Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Poets.
Do Something
A beautiful place my home was, a horrid dream my hearth became, fire falling from the sky like rain, blood pouring out of thousands, riddle with pain, so many lay there, shredded, broken, slain, no one would remember them, no one would fight for their names, who would care if a few more children burned in the flames, murdered by the bombs they dropped from the myriad of planes that came from where you sit, where you walk, funded by those people you vote for, people you trust, filled with greed and lust, killing unarmed humans is an absolute must, even though it may seem criminal and quite unjust, in the end, the cupidity of man, will turn us all into dust, where is the love that was propagated by those all over the world, fallacies told to keep everyone else blind, for if you truly looked deeper into time, there'd be many more bodies to find, there'd be many more lies you could hear, spreading hate and fear throughout the land, to make the weak weary and mad, confused and sad, it's much easier to control a population that thinks they have no soul, stuck in cages, told that they're worthless and given no food, shunned from freedom, we never care, we never see them, shunned from living a life filled with felicity and elation, they beg for peace and salvation, only to be shot and killed, for speaking the truth of their will, only to be imprisoned and circumscribed by the corrupt who were swindled and bribed to destroy what peace was left to feel, slowly this place is percolating into a blackhole only filled with nothing, soon we will all wonder and ask, why didn't we do something, why didn't we save more lives, why didn't we send more help, why couldn't we find serenity in a time of pure hatred and violence, why did we turn away, why did we stay silent while so many bled, while so many starved from not being fed, while so many slept on sand and rocks, never to feel the comfort of a bed, why couldn't we save all the lost and dead, that is what will be said, while we gorge ourselves fat and sleep in our comfy beds, while we break our bread, while the streets of others run red, why couldn't we do anything, that is what will be said.
By Charles Freeman8 years ago in Poets
Fugacious Thoughts
A word, a whisper, a scream, do you remember them all in your waking moments, or can you hear them in your dreams, does your past haunt you, can you feel it dripping through the seams of all your spurious lies, into the chambers of your darkest truths, can you see your fate, from beyond the forests and all the seas, where will you go, where will you be, walking free, amongst the trees, or burning up into smoke in the cool breeze, will you falter when your love and hate meet, will you miss the sounds of the peaceful vocals and soothing beats, have the memories of a life once lived escaped your heart and mind, is there anything left in you to find, a word , a whisper or scream, what is it that you see deep within the crumbling walls of your dreams, what is it you feel in the last remaining parts of your heart, do you miss the cold of death, or the heat of life, what is it that remains with you all those nights, when all is dark, when all is silent, when you hear the violence humming from miles away, when you realize that here is where you will disappear and never stay, what is it that remains with you, when you look in the mirror, do you see someone else, or is it really you, when you walk outside, why is it you see the sadness within others, the kind that resides inside, they've all smiled and laughed, but you know they've lied, you know that deep down they've cried, you know that deep down, nothing's exists, for they have forgotten how to live, so they have died, buried under the skin, is just the pain of a life never lived, a loved one whom they'll never forgive, a game they'll never win, a word, a whisper, a scream, they will never wake up from their dreams, not all is what it seems.
By Charles Freeman8 years ago in Poets
Sleepless
Walking through the copious and prosperous field of dreams, there are things here that I've never seen, there are places here that I have never been to, a home for the lost ones, a sanctuary for those in need of peace in their souls, for those who are obfuscated by their given names and roles, for those who have been told the greatest of all lies, for those who's tears you feel percolating from every corner of the earth, for they have no hearth, delivered to freedom at birth, they seem to think that their breaths and words have no worth, they seem convinced that the only way to live is through pain and endless cogitation, never ending supplication, begging to be let go from this prison, their beliefs in themselves have not yet risen, they have yet to discern or listen to the wise words of their hearts, instead they stand alone in the darkness and slowly drip away, here with us, they cannot stay, so they they lead themselves astray, just like I did, in the forests of disaster I hid, like a child, like a kid, I fled from myself, I hated my own reflection, I couldn't take the dolorous, injurious introspection, so I ran and ran, I did not take a second to breath and finally understand, that my heart and soul had always had a plan, to deliver me into the hands of freedom, to heal me from the wounds that were to come, to help me feel love and not be numb, to help me finally grow and become, all I had to do was follow my instincts, the crumbs that would lead me to living a better life, one without hatred, one without hurt and strife, but instead, I led myself to my own destruction, the deluge of the erroneous, the inundation of the odious, malevolently harmonious, sparse emotions, I became so emotionally parsimonious, thoughts so felonious, I was filled with loneliness, lying beneath the sand, the unknown genius, absorbed by his weakness, wandering through the night, sleepless.
By Charles Freeman8 years ago in Poets
A Day in My Mind
Trigger warning: mental illness, depression, depressing thoughts Note: This is just a little poem about how I feel inside my head. Kind of as a way to get it out there, rather than repressing it inside myself. The repeated verse is what's constantly going through my mind all day. It's my reality as a recent graduate of 2017, having no clue where my passion is, or what I'm doing with my life, the best I have right now is poetry and writing.
By Donia Schenkels8 years ago in Poets
Fractured Reality
If you can't do what i do for you, then i know this love isn't true, there's parts of me that i need to peruse and there's other parts of me that i need to lose, because clearly you and i don't share the same views, nor the same touch, and this pain i'm feeling is getting to be a bit much, for i am no longer you're true love or crush, i'm the cold winter breeze nobody wants, i'm the ghost that is left here just to haunt, i know now that there is nothing you want from me, not my smile in the morning, nor my kisses at night, someone else in the shadows between night and day has shown you the light, I am no longer able to see the things that made us whole, i am no longer able to grasp our freedom, afraid of what we were to become, hotter than the delicate sun, you gave up, and told me that i was never the one, i was merely just extra ammunition, another bullet in your gun, just a doll to play with, to have fun, for your life lacked excitement, it was dull, boredom seeped deep down into your skull, and you filled it with the fake love, the deleterious adoration, the injurious veneration, the fallacious salvation, instead, you led me on a path of darkness and hate, where i could not control my emotions or my fate, fractured, shattered, i broke into a million pieces, bleeding from the cuts you so gladly gave me, blood dripping into my eyes, i could not see, pain pouring out of my soul, i sank deeper and deeper into the profound hole, where souls never die, where all you hear are spurious lies, where all you can remember, is when she kissed your cheek softly, rubbed a tear away from your eye and said goodbye.
By Charles Freeman8 years ago in Poets
Take My Pain
Would you take my pain, if you could live forever, would you take my strife, to extend your life, would you become us all, just so you could never fall and feel the warmth and cold of the ground, would you listen to the sweet sound of death over and over again, would you fix all those that have been broken, or would you let the tears flow from your eyes, would you let go of your disguise, would you let go of your truth to accept what others see, or would you just turn your back to all those who want to be free, can you take the weight of a billion voices inside of your head, while you sleep they will just get louder and louder, so vociferous, so tumultuous, arduous work it will be living for an eternity, without people, just words, only you will never be heard, for you have to hear all the cries of all those down below, begging to be let go, to be let back in into this time and reality, to be given another change, promises rise, never to kill, never to purloin, never to sin, could your heart believe these words, what will happen deep down within your being, will it be lauding and praise, or detrimental and rage, it is up to you and only you to write a new parable, a brand new page, to become wise with the coming of age, to climb higher and higher and reach every stage, with the aid of others and oneself, one becomes better, one can be freed, unfettered, one can listen, in the silence, one can do no harm, no violence, certain moments and memories you will miss, but it's all worth it, it's all worth this, living between life and death, you will appreciate every breath, living through day and night, baneful and seraphic, monumental and tragic, unrelentingly automatic, indurated and fragile, you will run for miles, for years and years, you will shed endless tears, you will feel endless fears, from all the corners of your soul, from all the paths you choose to walk on, from all the places you thought you belonged to, from all the people you thought were real and true, from all the ways old and new, as all those demons drip out of you, you will know, when all the things become one you will know what it all meant, why you were put here, why you were sent, why you felt the bad and good, why you saw the evil and magnificent, why they all wanted the best from you, for they all knew you were genuine and true, the person you are in the mirror is truly you.
By Charles Freeman8 years ago in Poets
Weakness of Man
Why doesn't anyone listen, why doesn't anyone care, we all know we're equal, we all know what's fair, we understand that to persist, we need community, we need to love and share, jump out of the square, think outside the box, walk farther than you ever have, not just a few blocks, don't watch the time, ignore the clocks, feel the ground, appreciate the rocks, take in the tremors and shocks of the earth and our baneful behaviour, why do we look up like there hides our savior, our main man, who hates us all but understands, that money is the future, money is the plan, purloin anything you can, but get caught and he'll remove your hand, commit a sin and prepare to be banned, buried deep within the sand, deep within the fallacies, so far gone, you'll be in a different galaxy, perennial reality, where has all the sanity gone, what is going wrong, why must we cast out the young, poor and old, why can't we just all belong, together we stay strong, separated, we won't last too long, we won't survive the night, we won't wake up to see the light, since we will all be dead and gone, from the deleterious fight for peace, the idea that fell apart so quickly, piece by piece, a long awaited release from the cold grip of the darkness of man, this was never ours, this land, yet we spend everything yet nothing to live, how perplexing, I can't believe this is a thing, what more can an exorbitant amount of wealth bring, more kings and queens, cons and fiends, madness is their means, we are the squalid and dirty, they are the spotless and clean, feeding us the drugs from their poppy fields, what a weapon the evil wield, is this all real, this wound in humanity is deep, for all I weep, mankind never actually took the step, or made the leap, we just made ourselves sheep, then we fell asleep, how weak.
By Charles Freeman8 years ago in Poets
Nebulous Times
Metallic structures surround me as I walk between my reality and dreams, my fears and hopes seem to be dripping through the seams, as I maunder deeper into this halted moment, I realize that most of who I am is injured and broken, locked deep down inside is my truth, unable to be opened by any other but me, it is up to my own soul to set my gaze free, to supplant myself in the verity of time, to know the difference between the feign and sublime, to know what belongs to them and what's mine, to know that I have no fears and that I am not blind, that the lies I have told myself need not exist in these moments of pure revelation, that I need not suffer from the pain of the baneful indignation, that what I want and need is the truth and it's sweet salvation, not mendacious ruminations that are detrimental to my elation, that don't push me forward, that only provide dander and stagnation, a step in the right direction, proper and thoughtful introspection, not botheration or dereliction, a moment to look in the mirror and reflect on who I am, what will I say, where will I go, these are the verities one needs to know, the things that will galvanize me so, that which will make me water, more easily I'll flow, in a more tranquil and irenic state I'll grow, escaping the wretched feelings that pool concurrently down below, my thoughts will reveal themselves to me, through the pain and suffering I will see, that all of which I know belongs to me, that during moments of rage, one can percolate love and still feel the sweet tender touch of supinity, that peace comes from the ability to achieve temperance over one's self, without screaming or crying out to others for help, the lines are mine to cross, if I falter or waiver, I will take the loss, for the truth of it all, is that one must fall to stand, one must hear and listen to understand, so that one may do, so that one can rise through the stages of the deleterious and tragic, to the moments filled with adoration and magic, swim through the amorphous seas of static, fly through the nebulous times, remain who you are, and you will shine.
By Charles Freeman8 years ago in Poets
