Ghosting Fingers

Ghosting fingers,
Trailing touch,
Cold caress,
Weak and faint.

Non-existing,
Hardly there,
Never found,
Always lost.

Yearned embrace,
Warmth desired,
Only cold.
Nothing there.

Disappointment,
Many tears,
Nothing there,
Never there.

Looking back,
You aren't there,
Stepping forward,
Don't look back.

You reach out,
But it's too late,
I am not there,
I am done waiting.

Your ghostly fingers, once desired,
But I grow tired of empty words.

You call my name, but hear no sound,
My ears are deaf to quiet pleas.

Try as you must, try as you may,
No longer shall I remain by your side,
You found someone else,
You need no one else.

You make me suffer,
You make me cry,
Oblivious to the pain you cause.

Enough.
Enough.
It is enough.

I need not empty promises.
I need not lyrics and sweet-water words.
I need not dreams that shall be crushed.

I need you there.
But you aren't there.
And never will be.

Never.

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Enough with the tomfoolery: it's time to play.

Nice man, nice. S'deep stuff...

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"But when one of it's baby chicks is in trouble, Momma comes a run'nin' and a squawkin and a run'nin''." -General Treistar

Huh. Sounds a bit like you broke up with your boyfriend or something.

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Finally.

It's done.
Too late.
Trigger pulled.
Blinding light.
Nothingness.

That fast.
That easy.

"It's over."

Bang.

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Enough with the tomfoolery: it's time to play.

You regret, you wish to turn time back, but it is too late. Rash words, rushed judgement, and now, friendships lost. I regret, I cry, but what's done is done.

I expect no forgiveness.
I expect no return.
I expect nothing to be the same.

I exist in a time where my own existence has . . . grown almost shaky. What is my identity? What creates what is the Me? Do others define me? Are my surroundings the defining points of my soul? Or is it me? Am I the empty husk? Am I the filled flask? What, who, where, why am I?

I know nothing.
I am human.
A foolish human who has made the biggest mistake.

And I shall live with what I have reaped. This anguish, this emptiness, this half-life.

Prints In the Sand

Looking back,
Glazed eyes glance,
Backwards towards the present shore.

Waves of foam flow back and forth,
Grains of sand sunk in,
Prints in the sand,
Footsteps in a pair.

Another set belong next to mine,
Larger,
Broader,
Seemingly heavier.

Comforting I thought,
Ghostly hand that once held mine,
Strong,
Trusting.

Another set belong next to those,
Smaller than mine,
Delicate and light,
A fairy-like presence,
Faint but defined.

Lively,
Touching,
Loving,
Friendly,
Joy.

Two sets of footsteps lead away,
Far from the shore,
Distant from my own,
I watch as they find their way,
Far . . . far away.

A tug of the heartstrings?
A twinge of regret?
Possible second thoughts?
Of course.

My hand reaches out,
But nothing to reach for,
I pull it back,
Knowing it's too late.

My heart twists and bends,
My insides rot,
I destroy myself.

But I smile,
I wave,
A pitiful wish.

Swallowing own bile,
Fingers pierce own skin,
The mind caves in,
Not numb and destroying myself.

Prints in the sand,
Alone on the shore,
Those other sets gone,
Waves wash them clean.

Mine are pronounced,
Footprints grow deep,
I slowly trudge on,
Tears fall in silence,
Blood now flows.

Nothing to see,
Only prints in the sand,
Droplets now fade on an unknown shore.

The waters feel the impure,
It rushes around my feet,
As I stand still,
And silently weep,
Flesh hanging on these heavy bones,
A diseased heart now wheezing.

A part of me died when those footsteps diverged,
A part of me survives,
Holding on,
Barely.

The waves shall beckon,
And I shall fall,
When my heart does stop,
When the pain shall cease.

Taken in the waves,
To sink into black depths,
Glazed eyes forced to watch fading light.

A disappearing presence,
Like prints in the sand.
Forgotten.

_________________

Enough with the tomfoolery: it's time to play.

And So it Goes On . . .

Aimless trekking,
Blinded sight,
Reaching forward,
Wandering.

Hurting pains,
Heavy mind,
Heaving heart,
Weeping tears.

Never stop,
Cannot drop,
Life stays the same.

Smile through pain,
Laugh through tears,
Have that mask,
Hide those cries.

Broken pieces shattering,
Torn up hearts flutter,
My wings have broken once again,
But they repair,
They regain.

Must stay strong,
Must go on,
What's done is done,
Life goes on.

I wait for flight,
Time flows forth,
And with bandaged wings,
I shall fly once more.

And so it goes on . . .

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Enough with the tomfoolery: it's time to play.

A New Face

My true face cracks,
It breaks and tears,
Water leaking from seeing hole,
The skin is blotchy,
Beyond repair,
I need a new face,
A better face.

First the plaster,
Wet and sticky,
Molded over,
Skin now bleached.

Then the clay,
Patted on,
Hands now powdered,
Features blank.

Tiny brush strokes,
Colored paint,
Life restored on once dead face.

Broader brushes are brought up front,
Make up addressed on features.

Finally, a single smile,
Two closed slant eyes,
Happy expression.

The perfect face,
The perfect smile,
The perfect disguise,
The perfect mask.

Hide the truth,
Hide the sadness,
Do away with my own reality,
Let them see distorted eyes,
A life half lived behind this mask.

This is my face,
My now new face,
A fake new face,
A good new face,
Enjoy that smile, those crescent eyes,
And the eerie laughter that escapes pressed lips.

A complete package,
My brand new face,
In stores for melancholics,
Just for me.

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Enough with the tomfoolery: it's time to play.

Damn, Ginny. Cool stuff!

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too much emphasis on making sure we understand the themes, too many repeated ideas, i would go into more detail, but i'll wait for another poem to rip into

ironically approaching the ideas with more subtlety would give more power to the worlds

right now you're just slamming it down with no real rhythm, just bam bam bam ideas

and please, people, don't just post "GOOD STUFF", it might be interesting to see how this shit could be improved, I dunno.

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Bleedcomics Staff Writer/Editor, , and Keeper of the Jar Brain of Secret President. RIP Ku Ku Ku \(-^.^-)/ U Wuz A REAL N***A!!!!!!!
"We're quite aware of this. BR is no happy rainbow face man. He is simply our neighborhood best fucking poster." ~ Warbear
Puff Most Epic.

Ah, finally, some critiquing. Alright BeeAre, will attempt improvement. Most of said "pieces" are mainly just things that came out during some troubling times, and have never attempted such things. A rather good outlet for said moments.

I mostly concentrate on writing long-length works, but I will see what I can do to improve on it. Would love further critiquing from others if possible.

EDIT: Also, I don't believe what I've written in this thread can be considered "poetry," as it does not follow any properly taught structure. Or, is it considered freestyle? Just want to know.

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Enough with the tomfoolery: it's time to play.

I can't really say much more than what Bee already said, but I agree with him. It's very direct and repetitive. Anyone could write like this. A more defined structure or style would really help. The fact that many of the lines are just one or two words bothers me. It strikes me as not trying very hard. Something with more subtlety and symbolism might be a more interesting read. Right now, there's nothing to interpret since you pretty much just tell us the meaning.

*nod nod and takes note* Thanks Dorian, I really need to learn how to write poetry... or read a damn book. Though, I am no poet, or any sort of romantic. But I see what you mean, I guess I should attempt technique despite the fact that I was never taught the basics even in school. But that's no excuse~

Anyways, I guess I should actually research the structure of poetry. Hum hum~ *will go to library some time soon*

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Enough with the tomfoolery: it's time to play.

When it comes to poetry, the "basic" idea (since I don't have neither the athority nor the expierernce to just declare anything) is to say whatever you want to say without being too explicit about it (the whole writing about feelings stuff, among other things). Feeling sad about something makes you, well, sad, but you could also use other elements less used to express sadness. What I'm trying to say is that you don't need to go back to the subject of your poem every time you want to talk about it again; take for example A New Face; after naming it once you could've used different subjects/adjetives to refer about it without saying the word "face again, which would make the poem a lot more fluent; you could've just avoided saying "face" from the very beginning as well, and so making the reader use his/her imagination in order to find the meaning of your words, because if you expose everything at once, then the poem becomes a declaration of sorts, and loses the initial appeal it might've had.

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