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AstrologicalI have lost myself to
Venus & Mars,
tangled in their mismatched limbs.

Just dream dust & shattered prayers
begging for a new set of skin
(she can't remember where she orbits).

Pluck these fractured wings;
the Sun & Moon no longer ache
to see me fly in their luster.
lies, she wrotei. just a mimicry, really;
uncompromisingly
desperate to shine.

ii. counterfeit & clockwise,
tasting words on her
unworthy tongue.

iii. with a dysfunctional mind
& apocryphal dictionary,
she cannot clone it all.

iv. "say anything," the pen
whispers as she trembles
among ink-scented fraudulence.

v. but she just laughs & plays the part,
forgetting what the pages told her:
"truth is stranger than fiction."
The Pen, The SwordJust lovely
I was happy to fall asleep
in the welcoming arms of your words and
you were unaware that you held me
so close, and so carefully
from the moment I didn't hear you speak
to the taste of every sentence you spoke
I knew you were the very truth that I'd
been seeking all along
Just barely
I was loathe to fall so deep
in the sharpened edges of your words and
you were too aware that you had me
so close, and so carelessly
from the second I heard you break
to the taste of every sentence you broke
I knew you were the very truth that I'd
been avoiding all along
Death of the PoetDear poetry,
This is your challenge,
my eternal chore,
to restate the truth
like never before-
but I’m imperfect
at my very core
and hypocrisy
is what I abhor
so you may expect
my work to be poor
enough for me to
be crushed into gore
with failed attempts
to take wing and soar
when all I wanted
was something much more
than emptiness and
inherited war
and pointless details
of imagined lore
which most of us tend
to simply ignore
at the piercing sound
of a lion’s roar
or the convenience
of a nearby store…
what am I truly
writing these words for? 
Let’s merely pretend
that this isn’t me
but the voice of God
or L. Ron Hubbard
or whoever you
wish for it to be
since facts remain facts
no matter the source,
no matter the cause,
since the trustworthy
are also humans
prone to failure;
so prone to a fault
that we hold dearly-
the sum of our faith
measured in dollars-
rewarded by credit
and paper money…
for some odd reason
I find this funny!
So I conclude
False EternityDisillusioned youth was less common in those days, 
I assure you, the people even more set in their ways,
murderous and unforgiving, yet unaware of the lie they were living
convinced that faith is stone, they cut faces into gods, they thought
ignorant that being made rendered useless the very gods they wrought.
Shiny carvings into stone, faces, figures, blessed unknown,
Murders, slaughters, sacrifices of the weak, preaching sins and what they seek.
Forgiveness is not for all, all who do not have will now fall!
Greed consumes the mortal mind, rage is all that's left behind!
Amidst it all I rose and found the sun, disowned him for the moon
then sought the horizon, again and again warned my father that doom
would befall him if he didn't seek a better way to live and be 
I wasn't willing to follow the dark and deadly rules,
trying to bring some light into the lives of these fools.
Guilds of anti-gods were formed, wars rose higher, nothing to atone!
They all represen
ArrheniusThe birds are
keeping to themselves
this evening
as the earth shifts
slightly-
ever so calmly
(for when you are
this powerful
you only have
to move).

Here and there, I
witness these
beautiful strangers
with perfect bodies
and long hair
walking down the road
in tightly knitted packs.
They are animals
like we are animals-
like we are
animals without
claws and fur,
with scratches on our
skin that yields to
fragile and
familiar hands.

The winds respond
as quiet birds rush
from telephone wires
in panic and
in beauty; she
tries to brush the hair
dancing circles in her eyes
(for when you are
this powerful
you only have to move).
False ProphetsPoems and love songs breed dead dreams,
strangled by weeds, face down in the ground
with no roses to mourn them.

Singers are poets that croon
(if you happen to lose your little heart to their tune)
and poets are false prophets -
true love will last forever
if they care to write it,
but not if you swallow the lines...

yet, they always do.

We all have a place
set for us in the shade
in our own private garden of weeds.
False eternityDisillusioned youth was less common in those days,
I assure you, the people even more set in their ways,
murderous and unforgiving, yet unaware of the lie they were living
convinced that faith is stone, they cut faces into gods, they thought
ignorant of the fact that being made rendered useless the very gods they wrought.

Shiny carvings into stone, faces, figures, blessed unknown,
Murders, slaughters, sacrifices of the weak, preaching sins and what they seek.
Forgiveness is not for all, all who do not have will now fall!
Greed consumes the mortal mind, rage is all that's left behind!

Amidst it all I rose and found the sun, disowned him for
VoicesDo you hear the moan of morning rhymes
By the people in their endless time
As the morning dew breaks the day
Back to where the city-lights once laid

The lamp-posts are filled with black starlight
As the children run in their flight
With cries of sorrow, cries of pain
The old houses creaking with disdain

Acidic puddles of blood-wet tears
Remain on the street through all these years
As the cracks have hid the crumbled dust
Within these roads of bone and rust

The melody of the birds is lost
To the screeches and screaming loss
There are people cowering in the dark
Murmuring, whispering their tortured remarks

Flames ignite the world in fire
Psychotic ramblingsI, in the eternal void rest,
Am the unwanted thirteenth guest,
Insane, deranged and psychotic,
There are people who even call me sick.

Isn't it joyful and greedy to demand
A sacrifice of strangulation at the reach of the hand?
Cure the poisoned in a prison built of mental sand.

Murder is the solution brought by the resolution.
Is this the final, one and only conclusion?
Better think again, there will be no retribution.

Death is not the liberation, just the beginning.
Is there eternal peace? The solution is sinning.
Unacceptable lies become the truth, the chaos keeps spinning.
Lovers and assassinsNight
walk
WakefulI remain awake with dreams on my mind
and stories that wait to be knit into books.
To never find comfort until my pillows are 
stuffed with thoughts instead of feathers
To never let go until I made sure that
the moon smiled back at me
Until the trees, the grass, and every night creature
has whispered good night...
And yet I'm still as wakeful as an owl
afraid that sleep would somehow
grab my neck and drag me to my grave.
bad nightmy mistakes are on my head,
and the cigarettes taste like metal;
on the street curb of a suburban block,
the lights jaundiced and flickering
like drunken fireflies, your reflection
that emanates from me covers every face.
HumanDear Hypocrite,

 What do you do?
Throwing insults when you're insulted.

Dear Coward,

 Where went you?
To your "peaceful" sanctuary you have bolted.

Dear Liar,

 What say you?
Your poison corrupts innocent ears.

Dear Human,

 What are you?
A sinner trapped in endless tears.

 
Watercolor PainWhen you smile,
I turn colorblind.

It turns into a somersault
whenever I gain contact
with your skin,
bare back touching
bare back.

But I'm not hungry
for bedposts.

I just want to
savor each moment your arms
lock into mine,
the romanticism of
the moons in my eyes
and the skies in your words.

There's smoke
behind all those hues
of hazel and your fingers
are porcelain,
but I still love you.
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More from ~PTGreat

Moonlit ConfidantesSilver leaves
on shadowed trees
whisper secrets to the breeze.
TreasureShe yearned for warmth,
the soul she had lost,
stolen by a lovely ice wraith,
called Jack Frost.

Life without
kept Michaela numb,
her feelings dulled,
her passions gone.

She followed the trail of
blue-lipped dead girls,
passively desperate
to end her ordeal.

The wraith's latest victim
young, just like the rest
brought Michaela to Bridgewater
in the Midwest.

Winter was strong in that small town.
She observed little attraction,
until a stranger stopped walking
convinced she was crazed, but still full of compassion.

He invited her inside
without a single misgiving,
unafraid of this chilled girl,
frozen but living

She acce
The EndSilence, all around me,
nearly drowns the screaming in my head.
My breath is coming shorter,
and my soul is full of dread.

No one else is left alive;
I'm completely on my own,
except the dire hell-beasts here
on what was once called home.
This TimeAh-ha!  It's Tuesday,
and I'm writing a haiku.
I didn't forget!
SemanticsTerms can be tricky.
I don't feel like a woman;
I'm beyond a girl.
Marie AntoinetteAs of twelve 'o' one
last night, I turned twenty-three,
so let me eat cake.

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[x]

Little White Lies

:iconptgreat:

I don’t feel sexy
because I’m not.
Those who say otherwise
are lying,
trying to boost my morale.

I crave to hear those little white lies.

True or not,
it’s nice to be complimented,
to indulge the fantasy
that someone could desire me,
see me as a woman,
find me sexy.

Keep saying those little white lies.

It hurts too
because they lied.

With each one I thrive and I die.

The truth hurts like hell,
but at least it’s real.

Never stop telling me those little white lies.
:iconptgreat:
Oh noes! :ohnoes: My angsty poetry hast returned!
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:iconmynoahsart:
*mynoahsart May 31, 2009  Hobbyist Digital Artist
I read your writing and find it great.. Like my art I sometimes wonder how much of it you live, I wake everyday thankful that the grim reaper did not visit me yet… There are no lies in what you have inside your heart.. you are an exceptional and talented person with a heart filled with lots of love that someday will be returned by the right person. I wish you many years of growing in what you write and what you learn. I hope that you find a good university that you can continue your education that gives you something to fall back on. I tell my girls the youngest graduates this month from CSSB that it is always good to know yourself first then it is easy when the hard times come and they will…
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:iconptgreat:
~PTGreat Jun 1, 2009
:blushes: :hug: Thank you so very, very much! This is probably the longest comment I've ever gotten and it's so very sweet :heart:
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:iconmynoahsart:
*mynoahsart Jun 1, 2009  Hobbyist Digital Artist
sorry I got winded....
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:iconptgreat:
~PTGreat Jun 2, 2009
haha, that's just fine :hug:
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:iconunderworldriver:
Mood: Love ~underworldriver Apr 28, 2008  Hobbyist Writer
hey there is nothing wrong with a little angst every now and then. it was good angst!
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:iconptgreat:
~PTGreat Apr 29, 2008
:giggle: Thanks!
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:iconunderworldriver:
~underworldriver Apr 29, 2008  Hobbyist Writer
your welcome! and that giggle emoticon is just so damn cute!
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:iconptgreat:
~PTGreat Apr 29, 2008
hehe
Reply
:iconunderworldriver:
~underworldriver Apr 29, 2008  Hobbyist Writer
^___^
Reply
:icongenaminna:
~genaminna Jan 21, 2008  Professional Traditional Artist
Angst is okay as long as it's not from those attention-seeking 'oh my god my life is so horrible because daddy won't buy me a second Mercedes' tyep of teens D: :XD: :hug: but you are not that way, and this poem shows through it ^^
haha, I feel like this too :blushes:
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