Forums → Art, Music, and Writing → First Line Poetry

This will be a happy poem
that I am forced to write-
from the basement of some
strange man's house
captured, alone, in the dark.

But how can it be happy
with all these tears I cry
from the horrid pain
I'm suffering
both inside an on the out.

Lord of flies

Bold was he
That climbed the tree
Marked by death
Steals your breath
But he is bold,
With wisdom of old.
Are his actions blind?
What is he to find?
Does he know
That it is hopeless to go?
For he will never return
There is nothing to learn.
What does he know
That would make him go?

Bullets flying off the walls

Bullets flying off the wall
watch out for the ricochet kill
they're going everywhere!

How the hell are they doing that?
Bouncing off walls and killing men
is that even possible?

Oh God, they're getting closer
coming just inches from my head
Make it stop before they can......

an ecstasy of fumbling

An ecstasy of fumbling
As we try to find the keys.
When it seems we can stop stumbling
We then trip and find our knees.

The door stays within reach
But the lock will never yield.
Doors to truth refuse to teach
A race which lives by battlefield.

Some have thrown the keys away
And tried instead to win by force.
But the fools soon had to pay
The price of straying from the course.

The door will simply splinter
And with thorns will gouge their eyes.
Life will turn into a winter
Which ensures that all light dies.

Blind and cold, these fools will suffer
Wether withered or with youth.
Let this warning serve to buffer
Those who wish to cheat the truth.

Bone and stone to build the tower

Bone and stone to build the tower.
Tower, tower high.
Sweat and tears to build the tower.
Tower, tower high.
Flesh and blood to build the tower.
Tower, tower high.
Sweat and tears provide the power.
Tower, tower high.
Flesh and blood provide manhours.
Tower, tower high.
But bone and stone will build the tower.
Tower, tower high.
Bricks of mortar, cemented bone and stone.
Tower, tower high.
And soon the tower high has grown.
Tower, tower high.
The mighty tower starts to topple.
Tower, tower high.
With rain and wind the foundation grapples.
Tower, tower high.
Bone and stone begins to crumble.
Tower, tower high.
The tower high begins to tumble,
Tumble from the sky.

Upon this fateful night of yorn.

Stallions bound across the lawn
Omg I just ate a prawn
Look at that, a little fawn
I think we all know a guy named Sean.

The sun blazed
Over the desert
Where the battle had razed
The beautiful lands

Im not so good at poetry.

He unsheathed his sword.

He unsheathed his sword,
At command of his lord,
To strike down the weak,
To slaughter to meek.

He struck down a boy,
Like an evil toy,
He took his hoard,
Because he was stronger . . .

. . . than his lord.

I once met a woman of lies

I once met a woman of lies
And with her was her sister too
Unlike the former who was not very nice
The latter never spoke untrue

Home was where I wanted to go
Yet I did not know the way
I said to myself, these ladies must know
But I must be careful with what I say

For one will speak truly, one will lie
So what do I ask, to find my way home again?
The question must have a reply
Which is in no way uncertain...

Next line:
I once had a shiny red bike

I once had a shiny red bike
oh, how I loved that bike
riding it at breakneck speed
down the big hill, wind in hair
Oh, what joy it was then

But alas, I found that
one day, that bike was gone.
My heart was broken, my tears
kept flowing, sadness came over me
and my life seemed ruined.

That day I learned that the world
was against you, it takes things you
liked and loved with not a care.
why must it be this way? why?
why can't everything be good?

the thing that had been forgotten

Aww man, I messed up my poem.

To slaughter to meek.

The thing that had been forgotten,
Long since lost in the ocean.

Dropped to the bottom,
With only salt and sand for eyes.

No one knows what it was,
No one can remember.

See those with air and fire?
They are sightless, with no sand.

Or glass should make us stand,
A window of forever.


(I wrote this while listening to music, it's probably really weird and doesn't count as a poem. Haha.)

That forever place

That forever place
Without a trace
Lost to time

Into dust
It disappeared
Now just rust

Survived a brutal thrashing
From a hurricane
And now I've found it
In my brain

Blood borne disease

Blood borne disease?
EnterOrion, please...
What am I supposed to do with this line?
You're hurting this little head of mine.
So I write this little message instead,
Hoping to bring back activity to this thread.

Really, I can't think of any way to write a decent poem about blood borne diseases. So I wrote a message to you, in form of a poem. Hope you don't mind. Since this thread has been quiet since your post, I decided that it was time for a new line anyways.

How was I supposed to know?

Oh come on Mogwai, no sense of humor? :3

And call me Orion, please.

How was I supposed to know?
The ancient chants, I bestow
Call upon the evil souls
To rise up from the fire holes

How was I supposed to know?
Into the pits, they will go
Molten lava spills on us
Swords and shields soon to rust

Watch the demon die
Listen to the preacher lie
I swear these people must be high
I'll just eat a demon's pie!

Last two lines were a joke. xD

I like the color orange