writing Poetry Compilation #3

[Ferret Girl 2,642]

A note to my readers: Well, thank you all again. I am not entirely sure what to add at this point.

 

I feel the need to bring up that because of all of your support, both throught kind words and inspirations, I have decided for myself that I will at least attempt to pursue a career in writing. Really, because it is the only communitive skill that I possess.

 

This compilation eill not contain as many poems as my previous sets. this is due to my declaration that these poems are in fact all related to eachother, in a way that is not truly present in any other of my works. I actually quite so implore you to attempt to find the discernable conection that binds them all together. Thank you all again. I will of course, write more.

 

Your friend,

David Favret

 

 

 

 

It Means Nothing

 

 

Because I have nothing left to offer the world.

Soar past vindiction and peril.

Past the seas of feeling and pity.

Find yourself in a new land.

One filled with your lost hopes.

 

So, i encourage you, no plead with you.

Have you yourself taken the knife in your hand?

Have you pressed the metal against your skin, felt its cold?

Once you do, once you face daeth in a sense of such,

maybe then you will see like me.

Joyous? I doubt, but still.

There is not much point hidden behind words.

Their meanings are differed by the minds of others.

Take thses words now for example.

See how they twist about and make sense to you.

This sense is to you only, not to me.

 

Perhaps what I write has no meaning at all?

Maybe I sit and let mutter all issues I address..

I find no reason to continue whilst this blade is pressed apon my neck.

Yet, how is it that I also feel the need to continue.

A need , a desire in which I want to live on doing just that.

Living in words that have no meaning.

Oh what a wondrous thing.

 

 

 

 

Judgment

 

 

Because, at any given time, people can not understand one another.

We are a mystery to ourselves and to others.

So This raises a question that I feel needs to be heard.

Just what is it in our minds, that makes us feel the need to judge?

What is judging?

Why is it needed in our minds for us to function in a society of destructive criticsim.

Nothing makes sense to this one.

This one, one who searches for a reason behind meanings and words.

Searching in vain perhaps, because even if he finds what he looks for,

I cannot be so sure thaty the world will follow him.

No, it is without doubt.

The world is based apon itself.

Sanity is what people will define it to be.

So in that sense, does this make me insane for not being a willing contender.

I will not be so easily harnessed by the judgements that will soon encase me.

No matter what, even to my dying day, I shall never be one to pass judgement.

Never shall I declare one's fate in consequence to choices and feelings.

Such occurences are beyond my understanding.

Only one power I know of is able to perform such.

And his graces are scarce.

 

So, tell me, be you one to pass judgement and be judged yourself?

Or shall you be of a more reasonable standing?

Why is it that we are a people of so much and yet offer so little?

I am still searching for reasoning amongst feeling.

Obviously I am insane by your standards.

Try to argue with me, i encourage it.

Stand firm in your beliefs, I respect it.

Attempt to judge me, and you will judge wrong however.

Stop seeing the world for what some people declared it to be.

See it instead, through the eyes of someone unknown to you.

Someone whose morals are of sub standards to your own.

Let go of everything you know, and accept the differences.

Even the mistakes that bring about heavy consequence are of great value.

These are perhaps the greater lessons.

Never forget them, and never judge them.

 

 

 

 

 

Need a Hero

 

 

A day late.

An hour passed.

Moments shared, and wasted.

Time that has been corrupted with the poison of awful living.

And now we wait, watch the poison take affect.

 

We as the people, standing by and simply watching.

Waiting as they fall to the ground, laughing, I swear.

If we were half decent in the least, why not help?

If this will be the world I am brought into,

then I do not wish to be here at all.

 

I suppose I am just as bad though.

You see, I spend my days educating you on the subject.

I have yet to lend my hand to the needed,

yet i continue to preach it?

 

Hypocrites and ignorant brutes.

An occaisonal saint, but for all the wrong reasons.

If only We all had a hero.

One who would correct the wrongs of this society.

One who lend his hand to the poisoned, with only the will to help.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I'd cry for you

 

 

Well, you see,

when there isnt anything left for you,

nothing but your own mind amongst the torrent of judgement,

that is where I wish I stood.

I wish I could have stood by your side.

Maybe then I could have felt for you, and known just how you felt.

But no, I couldn't be there.

I can't know what you know, regardless if you tell me or not.

Some call you forever alone, and others call you a burden.

But, thay are not me.

I still want to be here for you and your thoughts.

Even though I know I can't.

Even though I can feel you fading away.

I still want to hold on to you, even though I can't.

And when all that is left of you is a memory,

even though you told me not to,

I'd cry for you.

And I would never see the same again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Begin your thought with you

 

 

so, you came to hear a tale of times gone by?

What news of elderly beings that bring such about?

Well my boy, wrong i say to you.

It is not that we be old that by our hairs we know of such things.

Let it be known that the most knowledgable of us all,

are those whose words are never heard.

Not seen, nor felt.

I wallow in the pitiful bursts of grasping comprehension.

 

But, to be more unto your point.

Give me now your full attention,

for if be it true that you, a being with a yearning to aquire my thoughts,

are willing to hear my tale.

Let it be me who warns you however,

that the tales I tell are often misguided by false perception, and falls from grace.

Often, oh by means other than my own will, so often.

Never again be at my side on those days of further deprived glory.

 

You see now?

now, how the tales of one are often as twisted as of the desires of men.

Oh yes, now I myself realize these.

how now, to be free of my own guiding hand, and be me.

Again however, I find myself ranting.

Presenting you with the false information that will lead an entire generation.

Lead them into a pit of fire that will burn endlessly.

 

Sorry, my dear boy, was this not what you sought?

You asked of my thoughts, and of my knowledge.

So i gave you such.

Such, which by you lesser understanding,

will forever haunt you until you find yourself thinkig as I do.

You asked, and i obliged, however relentlessly.

 

And so with a dreadfull smile apon my face, I send you off.

I have nothing more to tell.

Even if I remarked apon and then reflected so, apon the state of my mental health.

Just what purpose would that serve?

I say again, nothing left to say to you.

Begone, leave me to speak of such things to myself.

 

Often, oh so very often, the best mentor is that of a lesser mind.

So then, I take back my previous statement.

There is one more thing to say.

You sought what I cannot give.

For you see, I may be of greater might turned rotten,

but the greater of knowing can be attained through those you never imagined.

I mean, by those whose knowledge is undermined, due to restricton of thought.

Seek them out, better than I, perhaps even though my knowing surpasses them.

For thay are the better teachers, and I am not of deserving title.

Go now, find out why.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hope of a past sin

 

 

When emotions are on the verge of something beyond understanding,

just who do you turn to.

 

Certainly not the beggar in the streets,

who's tattered garments cling to the lifeless shell.

Shell? Oh, but of course, forgive me.

 

I forget that you are of an impudent race, one that seeks to annul all that lays before you,

all that is different from you.

So still I am talking to you, about the beggar, the shell of a man.

A man who has more life than you ever shall.

 

But still I see you are ignorant.

Is that a blessing or a curse?

So then, where do your attatchments lie?

Certainly not with the working man,

who's spirit is crushed by those above him.

Spirit? I had forgotten, more or less, what you lack.

 

I remember now, of all your past sins.

Forget them, not.

Man will continue to judge man.

Apon them all a plague of feuds.

 

So, where does your hope lie?

Certainly not in me,

one who waits and bides his time,

lurking about and writing away.

 

Surely I say, that with me your hopes cannot stay.

 

 

 

 

Again, thank you.

 

Try to find the connection.

Edited October 19, 2012 by TheBronyHeart