(No Title)
I stand and watch, but it makes no difference.
I listen through crowds and all I hear are lies.
I try to succeed but down I am pushed, overwhelming pain
shoots through my little body. The tears of the heavens
begin falling on my head, never ceasing.
But I stay dry. The noise of the liars becomes less
frequent and truth can be heard. Where will I find true
happiness?
Not here, not now. Perhaps when I run with the devils, or
when I fly with the angels.
Until then I shall only feel sorrow. I shall only enjoy the
sweet taste of lust and the bitter taste of rejection.
Until then I will not have lived.







Blinded

Blinded by the beauty of the world.
Surrounded by colors, life, differences, and love.
Forced to carry the weight of the world on our shoulders.
How can we feel anything but inadequate?
- Words flow like streams that will soon turn into
waterfalls. –
Blinded by the ugliness of the world.
Surrounded by blackness, death, similarities and hate.
Forced to carry the weight of the universe on our shoulders.
How can we feel anything but adequate?
- On their journey through a never ending void, to a place
where imperfections are scarce and boredom is plenty. –
How could we live like this?
How could we live with all this beauty?
The beauty that blinds us, like the harsh light of the sun.
How?







Stars
The walls are caving in. I am surrounded by irrelevant
questions. Time slips by, out the open door into the open
casket. Life is just a dream that no one wants to end.
Just when it gets to the good part a fist comes down
smashing the dreams, smashing life. Frustration runs
rampant on a field built of fatigue and impatience. Endless
hours spent waiting for a love that will never come, it
tires your soul and runs you dry.







Meaningless

You become obsessed with a dream, which you’re sure isn’t
healthy, and although it is empty it fulfills you. Then
you wake up to find a year has past, yet you wonder why you
are still so tired. While you travel down a winding track
on your little train of thought you realize it is taking you
in circles. Your only inspiration is in knowing that it
will eventually all end. Pointless contemplations fly
through the dark voids of your mind like a comet flies
through the dark voids of the universe. You speculate
things, like what is a story if it can’t be told, and what
is a song if it can’t be sung? The answer is nothing. They
are nothing but inane, futile words. Perhaps nothing has a
point, because you know this really doesn’t!







Death of a cloud

Sometimes I try to dream of a place, a place that exists
only in the storybooks. It is such an utterly perfect place
that even its faults are perfect. Sometimes the clouds that
drift through the vast back drop of blue fall from the sky
and land on the other side. I’m not sure what to make of
it, and I’m not quite sure how they get there, but they
always manage to. When I wake, it is too the greedy child
yelling in my ear. Sometimes I want to explode. I can’t
deal with the extreme difference of this beautiful place and
reality. My heart is beating so quickly I think I really
will combust. The damn greedy child is still screaming.
Doesn’t care about anything but itself and its noise. If it
ever stops I will try to dream of a place that exists only
in storybooks. Sometimes I miss perfection. Sometimes I
wonder if I really even know what perfection is. I most
likely don’t but to avoid hypocrisy we will just say that I
do and that this storybook world is perfection. If I don’t
know what perfection is then I don’t know what perfection
isn’t so how am I to prove myself wrong, right?






Warped

I once woke up and found myself in Narnia.
Exactly how I got there no one could say; however, I’m quite
positive it wasn’t by means of the wardrobe. Often I wake
up and ponder how I arrived at where I currently am. Was it
a countless number of coincidences that shaped my entire
being, or is it faith? The difference slight, but at the
same time drastic, like the differences between red and
blue. Both are colors, but that is possibly the only common
bond. For one is red, and well one is blue. In Narnia it
is cold, and Turkish delight is abundant. In my bed it is
warm, and pillows are abundant. Sometimes it is nice to try
and make sense of life and the world, and sometimes it is
nice to sleep. I suppose it depends on the mood you are
in.







Words of wisdom

The light that shines off the moon peaks into my bedroom
window while I sleep. It occasionally wakes me, but I don’t
mind. I feel sorry for the moon. It is never allowed to
sleep. If it isn’t peaking into my window, it is peaking
into someone else’s. Showing the melancholy in its pale,
tired, wrinkled face. The most clever magician, nor the
wizards of the earth sea could lend the moon some resting
time. It just follows in circles like a shadow. Under
acknowledged for it’s religious like devotion, or like the
loyalty of true lovers to the earth and the sun. I don’t
mind if for a few seconds it disturbs my slumber for I
couldn’t imagine a greater punishment than eternal
loneliness. I don’t mind if for a few seconds it asks me to
keep it company. I’d do the same, wouldn’t you?







So bad

Why is the timing so wrong?
Everything is perfect, well seemingly.
It’s all going to be great it is all going to be fucking
great.
The timing is so wrong.
Plans to change, a whole life to be altered.
But it doesn’t matter to anyone anyways.
It’s a personal thing, no one will understand the way it
really is.
They feel sympathy but it’s all a back seat driver in
comparison to the real thing.
Give it some time it will all work out.
Give it any more time and my whole life has passed me by
just waiting for the damn moment.
Wrong time.
All you can do is hope.
That is all you can do.







Eminent

I want what I want.
I want what I can’t have.
I can’t have it for it is far beyond myself.
As the sand runs through the hourglass I see what I want.
It’s far more significant then I.
Towering high on its pedestal, placed there by myself and by
others like me.
If we could forget then you wouldn’t be there, but we can’t
so you shall stay.
Looking down, toying with me, giving false hope, letting my
imagination run wild.
How completely unfair it is.
Just once I want to be loved, is this one request to immense
to be granted?
I want what I want.
I want what I can’t have.
I can’t have it for it is far beyond myself.
I wish I could banish you from that pedestal.
Bring you down to my level.
So for a moment we might be together.
So for a moment you might love me.
I want what I can’t have.
I want you.






Diversity
The landing is soft, you can do it, jump.
The building seems higher than I am tonight.
Colors would run, bleed into each other.
What happened to diversity?
It’s all assimilation.
Exhausted from the climb, exhilarated by the thought of the
leap, excruciating pain upon contact.
It’s black.
What happened to diversity, where are the colors?
It’s over.






Untitled

Excuse me while I leave you to tend to your problems. You
see I have problems of my own. We all have problems,
unfortunately mine are more important at the moment. The
first being that I have a big mouth, and this will always
lead to trouble. The second being that my mouth isn’t big
enough, getting treaded upon comes with the territory. Last
but not least I’m myself and not somebody else. Major
problem. We all have problems, mine just happen to be worse.





Untitled

Waiting, tick-tock, tick-tock. There is time to do it all,
there isn’t time to do anything at all. We all say life is
too short, doesn’t it at times feel like life is too long?
Countless hours spent waiting, tick-tock, tick-tock. Days
passed in loneliness, weeks passed in boredom. If we were
to leave tomorrow a different song would be sung, but from
this perspective it all just drags on. It just carries on
and on like a movie without a plot, or a story without a
point. When the sounds are deffening we plug our ears and
turn it up. When the sounds are non-existent we plug our
ears and turn it up. As long as it passes time it doesn’t
really matter.







Talking Hands
We can talk with our hands, but not with our mouths.
Is your mouth dry? Is your tongue-tied?
I can hit you. I can hold you. I can tease you if I want to.
I can ease you with sweet nothings.
I can please you with a song.
I can start it when it’s time, I can end it when I want to.
I can talk with my hands I can talk with my mouth.
You can talk with your hands.
Can you talk with your mouth?







Missing
Where was this all my life?
It’s a flashback to the ugly times.
It gives me a mask to hide behind.
I would like to hide, so I will.
They just pump out like blood, creativity seeps out my
pores, where is a towel?
Quickly, it could be a mess.
Who will be the chosen one?
The one who will clean up the mess we have all seen once or
twice.
The mess we are all too familiar with, the mess some chose
to ignore.
Who will it be?


Please don't take credit for these poems, they are my creations. If you want to use one please e-mail me and let me know. Thank You!
© 2000 Reesa Meltzer