignore what is placed before us
at our feets
in our hearts

i want to be apart of nature
dissolve into the endless stretch
of baby blue skies
lift off in nimbus clouds

and when i want
gently float back down
LacusSunlight glistens off the top of the lake;
Fish swim beneath the cool, crystal waters,
And the wind chops at the surface,
Breaking, for a moment, the reflection
Of the azure ocean above.
RapeThere is something hideously clever
about watching television outside.
It is possibly the ultimate defiance.

Over there, rebels have flipped off officials,
they have fornicated with machines
and they have worn shirts like flags.

But here, revolutionaries have
ripped the binding dress off of mother earth
they have stuck their thirsty tongues
in the magnetic air of steel and wind
and they have swallowed the sovereign
waters of Calypso.

Gaia could not weep,
because her throat was plugged
by the sharp middle finger
of electric sockets and wires.
The WavesThe waves
Lapping the shore
Endlessly rolling
Merely repetitive motions
That
Unless you do not experience them day after day
Become merely a noise
A background song
To your day
Your life.
The waves
Lapping the shore
Endlessly
As if they are oblivious
To the way they are ignored.
What A Star SeesWhen they look down,
Do they look at me?
A slumbering form beneath sheets?

When they shoot by
Can they see me?
A blurred figure jumping with glee?

When I wish upon them
Do they hear me?
Whispering beneath the trees?

When I dream
Do they watch me?
Can they see what I see?

When I cry at night
Do they weep for me?
As I rock myself to sleep?

When I worry in my bed
Do they comfort me?
Help ease my mind of silly things?

When my eyes won't shut
Do they sing for me?
Lulling me into my dreams?

When they look down,
What do they see?
Insomnia, depression, guilt, glee?
Or this girl of nearly seventeen,
Stressed and tired,
Longing for a dream?

I k
Winter's Daylight, Spring's ShadowThe air still bites as cold as Winter,
The shadows in the sky have yet to fade away.
The trees’ arms, lonely and bare
As Winter morphs into the form of Spring,
But what can we compare?

Light creeps into daylight ever so slowly
It’s pale glow rarely emanating across the sky.
The bay’s breeze is carried in
Raging war against sun rays—
Cold and warmth inseparable everyday.

But whether it’s Spring or Winter
Can we ever tell?

The first of
Spring, the season that shakes Winter off it’s back.
After It RainsWhy is it the leaves always seem greener
after it rains?

Does that mean
after a bad time
comes a great time?
And after a great time
comes a memory?

When it rains
are you crying inside?
When it cries
is God helping you?
When it rains
does it always storm somewhere?

When it sprinkles
will there be ice cream?
When it sprinkles
is the world going tinkle?
When it sprinkles
is there a surprise inside?

When it storms
it seems like the day couldn't get worse
or are you dancing in the rain?
When it storms
are you blowing the clouds away
or are you getting struck by lightning?

When lightning strikes
is someone always hurt
physically or emotionally
Ode to the WindWest to East,
North to South,
From great lands,
From the ocean’s mouth.
Who is this Great Whisperer
Who hums through the trees?
A zephyr wind,
A gentle breeze.

A joker you are,
And a saint, O wind,
To gather the waters
And in clouds send
Rain and snow,
But also dry out
The torrential flooding
And heal the drought.

You play in the fields
And run through the pines,
Playing with leaves,
Laughing all the time.
From the center of the sea,
To the mountain’s height,
You take off once again
On your continuous flight.

No maze you cannot solve,
No space you cannot fill,
Creeping from under the door
And by the window sill,
Never happy to
The Little BirdI used to have a bird

He sat on my shoulder

His songs comforted me day and night

Every time I opened his cage my heart filled with delight

For he was my only company

But then one day he flew out the window

I shouted and called his name

Until the night was gone

Sometimes if I play a song he would come to me

But when he did not come my eyes filled with tears

For I thought he had gone to the place in the sky

At least he was in a good place if he was or was he?

After days of not finding him I gave up and sat with a piece of bread

My eyes were bloodshot from nights of looking

Then I heard something familiar, was it him?

True enough
Morning CallMorning Call
Sudden shower
Lying half-awake in bed
The soft, tender form of my darling touching me
To my delight, the trill of the bugle
The tumult of the rifles
Had been stilled by the rain
The only sound i heard
Through the soft, quiet swish of my fan
Was the soft and silent swish of the late summer rain
I lay in bed to listen
Until 9 AM
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More from ~WhiteTiger246

A GhostMy footstep make no sound in other's ears, other than my own.
My face is unseen by all, except my mirror.
I stand in a crowd and they all walk right through me, as if I am not there.
I do not know what I look like, because no one has said so.
So, I carry neither ugliness, nor beauty.
I can scream, but no one listens, no one hears.
And, when people do hear my voice, they overlook it, like it was an illusion.
Maybe I am an illusion? That's how it seems.

You don't have to be an orphan, or an abused child to feel lonely.
You can have a family and a home, but does that home
Understand what goes on in your mind?
I've been looking for years in
Chapter 2: Gotcha!Chapter 2: Gotcha!
After Chihiro left, life in the bath house was never the same, either, for any of the workers. Everyone seemed to have a better attitude about each other, even Yubaba. As for Nigihayami Kohaku Nushi, or Haku, as everyone called him, he still worked in the bath house. Two reasons, he still owes a dept to Yubaba for all the magic secrets and spells he stole and it gives him something to do, other than rebuilding his river.

Even with his name, river, job and friends, Haku couldn’t help, but feel empty and lonely without Chihiro. After awhile, the workers started noticing Haku’s mopey behavior. Everyone was curio
Chapter 1: Chihiro's 'Fish Tale'Ever since her little run through the Spirit World, Chihiro Ogino’s life never seemed the same. But, at the age of fourteen, that’s when things started getting really, shall we say, “fishy”.

Two years after moving into their new home, little Chihiro tragically lost her parents in a traffic accident. It was a hard time for her, and during that time, she was hoping for Haku to come for her, comfort her and take her back to the Spirit World. But, he never came. Not even a sign of his presence.

For the next the two years, Chihiro lived with her grandmother in a small cottage that was not far from the house Chihiro lived
Freak An asylum, an asylum, that's where I am. If you've ever gone around and said, "Oh she should be put in an asylum," or "Where did you come from, an asylum?", you be better get busy and take it all back. If you ever known what it's like to be dumped here, you'd regret ever thinking anyone, who doesn't deserve it, should be put in this hellish prison.
Why am I here? What did I do? I haven't killed anyone in a sick, twisted way; I haven't killed anyone in general! I've never tried to commit suicide, so I'm not too depressed, not yet anyway. I will be if I stay here. I repeat, why am I in here? To answer that, I don't know.

You're probably th

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Unheard Voices

:iconwhitetiger246:

What I am about to
Tell you is true. There is
Not a shred of doubt in
This voice. If you look
Away from the world of man,
You will hear them, the
Voices anyone listens for.

Voices of the Earth; they're
Always there, if you
Choose to listen, The giggling
Of the gentle brooke, the soft
Whisper of the wind, the
Strong silence of the
Mountain, the cackling of
Flames, and the unheard
Voices of the unbelieved spirites
That walk this Earth.

Even science cannot
Comprehend theses voices.
Because, there is no need to.
:iconwhitetiger246:
It's true, you know. I've heard them.
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:iconshadowsoflosthope:
=Shadowsoflosthope Feb 22, 2013
I sense little purpose or theme in this poem, and it lacks flow from the improper sentence structure and punctuation
Reply
:iconwhitetiger246:
Mood: Annoyed ~WhiteTiger246 Feb 23, 2013  Hobbyist Artist
Not every poem needs a purpose. And, I hate to tell you this, but there is a purpose; but I guess dense people, like you, can't see it. I feel sorry for you. :no:
Reply
:iconshadowsoflosthope:
=Shadowsoflosthope Feb 23, 2013
... hmmmm i'm sure insulting me makes your poem better, and helps you a lot more than constructive criticism could. And sure a poem could lack a purpose but majority of the good ones have well-thought and beautifully written purposes and themes that resonate with everyone who reads it even dense people like me.
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:iconwhitetiger246:
Mood: Hurt ~WhiteTiger246 Feb 23, 2013  Hobbyist Artist
Dude, i'm not insulting you. :cry: I wrote this because, I hate people take this world for granted, in case you haven't noticed. I pisses me off a little. I wanted to write something to show people that this world has a mind of its own. I know I sound like some earth-freak, but I really don't care. I, actually, have to thank you; you're my first negative comment. If I want to be a writer I know I'm going to have to get used to it. So, thank you. :meditation:
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:iconshadowsoflosthope:
=Shadowsoflosthope Feb 23, 2013
...your welcome
Reply
:iconwhitetiger246:
~WhiteTiger246 Feb 23, 2013  Hobbyist Artist
I sound crazy, don't I?
Reply
:iconshadowsoflosthope:
=Shadowsoflosthope Feb 23, 2013
you don't sound crazy ;P , i understand your sentiment entirely just when i read your poem there were some faults within the writing i thought i should tell you about so you could improve yourself. The biggest one i found was no emotional theme to your poem. it was obvious you were talking about your love of the Earth (i love it too) but the poem just wasn't impacting.
Reply
:iconwhitetiger246:
Mood: Questionable ~WhiteTiger246 Feb 23, 2013  Hobbyist Artist
I thought it was a little monotone when I wrote it.
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