My Poetry

[mmmh-Hot-Sauce]

Suicide King - (An Ode To A Dear Friend)


We call you the Suicide King.
The one who knows it all.
You want to end your miserable life.
End the lies that your parents told you.
We call you the Suicide King,
Because you always come up with a with new ways.
But Suicide King... Suicide King,
Step back from that ledge.
Look at the world in a new way,
A way where it wants you in it.
So drop the gun, empty the barrel,
Let me count the seven slugs.
Oh Suicude King... Suicide King,
Why won't you let anyone help you?
You say you want to change,
To be better.
But your words have no meaning,
When they are just lies.
You proclaim you are beyond better.
But to me,
You will always be the Suicide King,
With a blade in your pocket.

[SJ]

Great poem.

[mmmh-Hot-Sauce]

Untitled

Alone in my room
Sitting in despair
Waiting for what is never
Truly there.
I sit alone all throughout the night
Just hopping for a glimps of light
The light of which burnt out
So many years ago
When you told me that
you didn’t love me anymore.
The hole that took over
My beating heart
Is something that is now
Small and dark.






To Far Gone

Jaws clasped shut
Fists clenched
Neck out stretched
Muscles contracting
Everything in pain
But there’s nothing they can do for you
Your already to far gone
The nurses just gather and take notes
As the pain travels through your arms
Eyes in the back of your head
Your back arched up in pain
Praying to the Lord
“Why wont I just faint?”
You feel your mothers tears
Dripping on your arm
You cant see anything
Your left eye is to far gone
In a moment of clarity
Or were you already to far gone
You called out to the nurses
“Help me”
O for the love of God
Your pitiful plea for mercy
You jumbled mess of words
Caused the nurses brains to go into a blur
The needle they finally punctured you with
The drugs, they put you in a haze
As it wiped away the rest of your
Grand Mal Seizure with a smile on your face.

[SJ]

Great poems.

[mmmh-Hot-Sauce]

Who is this baby?

Who is this baby?
What will he grow up to be?
Will he be a Sargent, a General
or a US Navy Marine?
Is this baby’s future
already destined to be?
Who is this baby?
Will he grow up to succeed?
Who is this baby?
What will he grow up to be?
Will he be a professor
at a university?
Will he make a discovery?
Or cure a disease?
Is this baby’s future
already destined to be?
Who is this baby?
Will he grow up to succeed?
This baby with his eyes as
dark as the sea.
His hair as fine as grain
blowing in the breeze.
His mouth full of
shiny white teeth.
Laughing at a bird
flying over the trees.
But you see this boy,
full of spirit and joy,
will never grow up to be
what we want him to be.
He could never be a lawyer,
a doctor, a Sargent, or a Marine.
Because this little boy died before
he could see past the age of three.
He was sent to a Concentration camp,
in the middle of eastern Germany.
World War Two just started.
It was 1943

[SJ]

Powerful words,great poem.