I can't think anymore
I used to be able to think.
I can't cry anymore
I used to be able to cry.
I feel empty all the time
I used to feel filled up.
I'm tired all the time
I used to have energy to spare.
I think everything is my fault
I used to know it wasn't.
I don't feel things anymore
I used to feel shocked.
I won't tell myself what I'm feeling
I used to share my feelings with my friends.
I am a stranger to myself,
I've lost me.
About the author of Lost: This poem was written after my grandfather died, we were extremely close, and i never thought i would make it through ti, but i did, and i'm fine now!
I'm 16, 17 in 15 days, and i love to write! i'm a junior, and a high honor student.
The leaves of fall go round and round
With colors sprinkling down
They make me think I am off the ground
Where I don't want to be found
Instead I think about my life
How people use words to hurt me like a knife
Now the leaves come faster down
I think I will jump safely to the ground
The page does defile my pregnant meaning
Bursting forth from my undaunted tongue
In putrid vile, pouring pathetically,
Voluptious and smiling in my frustrated rage!
Dripping in its pernicious lie
Forming a delusion never envisioned
And I jerk my twarting intention
Swipe my merried mess across you, I do!
And I kill you; murder in my phantasmic frenzy
No shame for your diseased existence that plauged my own
And I bury you in crumbles and spit upon your crime
Death to your falsity, cease my cursed, endless throe!
It comes upon this time,
Every year at now.
Once the leaves have faded away.
With the wind they have gone.
A time when earth dies away,
Our Souls restored.
Tears dried by cold,
Before they have ever known the touch of your fair skin.
Winter's edge so pure, and yet so calm.
When all of nature takes it leave,
Left for a chilling breeze.
A Wonderous frost.
Life stands still,
As you walk freely upon snow.
Days so short,
Nights so long.
Farewell warm sun,
Hello Cold moon.
Winter's Edge so pure, and yet so calm.
It is now, that the wind is cold.
IT is now, that my breath is seen within that very wind.
Sweet smell of snow,
The warm touch of ice.
Winter's edge so pure, and yet so calm
Brick, New Jersey
About the author: I enjoy reading and writing. I like music such as... Nine Inch Nails, Tori Amos, Marilyn Manson, MAnic Street Preachers, Silverchair, and much more. thank you
Shattered is my heart,
it's broken in two.
Soaking are my eyes,
they're dripping tears for you.
Hidden are my emotions,
I've locked them up inside.
Fragile are my bones,
from all the nights I've died.
Scattered is my brain,
from wondering what to do.
Misleading are my dark brown eyes,
because of you they're blue.
There are things I'll admit that you know all about,
but when it comes to me you haven't a clue.
For falling apart am I,
from simply loving you.
About the author of Falling Apart: J is a high school Creative Writing student and loves to write for fun. Some poems are really her thoughts or feelings, but he/she likes to take on the emotions and identities of other people as well.
This little boy walks down the street,
he's filled with fear when his eyes meet,
a man that's hitting an older girl,
that moment changed this boy's world.
As he gets closer he starts to cry,
and screams to God "why!why!why!"
it's his mother's face shinning red,
from blood that's flowing out of her head.
The man who hit her just took off,
while the little boy sits and sobs.
His mother lay bleeding on the ground,
while people stand all around.
The doctors said "we're sorry son,"
"we couldn't help your mother's gone."
The boy went home and prayed to God,
asking him to help his mom,
and that night when he fell asleep,
he saw his mother in his dream.
The little boy knew she was safe,
and even though no one could take her place,
he knew she'd always be with him,
and that helped heal him deep within.
he moral to this sad, sad poem,
is that someday God will take us home,
and if someone you love goes home to soon,
just remember in the end, you will too.
Copyright 2000 Courtney O.
About the author of Little Boy
I have been writing poems since the fifth grade. I remember at age 11 my first poem was called "Insanity." I use my feelings and life expieriences and share them with others in my poetry hoping to help them in a situation or just let them know who I am.
He held my hand
He said hello
He took me back
And he let me cry on his shoulder
He called me pretty
If I'd try a little harder
I could be more
He didn't accept me
Then I met someone new
Someone who accepted me
And he takes my hand
But he doesn't let go
As the raindrops fall from a blackened cloud
He wipes the tears away
And I smile
Something I'd forgotten how to do
Darn you, for making me fall in love with you!
Darn you, for telling me all these lies, and like a fool I believed you.
Even though I knew you were lying!
Darn you,for telling me you love me.
Darn you, for making me feel this way about you~because now I can't seem to get over you.
Darn, you for breaking my heart and making me cry.
Darn you,for comming into my life and turning it inside out, upside down, and hurting me so bad.
Darn you, for leaving me alone with a broken heart to mend and seal.
Darn you, for being you!
Handsome, charming, devilish you!
DARN YOU! DARN YOU ! DARN YOU!
Belle Plaine, Kansas
About the author of "Darn You"
My name is Jamie Marie, I am 17 years old an I write to let out my emotions.
Is there something to fear?
I'll always be here, though
I have to face all my fears.
With you I can feel,
safe and real.
How am I going to conceal,
what I want to feel.
It's coming so near,
and this time it's real.
But I don't want to fear,
'cause I have you near.
Hold me, don't let go,
what do we have to do?
Hand in hand,
as long as we stand,
on this ground,
soon we'll be on our land.
About the author: I like writing and reading so much but I haven't write poem except before 1 year.
I write short as well as long stories...
I wrote my first story when I was 10 years, and from then I wrote so many stories.
Within the sky
Remind us of the little things
As they soar through the air
So full and free
Encased in love and destiny
Reminding for eternity
That God is always there
About the author: I am Uzoma Peter Lane the ever helpful, ever faithful poet of the District. I have won two publishings and four gala awards. I enjoy poetry and helping others.
It feels like you’re already gone,
I can’t stand this empty feeling inside of me,
I’m finally scared now,
I don’t feel the same as you,
I can’t let go of your love,
Why won’t this torturing pain go away?
I can’t lose you,
My world is spinning and I can’t hold on,
I can’t feel the ground anymore,
I cry tears of pain day after day,
I think about all our times together,
You showed me true love,
I’ll never forget that,
My heart breaks at the thought of ever losing you,
I can’t see,
I can’t breathe,
I can’t feel,
I can’t hear,
I can’t taste,
Not until you’re back here with me,
You’re the only one for me,
I need you,
I can’t loose you,
I can’t let you go so easily,
My love for you will never die,
I’ll never stop loving you,
About the author of If You're Gone
I am in 7th grade in Hawaii. When I was younger I did not care for poetry but now that I am old enough to enjoy it. I often get my ideas for poetry from songs I hear. Thank you.
The question I ask is, "How good are friends"?
Are they there from the beginning until the end?
Why do they disappear when times go by?
They're gone without leaving a shoulder to cry.
Some don't care about breaking your heart;
it could've been their plan from the start.
I guess they don't think about all of your pain,
but if they're that type of person, you'd think it was your gain.
It's so hard to find a true friend,
someone you can confide in, on which you can depend.
Don't give out your heart until you know they are true,
or until they give their heart to you.
Be careful with what you have, it can leave as quick as it came.
Remember that friendship is less than love, but more than a game.
About the author of "Friends?"
My name is Stephanie, and I'm 15 years old. I live in the beautiful city of Tyler, Texas. I have many struggles and inside stories behind the poems I write. They help me express myself in a way that is not hurting anyone.
Why is it that when I am down,
I can always seem to hide my frown.
I walk with my head up and a smile on my face,
But all I can feel is unwanted and out of place.
I tell everyone "Don't worry, I'm ok,"
But in fact I just hurt more and more everyday.
The littlest things set me off and I begin to cry,
The most frustrating part is that I sometimes don't even know why.
I don't know what to do; I am so lost
I would trade my life in for another at any cost.
Just to live in someone else's' shoes,
And to get out of these permanent depression blues.
My friends have given up on trying to help me,
They all just watch me cry and let me be.
There is no medicine I can take to get rid of this pain,
My problems just pour down like the cold, fall rain.
I know that soon the sun will break through and shine down a light,
And all of my problems will be gone overnight.
I just need to enjoy life and make the most of it,
Because just like after a rainfall, the rainbow will hit.
About the author of Amber. I am 16 years old (almost 17) and I love to write poetry. I think of it as an escape from this sometimes unbearable world. My poetry reflects what I am going through at the time. I am your everyday normal teenager who loves to hang out with friends, go shopping at the GAP, go partying, etc. Tell me what you think of my writing. I really appreciate it. It is something I take great pride in and hope to succeed with in the future.
I've been here about six weeks,
But you know, I'm just not scared.
This place is dark,
But it is warm,
And my food is well prepared.
I cannot wait to see my mom
I know I'll love her so.
I just hope she'll love me too
And through life happy we will go.
But wait, something just happened
And I can hear my mother cry.
She's saying something about a positive test.
She's crying hard, but why?
Now at nights my mommy cries
And her laugh is never heard.
I think she is unhappy,
But what is bothering her?
She's made many phone calls
That always end in tears.
And now at nights she curses God
Then cries out all her fears.
And now today, I feel her walk
To a place quite far away.
I can hear her heavy breathing,
But her footsteps seem quite gay.
I hear her talking to a man;
He sounds quite nice and kind.
Maybe he's my daddy!
Wait, he's saying something about time.
Well, I've gotten quite big now,
I've started to suck my thumb.
My features have developed,
From my toes to my eardrums.
Anyway, Mommy's saying something now
About how I'm six months old.
I hear the nice man say, "We'll have to hurry,
We don't want this thing to fold."
They promise each other that they'll meet
A week from yesterday.
I wonder what they're planning,
I wonder what they'll say.
Tonight, I hear my mother
Sobbing in her bed.
"Am I making the right choice?"
Is one of the things she said.
This goes on for several days.
I wonder what's not right.
Why does mom smile through the day
And cry in her pillow at night?
Today, we're getting ready
To visit that kind man.
I wonder what he'll say to mom;
I hope he'll make her smile if he can.
But wait, he's giving her a pill,
I wonder what it'll do.
Maybe it will make her happy.
Oh, I hope that that is true.
Ouch, my eyes are burning,
My stomach is starting to lurch,
And even though it's too early,
My body says it's time for birth.
Oh well, I can't wait to see
My mommy and my dad.
No matter what my pain feels like
With them, it won't be bad.
I can't wait to see my mom.
I wonder what she'll do.
I will look so hard at her,
And with my eyes say, "I love you."
But wait, something's happening,
Something's pressing in my brain.
It's making a small sucking noise
And causing me great pain.
Then I hear a chuckle,
And a voice that says, "She's dead."
And now I know something awful:
They planned that pain ahead!
Now that I know this awful thing
My stomach wants to hurl.
"Mommy, why don't you want
To have your little girl?"
And now as I look down
And see your tears are far from few,
I just want you to know you're forgiven.
And that, mommy, "I love you."
My name is Kelsey, and I wrote this poem a few months ago during a church service, the words just kept coming to me almost faster than I could write them. I feel very strongly about abortion, and I hope that reading this poem will have given you a different perspective on the subject, and maybe change your way of thinking. Thanks for taking the time to read this.
Intense silences threaten my existence
The raven startles me
I am envious of his dark enveloping wings
Take me away
Shining eyes speak everything but words
Your emotions are sheltered
I wish to soar through your glamour into the truth
Raven, take me away
Intimidated by your silence
Mystery makes the stranger all the more appealing
You highlight my sky
Take me away
If you would share with me your sheltered wings
And let me fly with the most beautiful bird
And extremity I can’t reach
Raven, take me away
You have traveled across deserts
And to the crest of the moon
How I long to see the world from your perspective
Take me away with you
I will watch from a distance
Waiting for your flight
Do I dare utter a word?
Raven, take me away
I feel like a fool in your presence
A beggar compared to your crown am I
Yet I continue to gaze…
Take me away
And though my chances are more than slim
I will continue to dream of him
Watching this raven day by day
Longing for him to take me away
About the author of Raven, Take Me Away: My name is Sarah and I'm an aspiring writer. Since I learned how to write, I've been writing poetry. I claim it as my purpose;to relate to others' emotions and to hopefully express them in ways they aren't able to describe. This particular poem was written in a very quiet place, my deck in the middle of the night.
I saw a bird fly across the moon's light and i wanted more than anything, to be with that bird. I would love input on this poem and I plan on submitting more in the future.
I never meant to hurt you, Mom
or make you shed those tears\
I never meant to cause you grief,
or face your greatest fear.
'Cause when I went to drink and drive
your words ran through my head,
so I thought better of it
and had a friend drive home instead.
I knew I took great chances,
but I thought we'd be just fine;
so many people drink and drive
this was just my first time.
But, Mom, I never made it home
my friend, he hit a tree
and, Mom, I am so scared right now
I wish you could hold me.
I wish I had just one more chance
just one more shot at life
'cause, Mom, I promise you right now
I know I'd do things right.
And if I had just one more chance
I'd never drink and drive
I never meant to hurt you, Mom
I'd never make you cry.
I see the things I'll never do
they flash before my eyes
so many things I could have done
if I just had survived.
So, Mom, please help me, save me now
I'm almost seventeen
I've left too many things undone
and places left unseen.
Mom, I am so sorry and
I don't know what to say
please promise you'll stay strong for me;
we'll meet again someday.
North Potomac, Maryland
About the author of "Dedicated to J.C." : My name is Erika and I am a junior in highschool. I play soccer and lacrosse and occasionally enjoy writing poetry. A few weeks ago, a friend of mine died in a car accident on the way home from a party. He and his friend had been drinking and unfortunatly never made it home. I cannot begin to explain the feelings of loss that have been going through his friends, family, and every person who was fortuante enough to be touched by him in some way. School has not been the same without him and though he will forever be missed, it almost seems that this tragedy has somehow brought many of us closer together. So I'm asking all of you out there, if you read this poem, please take one thing with you - help us to keep this from happening again.
When I got the call that early morning
It was so easy to not believe what I heard
You couldn't be gone. It couldn't be real
Because I could still feel you
I could stillhear your laugh, taste your kiss,
And I could still see you smiling that smile.
Even seeing you in that casket wasn't enough
I told myself you were sleeping
And that was so easy to believe
I kept that lie close to me that day
Until the night, when the truth couldn't hide anymore
And I could let myself see that this was real
You were gone
I never got to say good bye,
I never got to say " I love you"
But I know that you're better now
And even though you're gone, I can still feel you
I can still hear your laugh
And I'll always see that smile.
God gave us the power,
To eat, sleep, and drink.
God gave us the gift,
To laugh, praise, and sing.
God gave us the present,
Of body, mind, and soul.
God gave me the miracle,
To live this life and, behold,
God gave me the finest thing in the world,
More precious than diamonds, silver, or gold,
He gave me you,
To love, To have, To hold.
Look at me
Loved by some
Hated by others
Living in a world
Where violence is a everyday thing
STD's just happen
Racial discrimination is blown off like a thing of the past
Drugs are used in school bathrooms
Kids trying to find "themselves"
Drugs, sex, money, violence plagues the day
Clouding up the eyes of the young ones
Blinding them of the past
Lord, make my anxiety placid hope.
Stop the quaking that makes my body wrack.
I'm so distraught by the waves nearing boat
That I jump out; then battle to swim back.
Now I'm drowning- “Oh help! Please help me now!”
I'm screaming, half-frozen in my breakdown.
I try to think, yet think I know not how.
My heart palpitates as my body drowns.
No cries for help- the time for crying passed.
I deathlessly float in the current raves.
I know I am alive- the feeling grasped
Yet I ask why, I alone, the sea saves.
So scared as I once was, I feared transpose
But back I look, sooner, I should've chose.
San Francisco, California
About the author of Sonnet 3-
I'm 16 years old, remotely on the underground rap scene, aspiring to be a playwright.
I lift my legs up, away from the damp earth, dragging the weight on my back
that must be about two times the size of me, and begin to climb out of the
I greet a pair of frosty, nearly lifeless eyes staring straight ahead, not
caring that I am there; to him, I’m just one of the statistics in the
Shouts erupt around me like gunfire, but they don’t hurt me or anyone
sitting- standing, for that matter.
I take the weight off my back, and place it down; I sit beside it, crammed
into a dark sitting device, and hold my hand atop the weight as I have done
everyday for a good portion of my life. Almost as if it were a comfort to
It is not.
We start to move.
I stare out the glass pane, watching the yellow, grey, and white below me
blur, twist, and lock.
A feeling of nausea comes upon my chest.
I look up, and watch the deadness of the flying wood, leaves gone long
They are of no more reassurance to me than the dark rainbow beneath my
I close my eyes.
The evil around me builds- jeers. Teasing. Gossip.
The gossip is the worst, though.
This and this; that and that.
I am unsure of myself.
The voices build to an incredible volume; it is the grey of the cement, the
darkness of the trees, and the purple of my freshly painted fingernails.
The clashing of everything is a headache ready to happen. Like I need any
more of those.
Then I hear laughter, but not that of the evil culture.
It is the simplicity of a child with the maturity of a teenager.
The meshing of those is why we live.
A spitball hits the head of the person in front of me.
I think I changed my mind about that maturity part.
I feel a stalling, the clatter and commotion of beings lifting up their
belongings and moving out.
I go with the crowd, surfing through the line.
The new day has begun. Something looms ahead.
Yawning, I look up.
I’m at school.
Toronto, Ontario, Canada
About the author of DAY IN THE LIFE.....
Well, lemme see... I am currently a student at a great school which really emphasizes poetry... no, wait, that's just in newspaper. Anywayz, I enjoy writing. It's a great escape! DUH. Thanx for reading!
Forever is how the story begins
You entered my heart as a very special friend.
I never said much though deep down I knew
I had stronger feelings than a friend for you.
Every laugh, every word, every smile made my heart melt
though I still couldn't decided the feelings that I felt.
The closer we got the stronger they grew
and a love grew inside me so fresh and new.
Then everyday was like an endless song
The days too short and the nights too long.
I would spend all night just sorting out my thoughts.
This was a new game that couldn't be store bought.
Though I heard of this game many times
playing it seemed like a crime.
The stories of tears, lies and heartaches
seemed alittle too much than my heart could take.
But as time went on I was proved wrong.
Love is not a sad slow song.
But as love slips away and the heartaches come
it doesn't mean love is over with and done.
It just means time will heal your pain.
Even the rainbow gets through the rain.
Though my love for you is still going strong,
it doesn't mean things can't go wrong.
I've been down the darkest roads
but at the end shines the light of hope.
Though one love ended a new one began.
The way it turns out is held in God's hands.
Though they say love ends
really it never dies.
It continues on as time goes by.
And as forever is how this story begins
Forever is how this story will end.
About the author: Had work published in Young American Author's book. Writes short stories, essays and poetry. Has wrote for over 8 years. Future plans are to get a teaching degree, Major in Secondary English Education and minor in Journalism.
Trust is a strong word,
A meaning broken into two.
this word is formed around one
letter that one letter is U.
For U are the only one I die for.
you are the only one I love .
and if you stay beside me
that U becomes an US.
for us means no other love
only me and you. and from this day forward
I promise I will always be true.
true to our realationship in hopes
it will never rust!
For U are the only I love,
and the only one i need to trUSt.
Little Rock, Arkansas
About the author: this poem was written for my boyfriend when we were going out. before we broke up.
It was like a dream
A word non-existent
Utter beauty felt
I wanted to linger
I want to hold on
But you've let go
Soft, sweet words
Echoing within my thoughts
I still feel.
Every kiss like poetry
Uncontrollable tears shed
Not of pain, sadness
But of powerful, unbelievable emotion
Consuming my heart
I yearn for
But remain content
This connection -
Far from fabricated
Too deep to comprehend
I am left without words
Incapable of description
You've made me grow
Made me bloom
You gave me wings
And now I can fly
I soar above the clouds
Because of you.
You are a part of me
And always will be
An irreplaceable gift
I will never be able to duplicate
Never to be forgotten
Wonder bursts from within you
I clearly see your true self
Tranquility forever glowing brightly
I want to touch your light
Grasp it, and forbid to let go
Though, for now
I distance myself
Hesitance you've revealed
I still feel.
Forever you will be with me
A vow I make this very moment
Whatever becomes of us
I place in destiny's hands
But let it be known
I will love you unconditionally
In every possible form.
Calen, you are truly a beautiful person.
Albuquerque, New Mexico
About the author: missy is a person who finds beauty in everyone. she's inspired by those who try to make a diffrence in the world. she tries to make a difference through the words she writes and the way she treats people. All she wants to explain to people when reading this poem is no matter how things turn out between them, she will always see calen as beautiful.*
I have gone through troubles,
But you have had them too,
Always standing by me,
Going through what I go through.
You didn’t have to be there,
You chose by your free will,
And now I know, no matter what,
My heart will be fulfilled.
It seems as though we’ve known,
We’d be together till the end,
And that’s what makes us special…
On you I can still depend.
I’ll never forget our memories,
And the love you always gave,
Or the fights that we avoided…
The lies that we forgave.
Now our lives are changing,
There’s no need to pretend,
But no matter what will happen,
You’ll still be my best friend.
Riding home from work was something I had done almost everyday for about a year. I traveled the same way every time, but tonight, I wanted to do something a little different. My mind was full, spilling over from all my thoughts. So I took a longer ride home, hoping the time would help me to ease my mind. About halfway home, I made a casual right turn and started the descent of the shallowly sloped street, down to the place where it all began, the source of the emotions racing through my mind. I hoped that the direct correlation between the problem and the setting would help me sort things out.
The brakes locked on my back tire, and the long skid turned me toward what I had come out of my way to see. I raised my vision slowly, fully realizing the incredible connotation the place will carry into my mind. It’s not so much that this place was an eyesore, but I knew it would stir a blackish sadness in my cauldron of memories for what was, what was meant to be, but will never be again. My eyes met the representation of the struggle between dreams and reality; it was a house--her house. Her family had moved away nearly a year ago, but I still felt emotionally attached to it. We spent almost all of our time here; I had basically lived here too.
The forest green shutters stood between the weathered white siding and the faceless windows. The windows looked sad, like glossy eyes staring into nothingness; my own eyes were the same: blank. My blank eyes gazed into the empty house’s eyes; I was the first to blink. Sensing vulnerability, a surge of reminiscence tipped the emotional cauldron, spilling its broth onto the delicate machinery of my most personal inner-self.
Internal chaos erupted, as sparks of memories shot out in all directions. My whole body jumped from the shock, but when my eyes opened, I was no longer next to my bike under a dark sky staring into glass eyes. However, I awoke in a dream, my vision locked into dark brown symmetric shapes of perfection, on each side of which, a small, double-pierced ear held back beautiful, long, dark hair. We were inside; the sun shining through the great front window cast a warm glow across a colorful cheek. It was any day like everyday, until her words forced me to realize just which everyday it was.
“I don’t know Adam, what do you think we should do?” This was her mild effort to innocently cover-up a cry of desperation. For the question was not what movie to see, or where to go, but what our relationship was to do that day, and what it would be from then on.
How could she leave this decision up to me? My eyes gave a frustrated blink, and with an intense flash, I was teleported into a new dream.
This time I was riding my bike. The day was much like the other--a little warmer, but probably because it was now late afternoon. On each side of the hilly, two-lane road were gigantic houses of about five bedrooms apiece. I was headed north; the physical destination made no difference, only the emotional journey at hand mattered. Every side street became a memory passing by: important firsts, long nights, deep brown eyes, and a loving embrace. “I’ll never forget,” was my promise into the open sky, but I couldn’t believe it was over. Suddenly, I approached something that helped me move past it a little: an old, worn, steel bridge. Next to the hospital, one lane wide, it spanned the narrow gap over three railroad tracks. The backdrop for my crusade to sort a horribly chaotic sea of emotion became the railroad-timber walking lane looking west.
Loud honking brought me out of the reminiscent daze and back to reality. I expected nothing less; I’m sitting in the street. The car drove away, and I moved a little to the side.
I remember everything so well, every little detail about the whole relationship, and I remember that bridge. I think the reason it affected me so much is because of my profound understanding of its purpose. The hospital’s ambulance used it time after time to get over the tracks to quickly reach the pending emergency—Lord knows for only how long. I needed the bridge to understand me, so I could withstand the test of time. But, even after that time had already passed, a tear crept down my nose in disgust at how things had changed so much. As the little drop rippled against the ground, my eyes fell heavy with the trouble of reality, to dream of dancing with the eyes of love.
There they were, as bright as the sun, the eyes that had showed me everything, but still distraught over the matter at hand. I gravely knew what had to be done; prolonging a stressed out relation would only delay the inevitable. I wish it hadn’t been forced on my shoulders alone, but I imagine that, before anything drastically destructive happens, making the decision now would bring a better friendship in the months to come.
I had no idea.
The view over the tracks was exquisite. The third train in ten minutes powerfully shook the bridge underneath me. Roaring west toward its destination, the great beast seemed to disappear into nothing. I longed to get away; my entire body trembled with the dangerous desire to hop a train over the horizon. This senseless idea was quickly dismissed to the fanciful notion of letting my sadness board the train so it too could vanish, but I recognized the harsh truth that there will always be traces of woeful fallout within my cavernous heart.
On the north side, the light changed from red to green, telling everyone to go ahead, move on. I have to move on.
Trapped is the only word to describe it, between blinding love and the actuality of everything crumbling around me. The helplessness of not being able to alter this inescapable fate became overwhelming. Everything inside of me felt uneasy, just inches away from being thrown into ruin. As best as I could relate it to her, I spoke out loud the only emotion dashing through my heart and soul.
“I’m sure going to miss you.” With these words, spoken through desolate sobbing, our wonderful destiny drifted away.
People were passing by in cars behind me and in trains under me. There are so many people in this world, but I don’t think I’ll ever love anyone else the way I loved her. Only one thought prevailed, so like a tree falling in the woods I cried the words to whoever could hear them, “I’m sure going to miss her,” the only words I said atop the bridge that day.
We’re not even friends now; just being in the same room feels awkward. Most of the time, I find myself asking how or why things have gone from one extreme to the other. No responses ever come back. So before going home that night, I said a prayer in hope that she could hear my loving confession, “I sure do miss you.”
About the author of "A Bridge Through Time"
I absolutely love biking, Chicago, and rock music. I fell in love at 15, had my heart broken at 16, and now I'm reflecting back and writing about it. Enjoy!
I would consider myself most relieved to be able to narrate to you the incidents of last summer vacation, which comprised a surfeit of venturesome events, indeed the most perilous proceedings that I have ever experienced in my life.
It was a nice morning when I woke up to find a cheerful sun shining through the window directly on my face. Mom and Pop were still sleeping. I refreshed myself in the bathroom and switched on the computer to check the day’s e-mails. While in the process of perusing my mails, mom started calling me at the top of her voice. I might as well inform you that my beloved mother could be a most vociferous matriarchal figure when it comes to calling us family members to the breakfast table. Well, to think of not responding would be to imagine myself in a place worse than hell, and so I put my computer (the inhuman entity that, according to my mom, is making me inhumane) on standby and dutifully attended the morning rituals, a sweet hymn playing on my joyful lips.
“O hello, hello, good morning! Such nice sunny weather! So, how was sleep? I’m sure you dreamt of me being the president of the country…”
“Yeah, right, I dreamt of chasing you with a broomstick! Now, just shut your damned babbling instrument and sit down! Poached or omelet?”
“Aha, no eggs please!”
“C’mon! So where’s Pa? Enjoying life and newspapers I guess?”
“Would you just stop talking, please?”
“All right, all right!”
So, to the demands of a persistent maternal relation, I went through the rest of the breakfast session without another word. Having done with stuffing myself with bread, butter and an undesired egg, I returned to my mechanical friend. Not a second or two had passed when another series of shouts, similar to, but louder than, the ones before had begun. It was the father this time. I again put the computer on standby and went to check out what matters he had at hand.
“O hello, hello, good morning! Such nice sunny weather! So, how was sleep? and breakfast? and coffee? and the news?”
“To hell with the weather and the news! Get me a bottle of aspirins from the shop. I’m not feeling well!”
“Oh, I’m soooo sorry…!”
“And be quick, I'll have to leave at nine”
“Sure, I won’t be a minute!”
And so to save an anguished father the obedient son hastened away towards the nearby pharmacy. Having got to the destination I wished the pharmacist a most delightful day, and was half-way through my journey back to my dwelling when, on the other side of the street, there was dear chap Charles adorned with the most beautiful of smiles that I ever saw on a friend’s face.
“O hello, hello, Charlie boy, good morning! Such nice sunny weather! So how ’s life? Great, no doubt!”
“Yeah, yeah, life’s great!”
“Getting Pa his aspirins.”
“To hell with aspirins. My PC’s out of work, and I’m really crazy about it. And the document that you sent didn’t work. Just have a dash in and check it out!”
“Oh, I’m sooo sorry. But, at first let me give my father these tabs. And I hope your mom’s out of the way.”
“You gotta be fast! She’s out somewhere but will be returning early.”
“Okay, never fear, when it’s me here! Yee-haa!”
With that we ran to our building, and I gave the guard the packet of medicine asking him to ask the receptionist to go and give it to anyone in our flat: apartment no. C-2.
“Ahoy, pal, let’s get going”, I said to my friend and started towards his house next block.
At his residence, we got to work straightaway. You see, his PC was in absolute disorder. No programs would run, and all the files in his hard drive were messed up. Even Windows wouldn’t start properly. On inquiry, my friend informed me that the last time he worked was with the file that I sent him through e-mail. I spent a whole hour at it, and not being able to figure out what was wrong, I asked him to call someone from the computer store.
Thus, I got rid of a friend whose mother, soon to return, is the most dreadful creature I’ve met on earth. She doesn’t know what low volume means, and she always seems to eye us with suspicious looks. That revered mother seems very concerned about her only son and so we always try to be at our best with Charlie because I’m sure we’d never want to be pursued by Charlie’s mother with broomstick in hand.
Back home, I never expected what happened. Well, I’m sure you’ll agree that the intimidating sight of an infuriated mother is not a pleasant one. She gave a most energetic spring from where she was sitting and got hold of the broomstick lying at her feet. And you know what happened next!
She ran after me round the whole house and in the meantime I tried to find out what could have caused such irate behavior. The empty chocolate-biscuit container on the dining table answered all questions. I being an over-enthusiastic fan of chocolate biscuits have always had the honors of devouring all at a time of such food. My mother, a similar addict to chocolate-biscuits, had hidden the whole packet of it in order to prevent my destructive processes. But I, investigative as always, had found out the lair in which she hid it, and secretly consumed the 36 biscuits within 5 minutes. I hope that you can now understand the reason behind the terrible situation at hand.
So to save myself from a chasing mother, I somehow found my way to the main door and let myself out and straight down the stairs, to the gate and out of the building. I was sure that mom wouldn’t make herself public with angry face and broomstick.
But as it was, the day wasn’t a good one for me. Just as I was emerging through the front gate, I had a head-on, face-to-face collision with a person whom I would never have liked to meet at a time like that. He was Mickey, a classmate of mine, from whom I had taken a CD and a book 7 months ago and had been promising to return them to him each week since then. As was apparent, he was certainly not in a good mood, and had come down to retrieve his materials from me himself. I started that good old chat of mine.
“O hello, hello, Mickey boy, good morning! Such nice sunny weather! So how’s life? Great, no doubt!”
“Of course, of course. So what’s up?”
“I want my CD back.”
“Sure, sure, I told you I’ll return it next week. You needn’t have come all the way here.”
“Next week doesn’t mean 7 months…”
“No, no, please, listen – I’m gonna give it back, tomorrow…no, tonight, I’ll go to your house…now, please, don’t worry,” and I turned him around and gave him a push from the back.
So, after I somehow managed to get rid of the determined Mickey, I destined myself back to the shops two blocks away. I got a King Size packet of Americana chocolate biscuits from the grocery and returned home.
At the reception, the sight of the man in charge reminded me of the historical aspirins. I cheerfully approached him and asked about his proceedings of the day, and imagine my distress on hearing him say, most deferentially I must include, that he had obediently served the medicine to flat no. E-2.
I left the spot immediately without scolding a man so eager to be of assistance. Back at my abode, I found mom at the kitchen and respectfully offered her the noble biscuits. She gave an askance look and warned me that if I ever again try to conduct unreasonable feeding habits, it won’t be a lenient mom any more but a real witch with a real broomstick who’ll get at me. I, of course, tacitly promised to oblige and got lost from there right away.
After all the troubles of the day, I finally returned to my room and laid down my exhausted body on the dear old bed. No sooner had I started thinking about what was wrong with the world, a phone call came and it was from my father trying to contact me from the time since he had gone to the office without having the aspirins that I was supposed to get for him.
“Hello, pop! So how’s office? Boss in jolly mood?”
“WHERE ARE MY TABLETS, YOU SICKENING, IDIOTIC, DIM-WITTED, BRAINLESS CREATURE!” and he said this with such high volume that I was unable to decide whether it was really a human or a reincarnated dinosaur on the other side of the phone; or may be Godzilla does exist after all!
“C’mon, pop, don’t get excited…”
“Aha… I sent the medicine with the receptionist. Didn’t he give it to you?”
“Did I ask YOU or did I ask HIM to get it?”
“No, I mean, uhmm I was just a bit busy, so I, uhmm asked him to uhmmm...”
“Stop it! Let me just get back home and show you how to obey your parents!” and with that he put down the receiver with such unrestrained force I could almost visualize the crashing telephone.
Well, life’s like that, and waiting for pop to get back home in the evening wasn’t very prospective. I’m sure you understand.
And as I went back to bed, my wandering thoughts suddenly happened to return to Charlie boy, and believe me it wasn’t amusing. Now that I came to think of it, what I must have e-mailed him wasn’t ‘virus.doc’, the file containing our biological notes about the life cycle of viruses, but ‘virus.zip’, a compressed file containing all my preserved specimens of precious virus samples; I mean computer viruses. Yes, I am alluding to the fact that I have, accidentally of course, infected Charlie’s machine with virus, and for your information, with not one but several of them.
Well, imagine my state of mind as I answered the doorbell to find out that it was a ragged Charles and a termagant-looking woman armed with the most hazardous and terrifying weapon I’ve ever seen: ‘cuz it wasn’t a broomstick but a 16inch stainless-steel wooden-handled spoon – new and shiny and certainly not very attractive.
About the author: I'm an A'Level student here in Dhaka, Bangladesh. Writing is my favourite hobby and I think it's the best possible form of art: something in which you can shape your thoughts and imaginations with the tools of language and the pen.
Standing alone in the near empty hall was a younger man who looked unnerved. Moving his head to see if he had any spectators he clambered onto the wooden stage and disappeared behind the bulky array of red curtains, that had been put up to conceal the mass of broken furniture and unused stage props.Through the gap in the velvet curtains where he stood not daring to move, all that could be seen were posters regarding the forthcoming elections. Highlighting the fact that the Primeminister was due to arrive shortly to promote the nervous election candidates. Who were waiting patiently to emphasise their ideas on a crowd of anxious citizens lingering outside .
Looking at the posters in greater detail, he realised how commercialized the yearly elections for mayor had become; How they promised magnificent things that were impossible to acheive but somehow managed to gain support from the gullible members of the audience. Such as preventing
crime within the town and providing better conditions just to get a vote.
> Wondering if the once desolate hall had yet filled he looked to the
back of the room to see nothing but a few men putting out chairs in
symmetrical rows.Making sure that the front row were reserved for the more
significant people: The Primeminister, the local Mayor, the prss and the six
nervous election candidates. The sound of the double metal doors opening at
the side of the hall made the already cautious individual hide behind the
weighty curtains. Echoes of laughter rebounded around the informal court.
The crowds of voters both men and women of all ages started to fill up the
once unoccupied seats. The hall had soon become bustling with anxious
people. Waiting for the elections to commence not realising what danger lay
> Cheers arose from the crowd!The long awaited Primeminister had
finally arrived. Walking towards the stage surrounded by courageous
bodyguards the Primeminister looked around to see the mass of people who
were there to admire him. Flashes of bright light from the photographers
made him squint his eyes. Turning back around to face the stage he didn't
see the less loyal supporter grasping his rifle behind the curtains. Waiting
for the right time to take this importants man life away. The assassins
hands began to shake nervously. He reached into his pocket and pulled out
two golden bullets. Slowly he loaded the black weapon and waited for the
chance to release the trigger and complete his assignment.
> The time had soon arrived. Looking through the small gap in the
curtain where he stood. The Primeminister was standing right in front of
him. A perfect target. Trying to keep his hands as still as night he placed
his gunbarrel through the opening in the curtain. The hanging moved. Holding
his breath as if to erase the mistake he rapidly lowered his rifle and
waited for the target to come into range once again. On the other side of
the worn curtains, the viligant bodyguard wearily stared straight ahead
wondering what had caused the rustling. As the Primeminister walked to the
front of the stage discussing political issues; The bodyguard kept a firm
gaze on the back of the stage.
> The assassin was unaware of this and once again curled his pale
finger around the trigger. He raised his rifle and slowly pulled the trigger
backwards. The stalwart bodyguard as fast as a cheetah pounced up the
platform. He dived onto the Primeminister. The golden bullet ripped through
the bodyguards skin as if it was silk. He grasped onto his open wound as
they plummeted towards earth. Suddenly another gunshot was heard. The crowd
screamed and tried to escape from the hell that they were trapped in.
Running about trying to get free, they soon realised that the gunshot wasn't
aimed at anyone facing the stage.
> Slowly the bodyguard plucked up the courage to pull back the curtain
and face the assassin. Clutching his impaired arm, he gradually opened the
hangings to reveal a horrific sight. Lying on the wooden floor infront of
him. A man positioned on his back looked somewhat peaceful . Examining
closer he realised this man was the assassin. He lay pale and stiff. Blood
trickled from the wound in his head. In his pale fingers he held a black
rifle. The same deadly weapon, that he had tried to take the Primeministers
life away with. The same deadly weapon, that he had taken his own life with
knowing that he had not completed his assignment successfully.
> Peering around the bodyguards shoulder. The pale Primeminister looked
in horror at the corpse that lay in front of him, suddenly realising how
close to death he had come. He placed his hand upon his bodyguards shoulder
in gratitude and steered him towards the entrance to the waiting ambulance.
About the author: hi i am 14 and wrote this story one evening. I love writing and hope one day to be a published author.
What would you do if you were invisible for a day? Would
you take advantage of it? Would you go crazy? All these questions were
answered, unfortunately, the hard way for one man named Arnold Martyn some
20 years ago …
> The cold wind blew sending loose leaves from trees flying into the air and
down onto the ground. It was mid-Autumn and the weather was getting worse. I
cupped my hands together and blew into them. I was trying, in vain, to get
some warmth back into my hands. I laughed as the wind’s intensity grew
stronger and some poor man across the street had his hat blown off. He made
an attempt to grab it but he missed by an inch. The wind blew the hat down
the street and the man ran after it. I watched the man until he reached the
corner. After he disappeared around the corner I kept walking.
> The sky grew darker and rain fell from the heavens. I looked at my
reflection in a puddle. My hair was turning grey, wrinkles had formed on my
face around my eyes. I was becoming what I despised as a child. I was
becoming an old man and there was no way to prevent it. I buttoned up the
rest of the buttons on my over-coat and I kept walking. I wasn’t sure where
I was going exactly. A man on a motor-bike drove past me and straight into a
puddle sending water into the air. I was soaked to the bone.
> "Damn kids these days," I mumbled to myself, "It’s like they don’t see
me … it’s as if I’m invisible."
> Suddenly there was a bright flash of light (which I presumed to be
lightning). I heard voices but I couldn’t make out what they were saying.
The bright flash blinded me momentarily but my sight slowly came into focus.
Everyone was staring at me with horrified faces. What had happened to me? I
needed to know. I ran to a puddle and stared at my reflection yet there was
no face looking back at me. I unbuttoned the buttons on my over-coat and
took it off. There was nothing to be seen in the puddle.
> I looked in all the windows of the shops but I still couldn’t see
anything. I raised my hands up to my face yet I could not see them. I am
invisible! I ran across the street. The car coming towards me did not break.
>(From the drivers point of view)
> I pressed my foot on the accelerator. I could still hear the police sirens
behind me. The street in front of me was empty (or so I thought). I looked
at the speedometer on the dash-board. I was going 80 m/p/hr. The squad-cars
were still behind me. All of a sudden something hit my bumped. I could not
see anything. The wind-screen smashed inwards sending glass into my face. I
lost control of the car and I careened out of control. I crashed into a
wall. The dash-board was pushed into my legs trapping me. I looked in the
mirror. I saw an old man lying in the middle of the road. He wasn’t moving.
I must have hit him. It was like he was invisible …
Galway, Connacht, Ireland
About the author of Invisible for a day. My name is Danny and I am 15 years old. I am currently living in Ireland. I have been writing short-stories for god know's how long! If you like this story, or if you have any comments about it - please E-mail me. I am always glad to recieve criticism about my stories so I can improve. If they are bad - Don't bother!
How do you tell a loved one goodby? In Don't Die My Love, a couple is faced with saying goodbye. When Luke is faced with cancer and all the treatments that go with cancer, Julie must keep going. Lurlene McDaniel, the author of this book, has an unique way of presenting how Luke and Julie conquer problems.
What basically happens is this: Luke, a star football player and a very popular guy, is diagnosed with cancer. Julie, Luke's girlfriend since second grade, is struggling with his cancer problems too. Throughout this novel, you will see that they stick together until the end. I think what surprises me most is when Luke is almost better, he gets worse. The overall message that Lurlene McDaniel is trying to give us is that we should stick with the people we love, no matter what.
I think this is a great book if you like sad romance novels. It also keeps you on the edge of your seat. I don't think there are any boring parts in the novel at all. Lurlene McDaniel has written many other books and they are just as great. I would recommend those books too. All in all, Don't Die My Love is a five star book.
Imagine your life is going to change forever and you know nothing about it. The year is 1861. The COnfederate States of America have fired on Fort Sumter. Life in the "New World," as it was called four centuries before, would forever be different. This is the situation in which Scarlett O'Hara encounters as she prepares to go to a barbeque. She knows nothing of the hardships she will endure within the next 12 years. If you have ever struggled and triumphed, you will enjoy the book GONE WITH THE WIND, by Margaret Mitchell.
Scarlett is a sixteen-year-old who cares nothing about anyone but herself and her precious Ashley. Even though Ashley is engaged, she is determined to get him back. Her plan fails, and she marries Charlie Hamilton for spite just as the Civil War breaks out. Charlie goes off to war, and dies of pneumonia within the first two months of the war. He leaves Scarlett a house, a warehouse, and a piece of land, all in Atlanta. Scarlett leaves her childhood home, Tara, with her son, Wade, to claim her inheritance in Atlanta. Scarlett stays there with Ashley's wife, Melanie, and her Aunt Pitty Pat. Scarlett resides in Atlanta until war is literally on her door step, when she returns to Tara with Wade, Melanie and her baby, her maid and Rhett Butler. Rhett is a retired blockade runner who became rich and infamous for cheating the Confederates. Scarlett, by herself, pulls Tara out of the slump that follows the war. Scarlett changes much between then and the end of the book, but I don't want to spoil the ending. What amazes me about this book is that, despite its length, it remains so absorbing. Throughout the book you can see the changes Scarlett goes through in some aspects and how in others she remain the same.
This book is the story of the amazing Scarlett O'Hara and how she stays the selfish child she was at the start of the war. It shows that even if you struggle and change in some aspects, you will still be you. To read this book you should have much spare time on your hands and a good dictionary. It is quite confusing and wordy, but it is a great read that I would recommend to just about everyone.
Think about being one of three girls in a family full of boys. You live during the late 1800's when girls are supposed to have manners and act sweet, but your father allows you to run around with the boys of your family and over time, you slowly emerge into a tomboy. While the most important people in your life want you to act like something you're totally not.
Caddie Woodlawn is an exciting book written by Carol Ryrie Brink, about her great-grandmother Caroline Woodlawn and her family's adventures. This book explains life as a tomboy in the prairie times, and this book will teach you how to be proud of yourself and your background if you are a tomboy or not.
Do you like exciting books? Well,many exciting events happen in this book. One event in the book that really helped me as a reader was how Carol Brink explained the death of Caddie's sister,Mary. Because Mary died as a baby from being to frail,Caddie's father decided to let Caddie run wild and do the same chores as her to brothers,Tom and Warren,to grow stronger. As Tom, Warren, and Caddie grew older their adventures grew also. When the Woodlawns first moved to Wisconsin from Boston, their eyes were opened to new things.
Not just their eyes,but the Indians' eyes were opened too. Though all the wonderful adventures Caddie goes though I believe the one her family faces as a whole is the most exciting. Even though there are many lessons in this book,the message I get is that no matter what I do, I should always be proud of whom I am.
In summary, if you like adventure-filled, page-turners that will keep you entertained to the last page, then Caddie Woodlawn is the book for you.
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