Submissions by DeathnoteWhovian
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
Enthusiastic amature... Words and Music are the only ways I can express myself :D
Bird Cage
Fly amaranthine creature;
far from the clutches of the beast,
and the limits of the land.
Ne'er to dull is your iridescent cloak of feathers;
though try as they might.
Ne'er will your bird song be reticent;
though try as they might.
Ne'er will your flight be hindered;
though try as they might.
Escape the confines of the elected bird cage;
fit for any execution seen as 'fair'.
Escape and prohibit forgiveness, forgetfulness and fight.
Stand up, look forth and soar.
far from the clutches of the beast,
and the limits of the land.
Ne'er to dull is your iridescent cloak of feathers;
though try as they might.
Ne'er will your bird song be reticent;
though try as they might.
Ne'er will your flight be hindered;
though try as they might.
Escape the confines of the elected bird cage;
fit for any execution seen as 'fair'.
Escape and prohibit forgiveness, forgetfulness and fight.
Stand up, look forth and soar.
718 reads
1 Comment
The man in the moon (Pantoum)
The man in the moon hates himself;
As soon as he rises he looks down on his reflection;
outshone by the light of a million stars is he -
people star gaze but who watches the moon?
As soon as he rises he looks down on his reflection,
Always seeing the negativity the world offers.
People star gaze but who watches the moon?
A cruel cycle – Rise, weep, set.
Always seeing the negativity the world offers,
never seeing the beauty, in front of him -
a cruel cycle – Rise, weep, set.
His iridescent glow our night time guidance,
Never...
As soon as he rises he looks down on his reflection;
outshone by the light of a million stars is he -
people star gaze but who watches the moon?
As soon as he rises he looks down on his reflection,
Always seeing the negativity the world offers.
People star gaze but who watches the moon?
A cruel cycle – Rise, weep, set.
Always seeing the negativity the world offers,
never seeing the beauty, in front of him -
a cruel cycle – Rise, weep, set.
His iridescent glow our night time guidance,
Never...
804 reads
2 Comments
Family Warzone (Pantoum style)
How can we tell if the battle is lost or won?
We'll know when to stop fighting –
I'm not the soldier I used to be;
I haven't given in, but I fear I'm close.
When should we give up fighting?
I don't feel strong enough to carry on.
I haven't given in, but I fear I'm close.
I want to fight with you on the front line, but I can't.
I don't feel strong enough to carry on.
My first battle could be my last;
I want to fight with you on the front line, but I can't.
Maybe, I'm not week enough to wave the white flag, just yet.
My first...
We'll know when to stop fighting –
I'm not the soldier I used to be;
I haven't given in, but I fear I'm close.
When should we give up fighting?
I don't feel strong enough to carry on.
I haven't given in, but I fear I'm close.
I want to fight with you on the front line, but I can't.
I don't feel strong enough to carry on.
My first battle could be my last;
I want to fight with you on the front line, but I can't.
Maybe, I'm not week enough to wave the white flag, just yet.
My first...
683 reads
0 Comments
How long will i be his? (Pantoum style)
He will find someone better
It's a harsh fact that I fear
I'm entitled to insecurity
He'd tell me I'm wrong.
It's a harsh fact that I fear
There are prettier girls to choose from
He'd tell me I'm wrong.
In the end, doesn't the heart wants what the eyes see.
There are prettier girls to choose from
if I were him, I would have left sooner.
In the end, doesn't the heart wants what the eyes see.
I'm not much to look at.
If I were him, I would have left sooner.
I'm surely a burden with my mental ailments
I'm not much to look at...
It's a harsh fact that I fear
I'm entitled to insecurity
He'd tell me I'm wrong.
It's a harsh fact that I fear
There are prettier girls to choose from
He'd tell me I'm wrong.
In the end, doesn't the heart wants what the eyes see.
There are prettier girls to choose from
if I were him, I would have left sooner.
In the end, doesn't the heart wants what the eyes see.
I'm not much to look at.
If I were him, I would have left sooner.
I'm surely a burden with my mental ailments
I'm not much to look at...
795 reads
4 Comments
Mutated cells
Dishevelled hopes crowd my once innocuous chamber.
Once a safe haven, now a cell of unintentional lies, and battered wises.
Many pray for a cure, I pray for them.
The shadows would be left in solitude while I pass to my maker.
A pure smile used to hide the pain and sorrow,j half hearted.
now all they see are discoloured teeth, chapped lips – a smile faded and fake.
Some say there is beauty in dying – but as I lay on my death bed
both hairless and breathless – how can their be beauty in this.
The funeral is set – red, purple and black,...
Once a safe haven, now a cell of unintentional lies, and battered wises.
Many pray for a cure, I pray for them.
The shadows would be left in solitude while I pass to my maker.
A pure smile used to hide the pain and sorrow,j half hearted.
now all they see are discoloured teeth, chapped lips – a smile faded and fake.
Some say there is beauty in dying – but as I lay on my death bed
both hairless and breathless – how can their be beauty in this.
The funeral is set – red, purple and black,...
688 reads
0 Comments
Lacrimosa
Weeping's all I do
Attempting to be noticed
From my hiding place.
Life is far too hard
But where do we go after,
I fear the unknown.
Can't out run my time
If I could just prolong it ...
I could seek the truth.
Know the resting place
My mind to be kept at peace,
But what of my body?
Do we really die?
Or do we simply move on?
Questions - answered once.
What becomes of us?
Are we to end up alone,
Decayed and left over?
Attempting to be noticed
From my hiding place.
Life is far too hard
But where do we go after,
I fear the unknown.
Can't out run my time
If I could just prolong it ...
I could seek the truth.
Know the resting place
My mind to be kept at peace,
But what of my body?
Do we really die?
Or do we simply move on?
Questions - answered once.
What becomes of us?
Are we to end up alone,
Decayed and left over?
712 reads
2 Comments
Repetative tears - you're not the only one.
The world is full of people crying.
Every tear you have cried, or will cry, has been shed before.
Why should your puddle reflect? Should it not just be trod in like the rest? Dirtied by a muddied boot.
Every tear you have cried, or will cry, has been shed before.
Why should your puddle reflect? Should it not just be trod in like the rest? Dirtied by a muddied boot.
739 reads
2 Comments
Does this even deserve a title? I don't know anymore.
The clouded darkness that has long engulfed my room clings to the outside of my body with little regard for personal space or integrity.
How long have been a slave to the darkness' disparaging embrace? How long have I sat wondering how I will feel tomorrow? I can't say I can open my mouth to answer, let alone my mind to begin to think.
My brow can stay furrowed on my face as hard as it wishes but not a single thought will appear before me with a lasting impression.
The darkness protects me from what I know I don't want to see, the mirror taunts me on the other side...
How long have been a slave to the darkness' disparaging embrace? How long have I sat wondering how I will feel tomorrow? I can't say I can open my mouth to answer, let alone my mind to begin to think.
My brow can stay furrowed on my face as hard as it wishes but not a single thought will appear before me with a lasting impression.
The darkness protects me from what I know I don't want to see, the mirror taunts me on the other side...
669 reads
2 Comments
Nature's Mistress, Slack tide and Hope's glow
The crystal bearing, soft waves of her gentle attire glisten in incompressible beauty;
any man would readily drop to his knees to sail upon her delicate, yet merciless exterior.
All creatures and objects, slaves to her charm.
The Moon – a wondrous rock to thanks we should give to its purity aglow each night;
lighting the skies with no other friends but minuscule stars, too far to hear his whisper.
The man in the moon becomes no more than a warped reflection over her.
Deep in the backs of our minds, do we often wonder how many she has taken;
How...
any man would readily drop to his knees to sail upon her delicate, yet merciless exterior.
All creatures and objects, slaves to her charm.
The Moon – a wondrous rock to thanks we should give to its purity aglow each night;
lighting the skies with no other friends but minuscule stars, too far to hear his whisper.
The man in the moon becomes no more than a warped reflection over her.
Deep in the backs of our minds, do we often wonder how many she has taken;
How...
646 reads
2 Comments
Sweet as Cotton candy
![restricted poem](/images/extremecontent.jpg)
891 reads
2 Comments
Whoniverse: P1 - Things unseen
The corner of your eye can be most deceiving.
We imagine ghosts, daemons and beings unappealing.
What if we considered the rush of silence? Soon to forget.
What if we considered the sob of the girl trapped in the mirror? Never to get angry.
What if we considered the prisoner that had always been there? That must not be seen.
What if the kid under the blanket isn't there, and you are indeed being watched - don't we all have someone under the bed - listening...?
(Doctor who references)
We imagine ghosts, daemons and beings unappealing.
What if we considered the rush of silence? Soon to forget.
What if we considered the sob of the girl trapped in the mirror? Never to get angry.
What if we considered the prisoner that had always been there? That must not be seen.
What if the kid under the blanket isn't there, and you are indeed being watched - don't we all have someone under the bed - listening...?
(Doctor who references)
654 reads
2 Comments
(100th poem) So I'm Frankenstein after all ...
I'm Frankenstein's other and I've created a monster.
With pieces of myself, my desires and another.
I'm yet to learn of the cord that joins up the scars,
of stolen flesh, the unearthly façade.
I'll wear the clown's mask on my face as my own – pretend to be vain
to hide the anxiety, the loss the doubt and the pain.
When questions arise, I am aware of the answer.
Who am I to you and who is my master?
No longer myself, of that I am sure – a tool for us and a show for them
I'm not my creator but the inverter, myself I'll leave, die and condemn.
...
With pieces of myself, my desires and another.
I'm yet to learn of the cord that joins up the scars,
of stolen flesh, the unearthly façade.
I'll wear the clown's mask on my face as my own – pretend to be vain
to hide the anxiety, the loss the doubt and the pain.
When questions arise, I am aware of the answer.
Who am I to you and who is my master?
No longer myself, of that I am sure – a tool for us and a show for them
I'm not my creator but the inverter, myself I'll leave, die and condemn.
...
725 reads
6 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by DeathnoteWhovian