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SirLegendary
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SirLegendary
16,583 posts
Duke

When I was in high school a lot of people had told me to turn my feelings and emotions into poetry, instead of classroom carnage and explosions. Yes I had some problems, a real load of problems, and some times it follows me into the present at uni, but I'd like to think that I do have the ability to express things in different ways, me being an expressive person.

I guess I want to show my first one:

You and I

It was real I thought,
these emotions I feel
for years I've fought
but time would not heal

you expected too much of me
I gave you my life you had it
now I see our love was ugly
you ran my life into the planet

In the dirt I tasted my hatred
anything but love arisen
it was supposed to be sacred
you were cruel to never listen

Now you are there
and I am here
life is never fair
but it is certainly clear

I am a new monster that isn't strange
though I want to be the me you did not change.

I wrote this on my notebook, today during a lecture. Some of you may not relate, but to those who do, you know how I feel. Bless you Armor Games (my stress free zone.)

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SirLegendary
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SirLegendary
16,583 posts
Duke

This one is for the recent happening on police brutality and racial reality:


Nothingness, is embedded into lifelessness,
foolishness, is the curse of the hopeless,
destructiveness, is the gift of the reckless
and hatefulness, gives birth to the soulless

Agony, only requires sypathy,
like blasphamy, only asks for unamity,
was serendipity never a possibility?
or can Humanity, find love in this reality?

Forgiveness, is the path to goodness
like kindness is the way of the sinless,
Or does merciness, require us to confess,
Our sins under our dress, and clean up our mess

Can generosity feed our monstrosity?
So why should unity hurt like electricity?
because of the way we vary, because of our ethnicity?
love our Humanity, because this is our reality

We hate and we judge even when there isn't much
We speak and we preach to drink to our scotch
but where can god be, Lord appear in front of me
give them the key to set all people free,

We fight and we cry for those who died
We pray and we hope, we should be side by side
love your brothers till the day you are broken,
like the words of the lord that are spoken and spoken.

SirLegendary
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SirLegendary
16,583 posts
Duke

He stalks through the night
Will not kill, but injure
He will instill fright
And criminals he will endure

He lives in the shadows
Only has two friends
Criminal, check your windows
before you're near dead.

He has a plan for everyone
even a plan for himself
He has a plan for everything
and your address on his shelf

He can appear to fly
even in great height
Don't start to cry
When you see the Dark Knight.

SirLegendary
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SirLegendary
16,583 posts
Duke

You say you're thirteen,
you act like you're twelve
You obnoxious prick
I'd smash you to hell

If you know me
Like really know me
Don't piss me off
I'm angry, can you tell

Don't disrespect
have some respect
Kids aren't allowed here
Go hide in your shell

You got nothing to say
When I confront you, you may
go cry like a child, throw a tantrum too
When I make your eye swell, and your face just as well.

SirLegendary
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SirLegendary
16,583 posts
Duke

"For every decision you make, you create two or more universes"

SirLegendary
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SirLegendary
16,583 posts
Duke

My Winning Entry in the Official Poetry Contest. Theme: Last Chances.

I thought I would post it in my portfolio here.

Fifty two weeks close,
Fifty one weeks done and gone,
Using this last chance.

SirLegendary
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SirLegendary
16,583 posts
Duke

Churches (A Short Piece of Literature)
I've decided to add this here instead, and also start writing my stories here.

The skies were grey, almost no inch of it covered without clouds. That was how this town looked everyday. And out of sunlight, it was even darker. Quiet, every corner of the town, unless the church bells rang.
There was mass every Sunday, and everyone and their families were always present, it was a small community after all. Every day was the same, and it was all grey to Tom. Bleak, sad, but laughter in the distance gave no sunshine to shadows that lived here.
Every Monday to Friday Tom would work at his shop, the shop he took from his father after he had passed away, a natural death. It had only been a year, and in that year, nothing has changed, except the constant reminder that Tom's father was gone thanks to all the "useless condolences", something Tom would repeat when someone left the shop.
The shop was almost entirely composed of dark wood, and glass for the windows. It had a counter, filled with paper on the shopkeepers side, and old wine and drinks on the other for customers to see. It was an organized shop, but it wasn't holding together like Tom wanted. He had to nail a lot of shelves back in place when he had taken ownership of the shop. It smelled of old wood, and alcohol. There was a single light on top of the whole store, that would only provide a gloomy look to the place at night. At the bottom of the counter, there was Tom's protection. A shotgun, loaded, and the only thing in the shop that his father never abused.
On a breezy afternoon, with a cloudy sky, the bells of his shop door rang. An old scent had filled the air. As the door shut, the bells rang a little more, then turned into nothingness. The sound of the empty town had filled the air again, and the shop only had an old radio on, playing old Old jazz. Though not even the radio could overcome the dominating sound of the wind outside, and the nothingness of the town.
Tom got up from his chair in the shopkeepers side of the counter, stopped the radio walking slowly to the counter. "Have you come here to gloat?" Tom speaks, with a hint of anger.
"I didn't come here to gloat." This lady says, as she walks toward the counter with the squeaking of the old wooden boards on the floor rubbing together.
"You're a year late for the funeral."
"I haven't come for the funeral either."
"Then you have come for nothing, there is nothing here for you, and there will be nothing for you anymore."
Tom puts down the bottle, slowly, carefully. The air was full of fire, and albeit calm, it was still burning down the shop.
"Tom, it's been years. I wished you nothing but the best and I can only give you my condol-" In that second Tom had cut her off, angrily and fast.
"Don't you dare say that! I've heard enough of it."
"Tom! I'm sorry, what did you want me to do? I had to leave!"
"You left us! Dad needed you, I needed you, you were my mother and I was only fourteen, what the hell did I know?!"
"You were supposed to come live with me!"
"You left me with a drunk who beat me everyday! You took all the money! And you let me die here!"
Tom picked up the bottle and threw it at his mothers direction, intentionally missing, but having the urge to hit her anyway.
"Tom!" She screamed.
"With uncle Johnny?! Why the hell would I..." Stuttering, while anguish entered his mind. "...Even, want to live with the man you left dad for."
"Tom, you know I'm sorry. You know that I loved you all this time."
Tom got up, opened a bottle. Drank from it.
"Let's go to church Tom, like we did. Like we used to. We can fix this."
She went through the counter door. "I'm sorry Tom... I'm sorry." She started crying to him and holding him.
He pushed her away and she fell. "What the hell, Tom!" She screamed at him. "You know what, I was right to leave you and the filth you lived for." Before she could say another thing, Tom slapped her. Immediately after, she picked up a bottle and smashed it against his face.
"You're nothing but a drunk!" She screamed at him.
He got up, reached for his shotgun and pointed it at her with one hand. In her eyes, was the reflection of the monster she created. She screamed, she was begging and shouting for him to put the gun down, but Tom couldn't understand her. He paused for a moment, looking at her with great fury, with the devil in his ears, with his anger around his swollen heart, while the depth of his oceans drowned his thought.
In the next second, silence was the next thing screaming, and all Tom could hear was a high pitched ring in his ears.

Tom walked out of the store, in a hurry. It was Sunday, he was almost late for church. He walked fast paced, sweating like a monster. His reflections in glass windows talked to him. Shouting at him. He ran through the cold, hard wind, passing small shops. The sky was still grey. It wasn't raining, but the air was heavy.
He opened the church doors, everyone seemed to be waiting for him.
"Happy Birthday!" Everyone was shouting. But the expression of joy in their faces had changed to horror faster than Tom could pull the trigger.

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