I Wanted Life To Fill Me,

Colorful Fears

The colors fought,

Refusing to blend into each other.

They wanted to be different,

They had to be a unique color.

Accepting their death,

At least we would have a memorial.

But they realized, they were being thrown away,

Because the canvas had accepted itself,

It refused to be hidden behind the colorful fears.

~ark

Moving On

Reality sunk in, Imaginations came to an end. The chromatic life was now buried, The reign of truth finally flourished. The string of relations broken, Slowly strangled me to death. I said, I had already moved on, While I visited a new place wearing my old uniform. Bitterness is better than sweetness, they said, But I still wanted to read the chapters already read.

AND..

As I peeked through the closed doors, Confused between the two boats, I begged to find the pages I wrote, While I burned the ones they tore.

How do I teach myself?

Free

I walked on the wet path, While the earth pulled me close. Splashing my face in the water, Its stillness reflected my unfulfilled vows. I ran far away, To be free and fly. I broke all the barriers, I thought held me back. But I realised, I was a kite, Taking a directionless flight, I broke the string of my life, Thinking I would finally be alive

They'll Too

The situation I had been in, Was the situation they were in. I wanted to warn them, As I already knew the end, But I decided against it. As I was the one who ignored the warnings too, And I knew they'll too. Thinking, The way I realised, They'll realise too. The way I learned, They'll learn too.

~ark

Shine

I chased the new light, While wandering in the night. Dreams of shining bright remained in my mind, While I wanted to live my own life. Not that shining wasn't a part of it, But the bed of satisfaction, Lay beneath me. I fought with time, A weak opponent, I thought. Life's best lesson taught, Refusing to be stuck in a moment, I rose, I chose war.

~ark

And then she realised, Her efforts were being ignored, Because she couldn't acknowledge someone else's fears, their tears and the hard work with which their success was reared.

~ark

Identity

Who am I, if not a poet? What am I, if not a writer? What is my existence, And what is my purpose?

How do I relieve myself of these emotions, If not by bleeding myself on paper? How do I express myself to the world, If not by baring myself for everyone to see? What is my comfort, if not being vulnerable with words? Where do I go, if not to pen and paper? To whom do I share my happiness, sadness, My sorrows, and guilt? Where do I let out my anger, Before it turns me cold and sharp? Where do I pour out the storm, Before it drowns me? Tell me, what do I do, If not write?

Who am I, if not a poet? What am I, if not a writer? What is my existence, And what is my purpose?

©Pen_Pain_Poetry

My Memories

I was patient, or so I thought. I counted every moment, To witness the thing, I yearned to see for long. But it came and ended so soon. Glimpses danced in my mind, While I waited for it once again. My tears that reflected the luminescence of my moon, Refused to fall, as the memories would drain too. The future became the past, My mind mourning at the memorials, Eyes blinded by hopes, Should I consider my comfort a curse or a boon?

~ark

There were two reasons I was scared to let people in; the damage they could do, and the damage they could find.

Chris Mc Geown