Poems of the Week: June 17, 2007

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Poems of the Week: June 17, 2007

Post by heinzs » Mon Jun 18, 2007 3:51 pm

Two winners this week:

Winner: Poem of the Week: June 17, 2007

by Black Wolf's Blood

It's like a bitter drug;
Fogging my mind
so I can no longer see.

I gasp,
but can do no more;
The memory has taken
me prisoner,
and it wont release me.

His eyes flashing with
a darkness
that I had no
knowledge of;
The no eleven year old
should have.

Does it ever stop?!
Does it ever go away?!

He steps closer,
talking softly.
But even softly
it echoes loudly
through the near empty
house filled only
with me...
and him.

Oh, Gods!
It's back!
It won’t stop:
The pounding of
my heart;
The unshed tears
burning my eyes;
My voice screaming
for justice.

I hate him!
I had trusted him.
he whispers
to me of a desire
he wishes.
'Come with me
and watch this
movie in your
grandmother and
mine's room.'
Something was
terribly wrong;
I could feel it in
my shaking bones.
The fear making me
sick and weak.
My voice quiet
yet not shaky,
'What's the rating?'
Oh, god no!
My heart crying out
in terror;
My blood telling
of a warning made
of caution.
'What's it called?'
A slow grin
began to form as
he thought
he won.

No, never!
No man ever
It'll never happen
No one will even
get close
to the inside
of my heart
because betrayal
is always just
around the corner.

'There's many different
names for it.
Most people call it
'No, thank you,
I'll pass.'
At that moment,
I hated myself
more than ever;
Even in this
moment of pure
hatred, I couldn't
bring myself to be
rude to this
once-trusted person
to whom I've known all my life.

Even now,
going on my
eighteenth year,
I could not shake it;
The fear choking me,
making it so I couldn't speak:
Couldn't find my
There's no air to

I try to scream,
but no sound
comes forth.

Slowly he retreats
to the back of the
leaving me by my-
self to choke
on this horrible
Eyes wide.
A slow cold
fills me;
making me
no longer a living
being, but a
shell of what
I once was.

For years later,
I was dead.
No sound coming
forth. The only release
coming from these words
I write.

With dead eyes
I look up as my
mother and
grandmother enter
the house,
returning from
their Christmas
Unsuspecting of
the unclean and
cruel act that
was preformed
mere moments
prier their arrival.
I could not scream
out my hate.
Cry out to the
heavens of my
My pain:
My fear.

Does it ever
go away?
Though it has
been years,
it never really
goes away,
does it?
They say it gets
better with time,
but it really
does it?
the fear never
really goes away,
does it?
The fear only
gets worse.

As I watch my
grandmother kiss
my grandfather
lovingly in greeting.
As I watch my
mother laugh with
him, I die a little
hating them all.

It'll never happen
I have a voice;
I scream out
my pain.
I've found my words,
and I'll write
my hate.

It'll kill me,
the fear.

copyright Black Wolf's Blood 4/30/07


Winner: Poem of the Week: June 17, 2007

A Poet Learns To Be Unread
by bags123

Some poems disappear when critics advise;
"They should vanish before they are noted",
and impassioned poets quickly surmise,
that their verses will seldom be quoted

Though most labor on, and never give in,
to the fashionable trends of the day
They'll wear thicker skins, since critic's akin,
label everything "trite, and cliche"

A poet must learn, that all his concerns
are not shared by the prosaic masses
Like Byron, or Burns, they'll often take turns
finding solace in whiskey filled glasses

Just so it is said, by masters now dead;
"Poetry written will soon be unread"


An' it harm none, do what ye will. Blessed Be.
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