Category: Writers Block
Pain At The Worst: by Detective CelestialGazer42
rating: t
claimer: Yeah, if I didn't write it, Then, I wouldn't have spent two hours on this piece of work.
Author's note: I had to write a metaphorical poem in English class with an emotion. I chose pain, because most of the world is suffering from it. So, I
hope it doesn't scare you too much. People realizing that pain is enough to drive someone insane and worse is the first step to stopping the activities
in this current world. Just don't go doing things to yourself after this, because it is depressing. This is not to offend any believes or religions, however
I think it's worthwhile to mention such matters. Sorry for the offense caused if any. Well, sit back, and enjoy! please review.
Vouching in anger,
To get someone in revenge,
Stamping the ants out of the house,
Cursing people out,
Oh, do admit and conclude,
That pain is to be before everyone,
Justice is not necessarily played,
Whoever it chooses to be standing out.
Stand out they will,
Or maybe it is even I,
Who knows,
Manners, attitudes, believes, view points of the world,
And expressions are different,
No one really knows how,
A mind like this works,
People barely know this person,
They might think they know,
But they don't.
Only the closest of friends do,
Or it might just start leaking,
Odder then odd,
Surmising more then it is to become.
Oh pain, is to many things,
And many it will stay.
Being from many corners and many dimensions,
Striking people with misery every second of time,
The one in a coffin,
Oh pain thee,
Dead and gone,
Dead,
I say dead,
Deceased and gone,
The writhing snake beside it,
with little grace.
Oh that's pain!
A gun fires from not far off,
Bang, bang, bang!
A male in the front lines,
Sprawl dead on the ground,
Blood coming out of him,
Ever which way it goes,
Little by little,
Drop by drop,
All out of him,
Thus, no blood,
Oh, no blood,
Not a drop,
Cold and clearly unable to be revived,
Unknown to the rest,
Hence, guns still banging,
Bullets flying,
Weeping might come later,
When they realize one of their ranks has died.
It's only one soldier after all,
But is one dead soldier in a war,
Not pain enough?
Another has been wounded,
However on the other side,
The Christians cheered,
the Muslims wept,
The reverse was done,
Many times this went on,
One tried to pray to God,
Getting shot himself.
He moaned and falls.
Man and man,
collision in the wake of death,
Verse of the holy books were called out,
The man was screaming on the ground,
Bullets still sailing past above him,
Bleeding blood as if there was not a tomorrow,
Pain is all he could think of.
Therefore, it's eternally this pain continues,
In so poor even a place as Iran.
Firing away not giving a care,
To how much has been ruined.
Even traveling through time,
There are traces of war,
Perhaps not so much with our modern prejudices.
Fights from the olden days,
Not so advanced yet.
Guns were going off,
And people was screaming,
One race was singled out,
People dragged off to a horrible place.
The people disobeying the law set,
Pushed on to trains,
as if they were not even human,
Not with a care,
Later pushed off and herded into concentration camps,
And without mercy,
Or a care of survival or death.
Pain through these,
Concentration camps and all mighty hittler.
What's probably as bad is,
For the brains of the attenders of the poem,
Alas hold still kind folks,
Everything I have listed,
And lots more,
In the mind of a writer,
With a family background,
That knows no bounds to segregation,
Performing themselves the exact,
Things they say they forbid,
Hypocrisy... Hypocrisy, Hypocrisy,
Pain... pain, and beyond pain.
Author's note: Sorry if it brought tears to your eyes. I admit that it was tense for me as well. These events just touch me so very dearly. I don't care
who those people are rude or nice, I still respect them. Now, it's your time to write some critiques for me. I would love them. Ready, set, review!