poetry help: I like poems. - Help.com

you mean original ones that i wrote? :) i’ve found some from the Internet. hehe i do not write very good poems. :)

Here’s some that I’ve written over some time now.

My War

Would you cry if he died?
Would you know?
Will you care?
For the sacrifice it made to you?
To be loved, but not love in return?

Would you wonder how?
Would you want to know?

Would you, walk… by the…
Dead, cold, body?

A body once filled with life?
A body once your friend?
Did you ever notice?
Who warned of this sacrifice,
Many years before?

Would it shock you?
Would you think?

Would you, at least…
Remember, that soul,
So dearly departed?

For it never forgot you.
Even past death.
It loved you;
Enough to die.

And so it did.

The Poem of My Life

If tomorrow, I am found no longer living,
I will be gazing down from above.
Waiting for everyone.
Obediently. Loyally.
For I lived my life
Much more fuller and longer than some.

And if I could’ve lived on,
I know what I would’ve done.
I’d have joined the Marines:
The few and the proud.
For America is worth fighting;
And dying,
for.
The land of freedom,
Where even pacifists can
Try to expel war.
But only because of it.

And if I knew I when I was to die,
On a specific date;
I would have lived life.

I would try to be good,
And try to add to others’ lives;
For that is what a friend does.
And I’d hope to make others happy
And instill joy into their souls.
So that when I die;
No one is sad.

Because they remember the good times.
The times of laughter and bliss.

And I would be remembered.

And so I would live on on earth and Heaven.
Under the guidance of God’s Grace and Light.
No one lives forever.
And I got my shot.
I had a good run.
And I finally finished the race.
Time: 16 years.

So take your time at life.
And remember me; as I’ll never forget you.
Everyone I loved,
And everyone I loved and never told.
And those certain girls,
I had a gut feeling for;
But kept silent.

And so with that I leave you all,
But don’t worry;
Because we’ll see each other again.

In Heaven.

Remember me and everything I stood for.
Some memories hurt.
But they make you stronger.

So live your life.
Take your shot.
…And even if you miss;
Just load up the next round.

And those memories:

Never forget them.

For My People

For my people.
Who work hard.
Who never frown.
Who never steal…
Not once.

For the people who strive,
Who succeed,
Who perfect everything they set out to do.

For the ‘minority’.
These people are strong.

For my people who train hard.
For my people who fight hard.
Who died for a cause.
Who carry tradition.

Who carry this tradition like a religion.

What great tradition this is,
Is the tradition of perfection.
A tradition rich in ancestry
and life
and soul
and drenched in blood.

To those who carry this tradition,
Never die.

…You are my people.

Forget Me

My friend: Wow, we made it!
My friend: And we’re all here!
My friend: Hey, let’s keep going!

Me: I wasn’t there.
I didn’t make it.
I couldn’t;
Not without the help
Of my friends.

Those who ‘love’ me.
Those who ‘cherish’ me.
But they forgot me.

And now I’m broken,
And I’m dead
Because I was left behind.

Forgotten forever.
Decayed in the sands of time.

I thought I was important…
I thought that I was…

And now they’re gone…
Because none looked back…
Or heard my dying cry.

And they had already forgotten…

Heres one I wrote on one of those dark nights:

I pray to the hole I see in the sky
And cry out to the holy void
Alas that it should be I
And as I stare longingly
Into what I truly wish could be
Which none but the faithful truly see
Oh but that those deluded eyes belonged to me
For with even the seasoned ears of a hawk
No voice, no tremor can be heard,
Speaks not he
Yet all can hear the words that mock
The silent echo that always cries
Beneath the lies, the trees, the stormy skies
It whispers evermore into the wind, “Dear God, why?”

Thanks orion :)

:D aww a nice poem for your mother! thats sweet! Its good too

haha me back with the somber ones:

When all is said and done
And the birds of spring have sprung.
When all that could be sung is sung
All have left behind the sun
The moon, the clouds
The end has come
And without all shall death be rung

I have this one posted to the side of my PC at work.

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes,
over prairies and the deep seas,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things

Mary Oliver

So many different lengths of time by Brian Patten

How long does a man live after all?
A thousand days or only one?
One week or a few centuries?
How long does a man spend living or dying
and what do we mean when we say gone forever?
Adrift in such preoccupations, we seek clarification.
We can go to the philosophers
but they will weary of our questions.
We can go to the priests and rabbis
but they might be busy with administrations.
So, how long does a man live after all?
And how much does he live while he lives?
We fret and ask so many questions -
then when it comes to us
the answer is so simple after all.
A man lives for as long as we carry him inside us,
for as long as we carry the harvest of his dreams,
for as long as we ourselves live,
holding memories in common, a man lives.
His lover will carry his man’s scent, his touch:
his children will carry the weight of his love.
One friend will carry his arguments,
another will hum his favourite tunes,
another will still share his terrors.
And the days will pass with baffled faces,
then the weeks, then the months,
then there will be a day when no question is asked,
and the knots of grief will loosen in the stomach
and the puffed faces will calm.
And on that day he will not have ceased
but will have ceased to be separated by death.
How long does a man live after all?
A man lives so many different lengths of time.

… and anything by Ted Hughes