[poorprince87]

Little Drummer Boys
The windchime tolls the true time,
While I scoff at silly rhymes,
And correct myself.

The drummer pounds out melodic notes,
Melting percussion into melody,
And I find meaning there.
There in his humble praise,
I watch beauty put on another dress,
And ask her for a dance.
So that some of her graceful steps will grant me rhythm,
And some will learn why God made music,
Instead of more sound.

βλέπω
The creative juices are microwaved again,
And boil out gases of a psychedelic scent,
I don't smoke anything,
I just want to understand those who do.

When you stare into a pair of those windows of the soul:

Do you see humanity as one,
Do you see it helpless and waiting,
For you to look back.

I see his eyes, worn and tired,
Finding escape in abandon,
Laughing off his own imminent end.

I see her eyes, used and made shallow,
But once so deep,
Believing in forgetting.

I see my eyes, sheepish and avoiding,
Not meeting my gaze,
Knowing what would happen if they did.

Did you see His eyes, hopeful and loving,
Everything we're not,
Falling into everything we are.

Define Prodigal
When I use the innocent,
I become less human,
Demons peruse my false pleas to no one.
Lift up my shame.

But arise, Light of the East,
Let the ground feel you, Lion of the South.
Introduce me to Jubal, and adopt the
Disinherited, Desdichado, Unfortunate,
Show me I have roots,
Move glory to glory, let purpose destroy
the darkness
And Glorify the uselessness of a veil.

This isn't a poem, but it's poetic:

We all spend our time fighting to solidify the sculpture that is life. We train our tongues in the art of small-talk and forget our passions. We fool ourselves into thinking all we need is a hobby, like collecting bottlecaps. In the hording of trinkets, we like to believe we've made or found something valuable. But we don't. It doesn't matter if we're collecting baseball cards or retirement accounts, we all end up with a mountain of ashes.

And this train of thought can only lead to one station: So what will you do about it? Why not tell them that it's not what you wear or have? Why not tell them that today's best-sellers are tomorrow's doorstops? I don't know. Maybe I will. And complacency completely solves the equation without even putting pen to paper.

to the afflicted, but not crushed,
daniel

[Sith of blades]

Good, I'd suggest trying to make more words rhyme though.
I know that they don't HAVE to, but sometimes poetry just sounds better, or feels better, flows better, when it rhymes.

[Ordinary Sarah]

Good, I'd suggest trying to make more words rhyme though.
I know that they don't HAVE to, but sometimes poetry just sounds better, or feels better, flows better, when it rhymes.

Mmm... I would disagree. I think that what poetry does benefit from is a little rhythm, maybe some consonance, and usually a pretty good syllable pattern.

Rhyming has nothing to do with flow or sound, really.


Anyways... these are great. Are they meant to go together?

[Sith of blades]

it does help. There ARE other ways to do it. Other ways that are very very good, and quite admirable. But, rhyming does help.

[poorprince87]

Thanks guys. At the time I wrote these (I wrote them back to back), I was feeling far too emo to organize a structured rhythm pattern that I was happy with. So I used these for what I generally use most of my writing, to vent. The first "stanza" of Little Drummer Boys expresses how I was feeling at the time. Too caught up with beauty to focus on meter.

[Skeeter]

Fantastic work. I really enjoyed these poems.

[SecretAgentRat]

I thoroughly enjoyed them. Beautifully written.

[SmileAndFollow]

Very good stuff. You should neither rhyme nor not rhyme.