Aching hands push spinning blades,
That kick up dirt beneath the shade,
Reduce the world to itching mist,
I wipe my brow and breathe, sun-kissed.

Dressed for war, yet fragile still,
She preys upon the weak of will,
Condemning actions others take,
Begets confusion in her wake.

At end of day, when light grows dim,
And cooler winds abate hot skin,
Her inner fire, quenched by ire,
Sheathed and shelved appears less dire.

Salty tears of deep remorse,
Cascade her face and run their course,
Controlled by demons deep within,
Furious storm births quiet din.

Strong-hearted souls, they love her so,
Unhurt by vicious seeds she sow,
They cherish her, for life is short,
Quarrels are of no import.

Promises are made to show
The endless line of love’s own flow
But even now the sunlight fades
And brings upon a bout of woe

Life goes on, loves turn to shades
Amorous feelings gone to jade
For even as the trial starts
Rejection tempers burning hearts

I like this one; I wrote it in highschool English class. I remember my hands shaking furiously. I had such trouble. Thanks for reading.

People don’t have answers, see
To the questions that you ask;
Treat life as it was meant to be,
Find answers as your task.

Ending up in holes of hate,
You block out all the light;
Tend feelings now for as of late,
Your bonds are growing tight.

Oh children, don’t you hide from truth
Use painful life as love’s own proof.

You mock the art with common prose
Write poems of the bloody rows
That roll down arms and seem to shout
A cry of help to pick you out

You throw about such genius words
To try and stand out from the herd
But when you turn around and look
It seems your friends have read your book

They stand around and cause their pain
To steal your guarded looks again
They loathe themselves from head to toe
And, oh! Do they put on a show

Attention seeking human leeches
Sucking life and surely each-is
Doomed to go home to their life
As normal as are yours and mine

Nightmares borne from dreams of hate
Of leading loves toward ghastly fate
To make a point to break my soul
And punch a hole in living’s lull

Sleeping each eve with the lights
Terror-trained through sleepless nights
The mocking bright and glaring hiss
Parade each night til sunlight’s bliss

Skipping so gaily down warm summer lanes
She bubbles with laughter and overfilled mirth
Soft pastel petals pour down from above
Look deep in her eyes for love and life’s worth

Pinkish clusters paint the sky and tell a simple tale.
Solemn streaks of lurid blue dart across the page.
Speech begins to grow too slow and turn a deathly pale.
Glaring stars make empty threats by twisting fists in rage.

Sinking quick and shows no slowing, sunlight seeps away.
Hopeful glimmers start to shimmer, mapping out the sky.
Stars dart up and all around by coming out to play.
Darkness swallows life below and clouds begin to cry.

Dawn and dusk dance on and off, giving us no warning.
Revel in these glory days, there’s no time for mourning.

Wow, this is surely a turning point; my format remains somewhat undeveloped, but the subject matter is surely more interesting. Thanks for reading.

Beauty isn’t hard to see, if one knows where to look.
That’s the part that frightens me, the pages in this book.

The heavens sing forever, so listen to their song,
As passions must endeavor, but also grow so strong.

Turn around and take a glance, but not so long to miss your chance.

Always the couplets, whether aabb or abab. Thanks for reading.

If no discourse, plain to see, can come to save my life,
Frustration wells up within me, no dull edge on this knife.

I back away and get down low, for there is no escape.
Pain and darkness only grow, both nurtured by your hate.

Time within and time without, some aspects never change.
Still as stars there is no doubt, my passion knows no range.

Pretty yet trite words; ho-hum. Again I use life/knife. Thanks for reading.