Submissions by Gothic_Brown_Eyes
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
I love Gothic literature and dark poetry. I suffered a lot in my years, and my ability to write has helped me through some very hard times. "Normal is an illusion, what is normal to the spider is chaos to the fly." Boop!*
Spring Comes Late
All things shall melt away
& turn into songs
when spring comes.
Even the stars
that cast their light,
the vast snowflakes
that fall slowly & late,
Upon the larger fields
shall melt into
singing streams
of rivers & tears
from last year’s fate.
& turn into songs
when spring comes.
Even the stars
that cast their light,
the vast snowflakes
that fall slowly & late,
Upon the larger fields
shall melt into
singing streams
of rivers & tears
from last year’s fate.
545 reads
2 Comments
Poetic Love
Poetry is the color of my heartache.
It bleeds and beats for me. My ink bursts
forth from the depths of me. I am poetry,
thought, and deep, deep breaths of me.
It bleeds and beats for me. My ink bursts
forth from the depths of me. I am poetry,
thought, and deep, deep breaths of me.
565 reads
2 Comments
Dystonia
I suffer from twitching life,
I fight against mussel spasms
in my sleep,
yet life always comes running back to me.
Also it’s been my dream
to run in the forest nude,
Shsh! Don’t worry no one can see.
This would be freedom for me.
Dystonia its not me,
No dystonia is suffering
and pain.
Fever of life took a hold of me,
I kicked and screamed my way out.
Until I saw myself break free.
Dystonia was never my choose,
life made it for me.
Behind my back,
it twisted my body
until I couldn’t tell witch way...
I fight against mussel spasms
in my sleep,
yet life always comes running back to me.
Also it’s been my dream
to run in the forest nude,
Shsh! Don’t worry no one can see.
This would be freedom for me.
Dystonia its not me,
No dystonia is suffering
and pain.
Fever of life took a hold of me,
I kicked and screamed my way out.
Until I saw myself break free.
Dystonia was never my choose,
life made it for me.
Behind my back,
it twisted my body
until I couldn’t tell witch way...
779 reads
2 Comments
Writing Tyrant
A tyrant of my soul,
ripping through the wall's of my mind.
Leaving me to my dues,
and to my aspirations.
These are my deviant times,
when writing takes most of my aspirations
in abstract views of inspirations.
ripping through the wall's of my mind.
Leaving me to my dues,
and to my aspirations.
These are my deviant times,
when writing takes most of my aspirations
in abstract views of inspirations.
520 reads
0 Comments
To Write
To be inspired to write,
is to breathe for me.
To fill these pages with ink,
is to feed my aspirations.
To lose my inspirations for writing,
would be a curse worse than dying.
To lose my skills for writing,
would be my reasons for crying.
I would grieve most deeply,
if my mind lost it’s ability for writing.
__________
To be unable to write would be a curse worse than dying. I don't forget what inspires me because that will be the end of my aspirations (writing).
is to breathe for me.
To fill these pages with ink,
is to feed my aspirations.
To lose my inspirations for writing,
would be a curse worse than dying.
To lose my skills for writing,
would be my reasons for crying.
I would grieve most deeply,
if my mind lost it’s ability for writing.
__________
To be unable to write would be a curse worse than dying. I don't forget what inspires me because that will be the end of my aspirations (writing).
609 reads
2 Comments
The Carnival Of Rust
Breaking glass,
skin,
and bone
the carnival of rust
is built on trust.
Be a freak,
be real,
be you,
be proud,
the carnival lives within
your skin.
It’s rusted, crusted,
and crumbling within
this freaks is coming
to a city near you.
The carnival of rust
always leaves their dust.
We the freaks
know how to live,
24\7 the certain never goes down.
skin,
and bone
the carnival of rust
is built on trust.
Be a freak,
be real,
be you,
be proud,
the carnival lives within
your skin.
It’s rusted, crusted,
and crumbling within
this freaks is coming
to a city near you.
The carnival of rust
always leaves their dust.
We the freaks
know how to live,
24\7 the certain never goes down.
471 reads
0 Comments
Blooming In Spring
Blooms in blushing pink,
blosming in fields of green,
slowly gathering in the spring.
blosming in fields of green,
slowly gathering in the spring.
524 reads
1 Comment
For The Moment
The warmth of the sun
slowly moved through the room,
this chamber smells of heat.
Emotions pine,
as time passes
with each dying breath
of the sun's amber glow.
My time is that
like sands in an hourglass
smoothly sifting through its hole.
Mingling poetry
with thoughts
and ink smears
dripping with plots.
Aw yes, with a poetic high
I give off a sigh.
My ink spilt and
I became like a wonded animal,
I became wild
and ragged
in my deep thoughts.
slowly moved through the room,
this chamber smells of heat.
Emotions pine,
as time passes
with each dying breath
of the sun's amber glow.
My time is that
like sands in an hourglass
smoothly sifting through its hole.
Mingling poetry
with thoughts
and ink smears
dripping with plots.
Aw yes, with a poetic high
I give off a sigh.
My ink spilt and
I became like a wonded animal,
I became wild
and ragged
in my deep thoughts.
547 reads
0 Comments
Mango colored skies
Mango colored skies,
kisses away
the nightly breath
of the evenings sigh.
Sugary sprinkles scatter
the sky,
as the stars
begin to rise and fall.
Tonight I will learn to fly,
like a star my soul will zoom in your night sky.
kisses away
the nightly breath
of the evenings sigh.
Sugary sprinkles scatter
the sky,
as the stars
begin to rise and fall.
Tonight I will learn to fly,
like a star my soul will zoom in your night sky.
769 reads
2 Comments
Coffee In Abstract
Mornings light beams,
in fragments gleam
on the surface
of the dark liquid
inside my mug.
This is where the sun lives,
it blooms within a coffee bean.
When it touch’s my tongue,
it in golfs my soul
with its golden beam.
Slowly I become free
from my dreams.
in fragments gleam
on the surface
of the dark liquid
inside my mug.
This is where the sun lives,
it blooms within a coffee bean.
When it touch’s my tongue,
it in golfs my soul
with its golden beam.
Slowly I become free
from my dreams.
802 reads
2 Comments
Poor Forgotten Souls
Deep into the depths,
of dark defeat I tread so lightly.
Still my head is filled
with heated dread,
all I know what to do,
is bow my weary head.
These souls in which I cray,
lost to this dreary soulless mind
aw and dear old time,
passes like sands of drought
soon we will do without.
Drying up like a muddy river bed,
cracking and peeling away.
Its all in Death's sway,
doomed are we,
these souls lost their way,
visitors come to pay a visit to their graves.
Mourners come this way,...
of dark defeat I tread so lightly.
Still my head is filled
with heated dread,
all I know what to do,
is bow my weary head.
These souls in which I cray,
lost to this dreary soulless mind
aw and dear old time,
passes like sands of drought
soon we will do without.
Drying up like a muddy river bed,
cracking and peeling away.
Its all in Death's sway,
doomed are we,
these souls lost their way,
visitors come to pay a visit to their graves.
Mourners come this way,...
665 reads
1 Comment
Feathered Muse
I flew in from the cold,
my shadow a fluster
sat up on this frozen pust of a man.
A gaunt of a man,
stood down below,
yelling obscenities
I'm not sure at whom he's cursing.
I just stood there minding my own,
then a rock was thrown.
This human keeps cursing,
keeps bursting with frustration.
I dicited to move a little,
he didn't see me coming.
This stupid human,
knows nothing of a ravin.
Aw he thinks me to be a cravin
or a ghost form the past
coming at last.
If only he knew, I am lost.
Nothing...
my shadow a fluster
sat up on this frozen pust of a man.
A gaunt of a man,
stood down below,
yelling obscenities
I'm not sure at whom he's cursing.
I just stood there minding my own,
then a rock was thrown.
This human keeps cursing,
keeps bursting with frustration.
I dicited to move a little,
he didn't see me coming.
This stupid human,
knows nothing of a ravin.
Aw he thinks me to be a cravin
or a ghost form the past
coming at last.
If only he knew, I am lost.
Nothing...
740 reads
0 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by Gothic_Brown_Eyes