Tuesday, June 14, 2011


I truly wanted to be
but all they needed from me
was my standing quietly there
and my face to always appear
and content with what I've got
believe in the fairy tales not
coz dreaming's for the closed eyes
none survive as the time flies

I really wanted to feel
but all they wanted to deal
was cards stacked to tradition
and my hand to be complaisant
and falling within the lines dotted
on the maps of people divided
coz man's animal playing social
who's instincts still base brutal


Anonymous said...

From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.

Edgar Allan Poe

Apala said...

how does it feel writing poems and posting it?

u do it just for the sake of expressing yourself and being content?

or you want it to be read and understood?

what gives more pleasure? or the combination of the two?