Bitterness Poems
The Old Man In The Chair
by Leo Warne
That old man in the chair
with the still, spotted hands
hunched over on his porch
and gazing into nowhere.
His youth has ran,
on the ground he lands.
No one seems to care,
and onto them, his dead eyes stare.
I have borne my life
by Abdulwahab Nakouzi
I have borne my life, a life of debris and waste,
turned dark and bitter, sour and poison-laced,
to bear and carry this one’s and that one’s hefty load;
I thought light and mirth lay at the end of such road;
I thought death and dark shunned such heavenly abode.
Soon, that ache for another’s smile shall wilt and dry;
soon, that burn and sear for another’s pain and tear
shall fade and dim with time, burn into a cold sigh.
Soon, it shall all come about; soon, I won’t be near.
So, rejoice and relish in time’s imminent plot;
......
I Try
by Antony Nduta
Am full of resentment
Feels in punishment
My heart yearns for contentment
I find no peace
My eyes are ever wet
And my soul,ever troubled
Ire i found
In me, is a wound
One that never heals
My head, ever hurts
......
Shall I Compare Thee to a Winter's Night
by Richard Randolph
Shall I compare thee to a winter's night?
Thou art far darker and more cold.
Winter nights oft are long and bereft of light
and slippery roads lead to deaths untold.
Icy winds are another frightful thing,
when gray skies wrap us in a frigid shroud,
but at least we're assured of coming spring
when the warm sun will again shine proud.
But thy cold touch creates an open sore,
such that time and distance can never heal,
......
shattered faith and entropic prayers
by Alexander Palmer
futile infinity, entropic, crawls down my wretched throat,
the hymns of the choir have soured and I am utterly alone,
the crucifix that once seared my skin lies in the ashes of my home,
the lord's altar has scorned me, I stand among his disciples and I am alone.
oh, lord, why hast thou forsaken me in my darkest hour?
is it mercy or grace you lack, because they assure me of your power,
I peel the rotting bandages from my ravaged wrists,
I was never as broken as when they finally called me fixed.
......
I have borne my life
by Abdulwahab Nakouzi
I have borne my life, a life of debris and waste,
turned dark and bitter, sour and poison-laced,
to bear and carry this one’s and that one’s hefty load;
I thought light and mirth lay at the end of such road;
I thought death and dark shunned such heavenly abode.
Soon, that ache for another’s smile shall wilt and dry;
soon, that burn and sear for another’s pain and tear
shall fade and dim with time, burn into a cold sigh.
Soon, it shall all come about; soon, I won’t be near.
So, rejoice and relish in time’s imminent plot;
......
swallow, swallow, swallow
by Sam Sin
Swallow
Swallow, swallow, swallow
Keep it all down
That bitter bile, raging vile, spewing out your mouth
Swallow, swallow, swallow
That creased, painful, ire
......
subway station suicide
by Alexander Palmer
I'm screaming at the eyes buried in the plaster, they're the only ones who listen,
And I jumped onto the subway rails, call that tunnel vision,
I cut my hair and cut my wrists but it never made a difference,
My eyes are shot from crying at the carpet's cruel disinterest.
And, oh, I could write a million suicide notes filled with empty platitudes,
"I can't, I couldn't, I won't," but I know those words won't be true,
God, this music's awful, but what can you expect from a subway station?
And I'm not here for the music, I'm here because I've run out of patience.
......
shattered faith and entropic prayers
by Alexander Palmer
futile infinity, entropic, crawls down my wretched throat,
the hymns of the choir have soured and I am utterly alone,
the crucifix that once seared my skin lies in the ashes of my home,
the lord's altar has scorned me, I stand among his disciples and I am alone.
oh, lord, why hast thou forsaken me in my darkest hour?
is it mercy or grace you lack, because they assure me of your power,
I peel the rotting bandages from my ravaged wrists,
I was never as broken as when they finally called me fixed.
......
Shall I Compare Thee to a Winter's Night
by Richard Randolph
Shall I compare thee to a winter's night?
Thou art far darker and more cold.
Winter nights oft are long and bereft of light
and slippery roads lead to deaths untold.
Icy winds are another frightful thing,
when gray skies wrap us in a frigid shroud,
but at least we're assured of coming spring
when the warm sun will again shine proud.
But thy cold touch creates an open sore,
such that time and distance can never heal,
......
