Post a Poem

[Gambit_X]

As T. S. Eliot is my favorite poet, I'd like to post "The Wasteland," but it's a million lines long, so I'll post a couple of mine. Not fishing for compliments, either.
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Last night I fell asleep
At the wheel of my car,
Driving thoughts of you and me
Out of my head. It's hard,
But now the stage is set,
And I am ready to act.
Here comes my line, "You bet!
I'm happy, I don't need her back."

But that's such a lie

You can't complain
While I am trying so hard
I'll forget your name
If you will help me discard
Guilt and regret that's building
Walls that keep us
Miles and miles and miles
Apart

I'm taking photographs
of dying things and setting sun,
And though I hate to laugh
It's hard not to poke fun.
I'm at a loss for words;
Things I took for granted fell apart.
And though it's so absurd,
For you, I'm ready to start

Lying through my teeth.

You can't complain
While I am trying so hard.
I'll forget your name
If you will help me discard
Guilt and regret that's building
Walls that keep us
Miles and Miles and Miles
Apart

-One of my older, angsty works
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Let it snow

Let in the cold, the damp, and the heavy
Let it fill us with regret and with envy
Of warmer places we think that we know
From times we remember from not long ago

Let it snow

Let it surround us and let it confound us
Let it collect and reflect the incorrect
We’ll all say things we don’t really mean
It’s the nature of the season to present the obscene

Let it snow

Let it freeze our minds and make us forget
Let it fill us with loss and make us regret
We'll remember the sun and feel its glow
'Til brittle is broken and gone is the snow.

Let it snow

-One of my recents.

[Vampyr]

Originally Posted by Gambit_X

As T. S. Eliot is my favorite poet, I'd like to post "The Wasteland," but it's a million lines long, so I'll post a couple of mine. Not fishing for compliments, either.

Yeah, I am also a big T.S. Eliot fan, and I love The Wasteland.

Favorite part:

"What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust."


edit: "Howl" by Ginsberg is another poem I would post if not for the length.