I am the last.

I am the last,
Such a stupid thing to say,
In all of the places that I have been,
And all the things that I have seen,
I am the last.

It’s true all the same,
And the mocking part of me,
The darker part of me,
It laughs hysterically.

Because I am the last,
I have dried my tears,
I have put on a sombre mask,
As I have buried those close to me.

Tonight, in this crowd,
In this sea of faces unknown,
I know you wonder many things,
So, once and only once, I let it tip,
I will let my mask slip.

I am hopeless, I am lost,
Because, the heart always pays the highest cost,
I have buried those close to my soul,
Yet I move on.

Why I do not know,
Of my closest there were three,
And I, Oh I, was always the weakest,
Perhaps that’s the point.

The last to stand, the first to defend,
The one, whose morals have been bent,
Maybe this is god’s sick joke,
If it is then I’m not laughing.

I buried them and so much of myself,
I buried the memories, jagged, surreal,
That like glass make me scream and wake in the night,
I buried the wrong with the right.

And in this new found man there is peace,
But there is anger in that mirror, there is hidden pain,
And the knowledge of places that you don’t want to go,
And, perhaps worse, the scars of innocence lost.
And sights that should not be shown.

This is who I am then,
The laughing shadow of a man unknown,
A pale relic of a time never seen or sown.
There is no pain in me deep enough,
No anger long enough,
No words eloquent enough,
To express what I have lost.

I miss what I have lost,
I miss the man that I could have been,
Most of all though, I miss,
The four people, disappearing down sunlight streets, arm in arm,
I miss the four friends, buried under cold stone.
I miss the only place, the only people, I ever thought of as home.

And he was right to, this poem is brilliant.

It tells you how the person's feeling without telling you why and it flows really well towards the last verse.

*blush*

It's brilliant, GC. Probably one of your best so far.

exceedingly good poetry, it almost makes me jelous. I like this very much. *runs off to look for more.* ^_^

I hate sundays

I hate sundays,
I hate D.I.Y and all the noise it makes,
I hate the football scores, that over the telly breaks,
the food burnt to crispy prefection.
mmmmmmmm...... I say
........nutritious

I hate the sunday paper,
with all those magazines that aren't
actually bloody magazines,
don't people have lives.

I hate sunday telly,
there is nothing good on........ever,
I sigh inside as I curse sundays
and all the sundays yet to come.
bastard sundays!

in the middle of my cursing you wake up,
and I see the eyes that call to mine,
and feel your bare legs on our bed,
wrap at the base of my spine,

and I laugh,
there is always laying in........

I BLOODY love sundays......

I have a slightly different view of sundays. but I'm sure there are many who aggree with that poem....though I agree with the magazines in papers bit :lol:

Again its very good - quite different from the others you've posted up here but still up to the same excellent standard :D

That's excellent. I never knew you could do upbeat as well as you can do, er, downbeat. Keep it up, pal.


(BTW, there is something on telly on sundays......TWENTY FOUR....*drool*....)

you addict....

Eat your greens they say,
well what if I don't like greens
the three year old says,
you gonna make me eat buddy?

trust in your mother,
trust in your father,
trust in your friends,
trust in your family,
trust in yourself,
trust in life.

but never trust green stuff,
it's just evil..........

Lol, very good!!

Reminds me of when I was taking the mick out of DL at pizza hut cos she doesn't like green stuff. I said, 'there's nothing wrong with it', bite in to a pizza covered in green peppers...then discover that they're not green peppers, they're jalepeno peppers. Damn, that burned.

For Quiet

I’m tired,
The kind of tired that no man would risk,
The kind of tired that no sleep will fix.
It makes life a cheap trick.


The harpist has lain down his harp,
The song of beauty is unsung,
Because the world I inhabit
Is no longer bathed in the sun.

I can’t stay here,
Because they are here,
The ghosts of people, of pleasure and pain.
Night has fallen.

I leave then, because I must,
Because I leave my old life,
Of love and pain and trust.

And what is it I want my friend?
What can you get for the boy who has found love?
What can you get for the man burdened by loss?
What could you get and what would be the cost?

It’s time for quiet my friend,
I wish that I could wake and not see,
All that I have done and worse,
What has been done to me.

It’s time for quiet,
It’s time that I wasn’t rushing,
It’s time that I wasn’t in pain,
It’s time for quiet, for peace.

I am weary
It is time……

Very good. Another of your poems that makes me wish i understood poetry.

And from the peanut gallery (A.k.a. Three)... Great poetry!