Posting your poems.

@mangalover Yeah I like the introspective stuff. I would like to read more like it. I wrote a song a while ago with similar themes. @nintendo_wherewolf Thanks, I'm thinking that I should rename it to "This poem is about relationships" when I showed it to someone irl they didn't get it. So maybe the subtext isn't obvious enough. Or its no good and they were being polite.

I think the poem was a good reading, it just depends on who you choose to be your audience I run into the same problem myself with my writing

What does the fox say? A fox, chasing me talking to me With cold paws Twisting my heart And tearing my soul. Hiding underneath Its loin cloth a euphoric glee Appearing like An enigma

Way of Things We'd all like to think that the line between good and bad is pretty clear. But for some, its not. We think we truly know what goes on, including the things we can't see, but were wrong. There will always be mysterious we can't solve and things that we will never here of or see. Like a man who is truly dead inside and goes through life recklessly because he feels like he has nothing else to lose. Like a woman who has great honor yet has none, and reflects that notion in her actions. Like a boy who has great torment yet, lives life without a true care. These are all things that we will never be able to truly solve. Politics, war, famine, pestilence, greed, pain, fear, and even death are among the things out of our control. We all pray for the day when such matters will be behind us, but until then, Thiers always ones who hide and watch. People that go outside of the "normal" approach to get things done. We can't and won't ever understand such things but, such is the way of life. We must simply do the best we can with the tools life has provided to us and leave other matters in more capable hands. This is simply the way of things.

"The Two" A long time ago, in a time unknown to man, a great war took place. A war that ravaged the lands until all of creation was consumed my conflict. Among the denizens of conflict were the ones we know as "the two". Two warriors whose goal was unknown yet, their involvement changed the course of what we know. The world of peace was gone and darkness stood firm. When the final battle took place, they stood at the source, alone. They say the battle lasted for decades but, when it finally ended, "the two" were the only that remained. "The Two" then vanished into history, and not a single soul could find them. Yet legend is persistent, and seems to have tracked them. One remains where the battle ended. A "kneeling soul" awaiting to be called on again. The another gave in to the darkness. The warrior quests to control and "recreate" the dangerous force. "The Two" saved all of creation, yet we barley know them. Perhaps history will play a different song and return the legends back to time to which they left.

"The Two of History" Broken paths from a broken time. Two fought to free a world in agony. Yet a fracture in time was made. Where do the forgetten now dwell? Mysterious and rumor abound and no one knows if one truth is sound. From kings to peasants the stories are passed, perhaps some light might be shed on these tales at last. Both have been forgetten from the centuries and they never left. One stands for penance, comepletly unmoved. The another lays in wait, the shadows swallow all the one once was. What do the riddles of times passed mean, what exactly did the ancients say was foreseen? A war was fought and many fell. "The Two" stood alone. History says they vanished from sight, when they never left at all. One is in a place where judgement is made. Forever alone with only his blade for company and eternal silence. The only sound heard is the deserted wind. The another walks in a land where night is kept. A place of monsters and lore, with only his soul to guide him. "The Two" were once a powerful duo, forever guarding humanity and every race. But soon fell into history and distaste. Yet thier still here, one silent one dark. Perhaps one day they'll return, with a new quest to embark.

Well, I guess I can post a poem here and there - although I'm much better at stories. I guess I'll post one of my darker ones. Wraith A hungry shadow A wretched demon A vile monster Mere names cannot describe The epitome of hate Gnawing at the anchors of my existence Never to be banished It screams It cries It thirsts for me It needs me. The lonely remnant of my hatred The embodiment of my darkness Its blinding hate Its deafening pain The tears never stop It wants what I want But it always wins Yet it still cries I want it to stop Please let it stop It needs me. The creature dances In the light of misery Disgusting words Whispered in my ears It laughs It cries It suffers yet it enjoys it Without me around It’s worthless It may be the end A dead end A sad end But an end nonetheless. I refused the end and cleared my mind I looked up to the sky A cold drip of rain Followed by the cleansing To wash away the darkness To wash away the Wraith I embraced the creature In its final moments My beloved darkness I am you You are me. Only I can be the Wraith. Personally I prefer to write my poems as if they were song lyrics, I feel I have a better handle on what I'm writing but I'm alright with this one.

Its lonely, and i stand stranded in my own mind. Its barren, its silent, and i choke on blood and smoke. Though there is a majesty in the air, beyond reasoning, beyond apathy, beyond guidance, but i know that it is there. Death and cancer linger under my nails, though i am too drunk on shadows to care. With only the dead as company i learn to open my eyes to that quit place, and embrace that space i can call mine, bent in a u-shape waiting to die. You see, there used to be a purpose to all this bullshit, but without the mind as soul it all seems so motherfucking worthless. A million scars between here and home, lost in time, too confined, in my own mind, to survive. Light is dark, and dark is light. Knowledge is pride, so vast, so far beyond even that, blood bile and bone its all i am its all i know. I am an omnipotent child formed from pain, tears, loss, scars and thoughts of the unknown. A weapon of conclusive destruction, rising from the flames of many wars. So here i stand, A soldier, a child, a demon, a man. Less than than God, but more than machine. A human being. This late morning, this day, this early evening. I am a million feet tall. Yesterday, today and the days proceeding, tomorrow and the days there leading, I am a million feet tall. Today I will tear down this wall.

(Life) I once soared among the heavens, and I tread among the earth, and enlightenment appeared to me. From both realms I say how fragile life can be, for its very fate lays within the hands of man and woman of humankind. Many try to accomplish this task, but fall so short. Tyranny, corruption, and destruction are all that's accomplished. Some might say were not meant for this task, and perhaps that is so. But life is given to all things, and everything must protect that which is given. Humans are like the clouds above, none truly know the purpose given to them, and not one can say that they truly understand life itself. No one truly understands life, merely lives and tries to guard it. All humans must guard life like a stronghold, protecting the inhabitants from the corruption of evil. Can they succeed in this endeavor? That's for they to decide. All must choose the path of thier life. But, if I were to give wisdom in words, I'd say this. Cherish and guard life, from any and all things that would bring it to ruin. Though the path might be hard, and even dangerous at times, it is worth the risk taken. Be patient, kind, and forgive life's mistakes. For nothing is free nor perfect, it is merely a clay given to its sculptor. Take wisdom to heart, and live life fully. It's something that cannot be regained once it's gone. Remember this, and that every day you live is a gift. For it is said, the past is gone, the future is waiting, and your now is a gift most sacred.

A poem in the way that a Hershey's kiss is a Belgian truffle. I recall memories of us each time I light a cigarette. The frigid air with a seasoning of snow and moonlit daydreams. Days like this will come again, but a certain warmth will no longer be at my side. I guess you'll eventually just become another intake of black matter custard. A bliss that can only be compared to cosmic transcendence with a hint of honey. Just another smoke. I always told you, "Every cigarette is special, darling."