I apologize beforehand for the angst-ridden poems, prose, and free verse below. They were all written while I was in high school in the early 1980s. Though I've always thought of my teen years as rather enjoyable -- if these writings are any indication -- I suppose, there was more going on in my head than I care to remember.
|
Two Years Ago
It was two years ago When my friend left. The hurt has lessened, But it is still there. How can you measure the importance of a friend? You can not measure it, But you can feel it. My life has changed, All for the worse. |
Death, My Friend
Death, my friend, My respected friend. Where is your prison? Have you none? Or, is your prison, Our freedom? |
Life
Travelling in a circular tube, Eternally continuous. A Light at the end, Utopia. But, as much as I travel, The more desirous I become, I stay in the same fix. |
Social Misfit
The life of a social misfit, the puzzle of unknowing, Mentally deficient buildings, we all will go to. A flow of intelligence, a polluted stream, Laws, rules, death, detachment, hurt. Philosophy, a confused burning desire of Non-satisfaction; individuality shattered. The life of a social misfit, The unpunished crime of ridicule, Of childish acts, human acts. |
|
Betrayed By Friends
Betrayed by friends, And made to be a fool. Hurt and disillusioned, And stabbed with ridicule. You give all your trust, You give all your faith. Then in one fell swoop, You're scratched and scathed. Anger at its peak, Filled with revenge. Waiting to strike, Waiting to avenge. Are they named Judas? So sneaky, so deceptive. It happens to everyone, It's just so repetitive. |
The Siringe
The long mountain of blood, Stretching from here to there. It was pierced by a stinging metallic line, The body didn't care. A long rubber snake, Which strangled the protruding part. It released its grip, But it still left a mark. An acidic solution, Flowed in the hill. Ten milliliters or more, What was wanted was more then the fill. The part began to shake, The torso began to cringe. The body was attacked, By a fluid filled siringe. |
If I Die
If I die, Will anyone care? Will they have a great funeral, Or will noone be there? Will there be a great field, encircled in fire? And the masses of people, Surrounding my pyre. They will give great gifts, Of silver and gold. It will be tremendous, In years its story will be told. They will all wear black, On this day to mourn. The ned of my era, And a new one to be born. Or will it just be small, With only a few to care. Maybe my family and friends, Just to weep and stare. They will bring some food, A token of their sorrow. A sad day today, And maybe tomorrow. There will not be any gold, Nor masses of people to give. They will not think of my era. They will only think to live. |
Perspective From The Driver
Face to face with death, Its piercing eye learing. My car pushed to its limit, And the engine screaming. My Mind said faster, As I pushed the pedal to the floor. Quicker and quicker, Closer to death's door. Suddenly, another car, As I hit the curve. I grabbed the wheel sharply, Tires screeched as I swerved. Death knocked on the door, He asked to come in. I said, "No, no never, I won't lose, I'll win." My car skidded to the left, Just missing my grave. A feeling of anxiety and fear, Flowed through like a wave. My car came to a halt, Death had lost. But I know that we'll meet again, And have our paths crossed. Well.. I won today. Oh, sure, now I'm fine. But maybe the next, It will be my last time. |
Unforgivable
Fighting begins with words,
She stands defiant, almost naive.
How could she expect such anger?
The verbal daggers penetrate deeper.
The match is struck.
The fury of a gasoline explosion,
Rage lives within you,
And outside you, for the moment.
Flashing deep in your mind,
Igniting through your fist,
Controlling your body,
While your mind cowers and pleads ignorance.
Your conscious is lucid,
And impartial,
Recording what happens,
Calmly.
Infinite apologies can not pull back your outstretched arm.
Nor can it heal the fear burning into her mind.
Some mistakes are excusable; some are forgiven.
This one is not.
You are hurt by her pain,
Your cries are honest.
She fades away.
Fighting begins with words,
She stands defiant, almost naive.
How could she expect such anger?
The verbal daggers penetrate deeper.
The match is struck.
The fury of a gasoline explosion,
Rage lives within you,
And outside you, for the moment.
Flashing deep in your mind,
Igniting through your fist,
Controlling your body,
While your mind cowers and pleads ignorance.
Your conscious is lucid,
And impartial,
Recording what happens,
Calmly.
Infinite apologies can not pull back your outstretched arm.
Nor can it heal the fear burning into her mind.
Some mistakes are excusable; some are forgiven.
This one is not.
You are hurt by her pain,
Your cries are honest.
She fades away.