Poetry 2015 by Odessa McNiel (classic novels to read TXT) 📕

Lonely 2/20/15

 She walks these halls, silent and alone.

She hears those wild whispers

Even before they start to drone.

 

The judgemental stares

Let her know that no one really cares.

Her anger starts to flare.

 

She’ll grip that book tighter

But won’t say a word-

Not even one little phrase.

Why give them the satisfaction

Of seeing her in so much pain?

 

Why would it matter?

No sympathy would be shed.

Not even a sorry-

A much needed apology not even said.

 

Is it too much to ask

For one little companion?

Someone to let the wall down for.

Someone with whom to share the hurt.

Someone to love to the core.

 

‘That’s what He is for.’

She thinks silently to herself

As she puts her real face on a shelf,

Protecting it with a thick layer of dust.

She’ll trade it out for the heavy bust

That she’ll put on in mirror.

 

She’ll ignore the chinks

And finely tuned nicks

In its once porcelain reflection.

It’ll last for another day

As it guards her from what they say.

 

But how long will it take

For that face to crack and crumble to rubble?

How many punches can she take

Before her emotions burst at the seams?

When is enough really enough?

Frozen 3/5/15

The slap of the shutter.

A click of the lens.

A flash of time.

What kind of picture

Did you have in mind?

 

Perhaps the innocence caught your attention?

Or maybe it was the dimples

That became your obssession?

Whatever it was, you stopped the clock

And froze me in place.

 

But it's the image that haunts you everyday

As you watch me grow up

And help me move away.

It's not something you'll ever erase,

And it won't be easily forgotten.

 

Because to you, I'll always have those dimples

And the chubby-cheeked face.

I'll always be innocent,

Despite what the others say.

 

To you, I'm that little girl,

Racing through the sprinkler

As you slap the shutter

On time forever.

 

Times were simpler

Than just the picture

You now hold in your hand.

Things were tangible

And blissfully perfect.

 

Maybe that's why

You chose that moment...

 

Nobody's Perfect 3/16/15

Perfection,

It's just a concept.

No one is perfect.

Some people are just

Better at faking it.

 

Perfection,

Cut to a T,

No mistakes,

Not a single hair our of place,

Held together with glue.

 

It's just a concept.

One chip in the gooey coating

And all Hell breaks loose.

Their secrets bubble to the surface,

Ready to be popped by enemies.

 

No one is perfect.

There's always going to be

That one person who

Points out your every flaw.

You're a fool to think you don't have any.

 

Some people are just better at faking it.

They glue on that mask each day,

Pretending to be the superior

To your inferior.

But someone always knows

Where your real demons lie. 

I Will Go Home 3/20/15

When the last man has fallen,

The gunfire has ceased,

And the arms are laid away,

I will go Home.

 

The trumpet's march will blare,

And your heart will quietly flare,

But have no fear, my love,

I will go Home.

 

They'll pound those medals in,

Each a striking round.

And when the 21 sound,

I will go Home.

 

A folded flag will be the only memory.

Please, don't ever forget me.

It'll be the hardest scar to wear,

But it's one only you can bear.

 

 

 

I'll see you soon, darling,

But for now,

I will go Home.

Hands

My hands are lined with years,

But so very few are they!

Yet, they look weathered and beaten,

As if they were seventy

Instead of only seventeen.

It puzzles me so

As to how they got this way.

I wonder if it were the dreams

That I held on to for so long.

Maybe it was the disappointment

That's been roiling through me

All of these years.

But what about the suffering?

And what about the pain?

What damage did they inflict?

Maybe it's already begun to wane.

The heartbreaks and the losses

May have also crippled their soul.

Now, they ring themselves.

Around and around they go, curling

To block out the world,

Or, perhaps, to silence it all.

 

The Last Hour

60 minutes on the clock,

Counting down to the last second.

If it was your last,

What would you do with it?

 

Would spend that hour

With your significant other,

Wrapped in love's soft embrace

And loving with a lasting grace?

 

Would you sing the song

That gets stuck in your head

Over and over,

Until the end?

 

Maybe you'd take a seat by the ocean,

Watching day turn to night

And wonder how the colors bleed

Like paint into the water.

 

Maybe you'd drink a fine bottle of wine,

Savoring a rare flavor

You'd never taste again.

 

Or perhaps you'd waste it,

Playing that stupid game

You always keep your eyes glued to.

 

Is this how you'll go out?

The controller stuck to you

By the very sweat of your hands

With the headset wired to your brain?

 

Think about what they'd say

When you passed away.

How you never cared about anything

Except for that game.

 

Take the headset or phone

Or whatever you have from your hand.

Go spend some time with your family,

The love of your life,

Or simply a friend.

 

 

 

 

What conversations would come up?

What kind of surprises will arise?

Talk to them for your last hour,

Because the next could hold your demise. 

Child

A child wears the face

Of the sad and forlorn.

Pain worn in the eyes 

And in the fake smile

He plasters on his face.

The rags he bears

Hides, nothing, save

The bruises and scars.

From the tips of his fingers

To the soles of his feet,

There is no trace of muscle,

Only the indentions of bone.

They line his skin

Like tire tracks on dirt.

His filthy face,

Tear streaked and abandoned.

He stares at you with sunken eyes,

Pleading for the mercy,

That no one will show him

And waiting for the day

The pain will go away.

He opens his cracked lips

To utter one word,

One simple plea,

But it's whisked away

By the one he must obey.

You close your eyes to the injustice,

But you cannot deny the abuse,

Even in its smallest form. 

 

 

Today's Society

The world turns every twenty-four hours,

But we don't even feel it.

We're so caught up in our own lives

That we absorb the shock

And ignore the beauty of it.

 

We imagine that our own lives

Are more important than another's.

But what we don't realize

Is that they matter

Just as much as our own brothers'.

 

We think our own pain

Is the only pain in existence,

When there's really someone out there

Who's feeling the same feelings.

 

We pretend that the world

Revolves not around the sun,

The biggest star in the sky,

But around ourselves,

The only star in our minds.

 

What's wrong with being selfless?

Has the world gone so insane

That