The Mountain (Written in Middle School)

In youth and beauty, wisdom is but rare! -Homer

 

The Labyrinth

Treacherous turns

And cunning corners

Every step forward

Could lead to a step back

Silently searching for a single solution

But still stand stranded

Wandering without a whim

There is not a sole solution

To indicate the answer to this intricacy

But there are many that materialize

This meticulous maze

It seems there is no end

But is said to be short

Each wrong turn is a lesson

Each right turn leads you forward

Though no one knows

What they will find confined

At the finale of this foray

But the strange secret

To uncovering the end

Is finding yourself

And surrendering the charade

Of being someone else because

Living lies is left for the lost

In this labyrinth called life

The Meaning of Poetry

po·et·ry   /ˈpoʊɪtri/ [poh-i-tree]
–noun
1. the art of rhythmical composition, written or spoken, for exciting pleasure by beautiful, imaginative, or elevated thoughts.
2. literary work in metrical form; verse.
3. prose with poetic qualities.

“Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.” Thomas Gray

“Poetry is an orphan of silence. The words never quite equal the experience behind them.” Charles Simic

“Poetry is a mirror which makes beautiful that which is distorted.” Percy Bysshe Shelley

“Painting is silent poetry, and poetry is painting with the gift of speech” Simonides

Poetry:
The heart beating in my chest
Blessed with the ability to pump the blood
With the genetics passed down by poetic ancestors
That rushes through veins that are destined to write
And make art through words
Meticulously pieced to mold perfection
Particularly the way the mind see's it

Poetry:
Words that swing
From vines of my mind and on to paper
Then into speech
It once started as a seed
And will grow and go on to exceed expectations
In relation to the dead bland thoughts
That fell at the feet of the narrow minded

Poetry:
Perfect words
Organized in an
Extremely profound and
Tremendous manner
Rendering it spectacular
Yes. It's Magic

Poetry:
Blowing minds with untraceable missles
Shot from the mouths of many that
Miraculously marvel in manipulating
Ammo to pierce the ears with words
Rips rhymes through eardrums
But some are prepared to hear the lines

Poetry:
The mental masturbation
That bursts, releases
With mere concentration
In bits and pieces
Or long streams
To please every sense
At the expense of the paper
Every time the heart screams to write

Poetry:
It's what you make it

Dreams

I have dreams
Floating in an abundance of thoughts
Some still to be reached for
And some stranded
In the depths of dejection

I have hopes
Drifting in the doors of possibility
Some still leaving me hoping
And some dashed,
Thrown against the wall

I have hopes
And I have dreams
You can oppose my hopes
And try to kill my dreams
But no one can stop me from dreaming

Trapped in Picture Frames

Pictures perched
On empty walls
Bearing many stories
That remain untold
Captured moments
Trigger memories,
Moments
To be never lost
But to instead stay trapped
In these picture frames
Never to fade away

Peace

Peace
Unattainable, invisible
Fading, disappearing, dying
Where has it gone?
Lost

(My attempt at a cinquain)

Free-Falling

Excuse me
While I peer over the ledge of what is destined
Below lies a sea of descending anchors
Which make our greatest fear reality
And cause us to go nowhere
So we stay grounded
As we attempt to sprout imaginary wings
That seem to be too weak to lift us from this curse
So we keep falling in reverse.
Falling into this endless hole
That we’re digging ourselves
Further and further into.
So we continue to fall
Dark clouds form overhead
To signal the change in protocol
There looks to be no rest in this eyeless storm
And it seems that generations are turning back time
But the difference is they’ve enslaved themselves
With psychological whips and chains
So the rain keeps falling
And will never stop
Since the forecast reads more captured brains
The world is impacted by the fact that
Babies will be birthed
Into this earth by ladies
That have already been infected
So it’ll take more than bravery
To break the chains that were lain on our minds
Because every day a new baby is born into slavery
But it can be said that
We were once standing higher than we’ve ever been
The cord is cut but we may never be able
To sever the bad seeds
Because their roots are dug too deep
Beneath our feet
So the problem grows,
While branches try to reach toward the sky like arms
But become harmed when the dark clouds
Shield the sun’s rays, explaining these dark days
We don’t need towers to fall
To get a wake-up call notifying
That we’re at Ground Zero.
The present makes us forget
How high we once soared above the world
Because we have plunged back to earth
Directly into our graves
With no way to reverse gravity
Meaning we break the bones of humanity
And engrave a past littered with tombstones
But if the community stays mute
And there is no unity
We will continue falling and falling
With a make-believe parachute

The Trail Begins

Ink spills life unto a dead page
And makes the book burst into existence
With unstaged persistence,
Leaving an unexpected line of ideas
Like trails of gunpowder left in the dark,
Which only needs the slightest spark to explode