Poetry.Poetry.
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POETRY LIST
A Flash of Existence Addiction As I Scorch Blind Insight Brewing A Storm Burnt Carry On Little Boy Explanation Grown Washed Away Where I Lay Slip
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PUBLISHED by NOBLE HOUSE Publishing UK
Written by: Michelle Ellen Hunter © 2003.
Dark, textured,
yet shiny and buffed.
Holding the key,
can’t do it too tough.
Tick-tock’s eyes hear its power,
Tick-tock’s ears see the door,
Tick-tock’s senses confused,
no use trying anymore.
So long tick has waited,
tick-tock, tock-tick,
Tick’s heart starts thumping,
Tick-Tock just won’t stop.
One breath tick must take,
a contraction of tock’s lungs,
Tick-tock’s arms are wide open,
Tick-tock’s mind now void of guns.
Tick’s hand reaches to touch it,
one knuckle at a time,
as tock takes the door handle,
Tick knows that Tock is primed.
Tick looks to the east,
nothing coming from the west,
step through the door of twelve,
now Tick-Tock can rest.
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Written by: Michelle Ellen Hunter © 2003.
Love’s lyrics, lost inside lust,
this addiction to life I know is a must.
Replace the energy it takes for you and me,
to breathe from one small kiss,
stuck in your eternity.
I’m not mad,
just a little insane,
love’s bug has bitten,
poison’s in my brain.
Making every decision I ever had to make,
like it’s taken over,
scared that I might break.
High impact all over my body,
alive with chemicals all constructed for me.
In this one small breath my life has changed,
what’s coming next alone in my pain.
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Written by: Michelle Ellen Hunter © 2003.
Flapping your mouths like birds that can’t fly,
trying to spread the words and only viewing the ground.
The weaker words die off and the source doesn’t care,
it’s all about survival but the choice isn’t theirs.
Blinking more than once as the seconds tick by,
they see only snippets of the world around them.
Like looking through a kaleidoscope,
changing with every turn,
and each colour blending with the next.
As the sun reflects the lightning waves,
our eyes become lost like slaves,
to the controller of our existence,
the maker of ice flakes and scorching heat,
the maker of life and death.
As another wing is warmed by the sun,
it feels that it is the only one,
the most important one to ever move on the earth
but by nightfall the sun’s forgotten it
and left it to the mercy of it’s next creation.
Alone in the cold you’re exposed with no safety,
this is the sun’s game,
don’t play me.
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Written by: Michelle Ellen Hunter © 2003.
Chances move on,
as tomb stones are raised,
nothing can rest in peace
If we miss the chance to begin.
Blindness is a fault,
often fuelled by greed,
choosing to block images,
so we’re blind to a country’s need.
People go hungry,
while we fight petty crime,
a needless resource,
when rules are shadowed by grime.
This in-depth thought,
is not alone to stand,
a tree shades the light,
but It’ll still focus on man.
Human kind must remain for a reason,
spend a light year looking at tiny specks,
are we really alone?
or haven’t they discovered us yet?
Unsure why my hands keep writing,
I have no need but I have an insight,
so I’ll replay every second of my life,
to learn a meaning that is air tight.
I don’t want to challenge,
but I can not accept,
torn from a directionless source,
split three ways by my own force.
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Written by: Michelle Ellen Hunter © 2003.
Clouds ripe with sugar,
jam-filled hopes and fears,
vanilla bean in a west-end suit,
left with razor sharp ice tears.
Vanilla looks at chocolate brown,
competing again in the bowl,
simply refuse to mix together,
oil and water chemistry takes its toll.
Orchestras of flavours
always out of tune,
can the kitchen flower,
finally decide top die or bloom?
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Written by: Michelle Ellen Hunter
Like a ghost I watch as people burn like trees,
all those you have touched remain standing
while you fall to your knees.
With no-one left to save you what will you do?
Dedicate your life to misery,
and you think you'll pull through.
Alone you'll rot away at a ripe old age,
having achieved nothing but torment and rage.
We've all made mistakes,
but you refuse to learn,
and that above all else
is what makes me burn.
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PUBLISHED by POETRY.COM
Written by: Michelle Ellen Hunter © 2003.
Ticking tongues spread like useless words
people lined up like hypnotized herds,
a mass of syllables all rolled into one,
meaning very little to the parent-less son.
Spewing out their values and their beliefs,
standing their in pretty dresses and Versace motifs,
value-less sheep stand in packs and bleat,
despite their beliefs can’t stand on their own feet.
Dependant on others except for the boy,
all he has is himself and a stuffing-less toy,
but it is enough to keep him feeling strong,
and with his set of values he can carry on.
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Written by: Michelle Ellen Hunter
Welcome to the circus,
I'm a contortionist in my own mind,
my routine prepared in order
to stage my hidden life.
Beyond me is a boundary
a line that I must cross,
to awaken unknown voices
buried deep inside.
Would you like to see the show?
How much would you pay,
to expose a coward,
and bleed within my heart?
So Welcome, welcome one and all,
step up now and take a ride
through my darkest thoughts
breathe me from inside.
Do not be afraid
of this broken glass,
the Subtleties of pain,
let the pleasure in and don't be betrayed.
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Written by: Michelle Ellen Hunter © 2003.
There are days when words are like rocks buried in sand.
While lying they are harmless,
When thrown cause pain.
Trees may grow in the same sand,
but as every leaf falls marking the change of a new season,
I know there will always be a cluster of pain
at the root of something beautiful,
blooming as the new leaves form.
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Written by: Michelle Ellen Hunter © 2003.
Love’s smile shines through a window paine
And stains the glass at every rotation of the world,
Reminding generations to come of its
Existence and essence in the purest form.
The irony of memory,
As we wash the window,
Hoping to free ourselves of a love we once bore,
Scrubbing away our tunnel to liberated life
and a changed direction.
The very thing we long to achieve,
is the very thing we yearn to remove.
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Written by: Michelle Ellen Hunter
Life is like a glass hand
never moving, often sharp.
A solid crest on which I spin,
directionless and fast.
Holding back deep-seeded fear,
a branch on which I fall,
lost in vain,
my passion's rage,
relentingly I crawl.
An eye of which is blind to some,
yet open to another,
thrives on lust,
a body's shame,
shying now from cover.
Removing clothes,
re-opened wounds,
exposed to heating air,
longing for that gentle smell,
reminds me that I care.
The stilts that stand,
offer to gods,
what we don't understand,
the love we bare,
can crush and break,
yet act under command.
Still lost in love
and lust and life,
in dark is where I lay.
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Written by: Michelle Ellen Hunter © 2003.
Watching chance slip away like sands through an hour glass,
is to be held close like watching grass grow,
a mockery of meaning,
like people aimlessly flocking to the lights.
Flying like moths,
with a purpose they don’t understand,
drawn to beauty,
seeking Utopia,
never reaching – but dying in the process.
A cycle of wanting, needing and taking,
pillage what you preach and feed the cycle again.
A means to an end,
but when you see the road travelled,
why not question?
Another wing falls as freedom is clipped from our dimension.
Another grain fills the glass,
the essence of a heart contained in each.
How many hearts shall fall through time
Before we challenge and fly free?
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