Apr 17
g_rob02's picture

White Walls

How long do I have?
How long before they take over?
How long before there is nothing left?
How long do I have?

White walls closing in again.
          I’m not Crazy.
          I’m not.
                                  Not yet at least...

These four walls get closer and closer with every breath I take.
          The white walls press against my skin and crumple my body into a ball
                          The white walls fill my body, weighing it down.
So heavy.
              So heavy
                            that I feel myself slowly sinking into the very ground of which I walk.
These white walls are both
                                           my home and my crypt,
                                           my passion and my apathy.
          I bleed these white walls,
                      I feel them flowing through my very being
Apr 15
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Wild. Crazy.

She was a wild one.
And that's why
I loved her.
           She’d confuse me.
                     She’d enlighten me.
She brought me some of my happiest days,
             Some of my saddest moments.
She was solace
She was chaos
                         She was wild.
And I dug my grave
                      trying to tame her.

I would never take back a single second
      spent with her.
I do not regret one moment
      within her hearts grasp
Some people fear the wild,
                 but I
                        embrace it.
                    For she was Wild.
             And I,

Nov 11
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Nature II

                        I hate meaningless weather.
Frigid days, no snow.
Dark clouds, no rain.
Sunny moments, no heat.

                        I hate these empty promises, these white lies.
Like a raised middle finger from mother nature in the most glorious fashion. 
Nature's nasty tricks suck.

                       I love emotional weather.
Passionate blizzards making one's vision whiter than a Starbucks on a lazy Sunday, clashing with a heartless cold that elicits the primordial id of our long departed ice age ancestors.  
Cloth drenching rain that prompts Gene Kelly himself to sing and dance from the grave with fierce claps of thunder, rivaled only by the broken-hearted cries of a wanting soul.
And days of brilliant sunshine that fills the far too often bleak landscape, a loving warmth that brings forth memories of your lover’s soft kiss and tender touch.
Sep 30
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The Sun, The Moon, The Stars

          Long before man walked the earth, there were two beings: one of light and warmth, and one of dark and solace. We call these beings the Sun and the Moon. The Sun and the Moon were watched by the spiteful, mean-spirited Stars. The Stars liked it quiet and dark, much like the Moon. The Sun and the Moon wandered the bleak landscape of earth separately for what seemed like an eternity, and the Stars happily watched their misery, until one day, the Sun met the Moon, and together they danced across the Earth in a joyous bliss, spreading light and love to the four corners of their world.
Sep 07
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Nature I

In spring and summer,
when the sun shines brightly on the forest, it looks like an artists paint tray.
                                                                                         The vibrant colors.
                                                                       The trees,
seemingly green with envy over the beautiful wildflowers, colorfully dressed in their Sunday best.
                                                                        No envious tree or vengeful vine could dull the colors which oozed off their being.
They were safe.
They were protected.
                                 I watch them dance, making musical motion. 
                                 A soft songful sway from the wind, like Mother Nature
                                                                                                    giving them a warm welcome,
Sep 05
g_rob02's picture

Poetry and Tragedy

Jul 24
g_rob02's picture

A Poem For Nature

I'm supposed to write a poem for nature, but I don't know where to begin.
How am I supposed to focus when there's a dogfight commencing over my head, insects bombarding my brain with bombs of blissless buzzing.
I can't write a poem for nature.
Not with these cars. These cars that create an artificial breeze that blows the grass, making it dance like kids in a middle school gymnasium. Swaying to the silent sound of a soft song. Thinking they're old, not living for long.
        I can’t write a poem for nature.
Not with this wind. It moves my page in frustrating, ways sending me spiraling fast down a vast fissure of nostalgia. Remembrance of summer rocking chairs, and skipping stones.
        I can’t write a poem for nature.

    I'm sorry
I just can’t.

May 16
g_rob02's picture

The Pen

The ink leaks from my pen like blood from an open wound.
It drenches my paper with incoherent words and thoughts in hopes to bring simple solace to the insanity within my mind.
This ebb and flow of a stagnant sea and a roaring riptide,
Folds my body in of itself like a freak show contortionist, but this pen.
O this pen, it straightens the wrinkles of my soul and strengthens the beat in my heart.
This pen, a lantern, to rid my life of the deepening darkness that seems to encompass my mind.
This paper: a door, wide open for me to waltz though into a jovial world.
And this world, O this world such an unsatisfactory sensation of suffering satire to live in this world today.
Much to do, much to change, more to fix.

A gun barrel to a dead man.
A knife’s point to a numb world.

And me sitting here.
Here with my pen,
Here with my paper.
Just here
Me with my world,

Scoffing at your world.
May 16
g_rob02's picture

who am I?

In a world of ignorance and uncertainties,
who am I, a mere man,
 to question divine intervention,
who am I, a mere man,
to believe to know my own future,
and who am I, a mere man,
 to believe to know what is wrong, and what is right?
A mere man of
lacking actions,
but a mere man the same...