|Sanareths assorted poetry
Author: Sanareth PM
Unsalted low calorie interest pieces;There is no profound reason for this mixed bag of poems. I merely compulsively rhyme and become poetic whenever I get really really tired. So if you want to, just enjoy it. Is better than me leaving it in a dusty box.Rated: Fiction K - English - Humor/Spiritual - Words: 878 - Reviews: 1 - Published: 08-18-10 - Status: Complete - id: 2839502
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
(This document contains the fruits of me being awake for far too long; I compulsively rhyme when I get tired.... Except for Split. Can't remember how I came up with that.)
Me, myself and I.
For me that's not quite true;
Since in reality, I'm not one person but two.
There is me and there is I,
Me is good, honest and kind.
I is Bad, untrustworthy and unkind.
Me, I don't do bad things at all.
It was the other boy who knocked over the vase in the hall.
When I go by the biscuit tin I never take two,
But when he goes by, he takes them all to chew.
I had a puppy, max was his name.
But I spent an afternoon with him;
and he never was the same.
I does bad things,
He's to blame for it all
He calls out in class;
And never asks for the ball.
He leaves Me to take the blame,
Me to endure the shame;
I wish I'd never met him at all.
We have some things in common though,
We both hate doing homework.
We both don't think things through.
We like our class in woodwork,
And hate the taste of stew.
Sometimes Me helps with things I can't do.
Like Making our bed, and tying our shoes.
I helps Me as well.
He stands up to people,
and doesn't mind it when they yell.
All in all I guess I like being two.
I really don't mind being split down the middle
Me and I we get along well, we do.
I don't mind the extra punishments
I don't mind taking the blame.
Because when it's all said and done,
We are both one and the same.
At dusk's edge I stare into tomorrow;
and all I see can is more of the same.
For after every night, day must follow
Leaving only sweet memories of when they came.
(I felt that the original four lines were better without these two to support them)
Now dusk is done
The moon's lonely
The light encroaches
Dawns promised heat
A wealth in sunlight
Sunrise peeks; over horizon gold
Winter: (The next few are quite similar. I was very cold and very tired. Did I mention I get poetic when deprived of sleep?)
its blanket weaving
Shutting out lights embraces
While the dawns a' dreaming
Now the day's a breaking
Letting in the warmth of the sun
Night's dispelled, dawn is waking
Darkness gone, till the day is done
Frost draws near, the nights still clear
Sky's cloudy coverlet's come and gone.
Forest's dark, but trees still whisper
Waiting for the snows to come
Across the glass, of my window
Ferns of frost battle, my fires heat
Now fires gone, ember's still glow
The frost across, my window creeps.
Stay a'bed till dawn does wake me,
It's embrace's oh so old,
Dream's warmth doth take me
Hold me till dawn unfolds.
Winterlight's, star's the dark sky.
Shine sharply in darkness glow.
Fingers of frost, ice and snow
Creep 'neath the door-way's
Whisper's of wind
Wander through the boards
It's swift blowing kin
(Ugh, I don't think I was quiet tired enough for the last one.)
Today, Tonight. Such deceptive words.
We travel each way nomatter what we say.
Our language is quite obsurd.
We try and shape time, bind it and make it pay.
When in reality our reality cannot be changed by will or word.
Yet despite this problematic lack,
We always seek to bring the old day back.
It's not as though theres anything to do or see,
But unlike tommorow it is certain.
And only certainty leaves you free.
But before we draw the final curtain,
Here's a thought from you to me;
If we're always bound by the uncertain,
When have we ever been free?
(Note to self, destroy all copys of this poem).
What can be said today
About children which are prone to lay
And direct miniature men on a display
Approximately three centimeters away?
And the parents sigh and say:
"At least he's not a delinquent
He's being well behaved"
When in reality he is being depraved,
As in their growing mind
The child never finds
Feeling's but those placed
By game's which he's graced
Which is why there'll come the day
When his parents cry in dismay
His mind's polluted,
His speech's diluted,
With words totally without meaning;
Lol, yay, mao,rofl, It's utterly Demeaning!
But even as they pray
They know they frittered their time away.
but still do not despair;
there is hope yet to leave this boy without impair!
For all his inclination's spring
From one simple source;
To solve this with a sting,
remove the monitor By Force!
He or she can cry or delay
And curse you as you take it away
But at the end of the day
It was the only way.