#melodic

10 posts
  • mkandres 20w

    Around-the-clock

    There was a little old man
    Who worked on clocks
    He blocked out time
    Watched hands like a hawk.

    He straightened numbers
    Listened to melodic chimes
    Smiled at the pendulum swing
    Was soft spoken, loving and kind.

    Yes, this little old man
    Worked around-the-clock
    Every moment was precious
    Tick-tock-tock-tock...

    ©mkandres

  • mkandres 22w

    Awake

    For my life long through
    Please keep me awake.
    Be it for my soul
    And for your own sake.

    I know I must be dreaming
    But surely I'm awake
    Don't let me fall asleep
    For reality's sake.

    Your touch is not imagined
    And neither is your kiss
    Your voice is melodic
    Cool breezes a mere whisp.

    Do not let me slumber
    My eyes must be open
    Unless you lay beside me
    Let our dreams be unspoken.

    ©mkandres

  • truths_left_unspoken 50w

    M

    Music
    Melodic souls
    Making hearts pound
    Merciful instruments playing Devine
    Making silence dare to speak
    ©truths_left_unspoken

  • writersnetwork 130w

    Fancy Prose or Not...

    Poetry isn't just about fancy prose.
    It's about telling the truth when it matters most.
    It's about burying demons underneath ink spilled.
    It's about being honest with one's self to be the best you can be.
    I don't care about the amount of metaphors or similes you're able to come up with,
    I just have one question:

    When you wrote your piece, were you being honest?...

  • m3l0dic 144w

    Know.

    Thinking is the road to Knowing.
    If you have to think about It,
    You don't truly know It...

  • writersnetwork 144w

    Fancy Prose or Not...

    Poetry isn't just about fancy prose.
    It's about telling the truth when it matters most.
    It's about burying demons underneath ink spilled.
    It's about being honest with one's self to be the best you can be.
    I don't care about the amount of metaphors or similes you're able to come up with,
    I just have one question:

    When you wrote your piece, were you being honest?...

  • m3l0dic 146w

    I Can't Call It

    I guess that's why I speak to myself often,
    Because I'm the only one who knows my pain,
    Really.
    Day to day.
    You get used to it being a lone soldier for most of your time.
    An outcast is what was casted upon his broken confidence,
    Him,
    Who I once was,
    slummed,
    In the outskirts of Bronx, Ny...

    Many souls have levitated past mine,
    But,
    Did they see the glass house surrounding my soul shattered,
    Yet glued in place some way,
    Somehow?...
    That I doubt.

    How can they have when most walk self-centered,
    As I live conscious?
    I wonder often...
    Do we humans know what we're doing anymore?
    I'd like to think we don't...
    Hate appears to have taken over...

    After drunk nights full of sober thoughts,
    Where depression rots while laughter dares to twist my vocal cords into knots,
    Maniacal,
    I'm methodical on how I handle every hair follicle as I pull at my scalp with confusion.

    Riddled as to why we exist,
    I break the world down into an Anomaly,
    As we're ruled by monopolies,
    All seeing eyes watching constantly,
    Buried in lies and violent atrocities,
    Innocents killed on site,
    A renewed public policy,
    While we help pile on the bodies...

    How is any side deserving,
    When spilling blood has been cauterized and nurtured into human nature,
    Following the tutelage of false saviors,
    Then protest against those who kill us,
    Just to go back home and kill our neighbor?...

    I can't call it.
    Although I'm worried at times of waking up without water running through my faucet,
    Working two,
    Three jobs just to get by,
    Like most,
    I'm not sure if I'll make it upstairs alive,
    Or get a call to add on to my list of losses,
    I used to receive quite often...

    Maybe I'll be better off in hell,
    Because as an adolescent, that's where I was told I belong,
    A fiery prison,
    Where my parents and D.O.E system kept me imprisoned...

    And was any one sympathetic,
    Knowing I was youth in need of guidance?
    No,
    I was Spic in the eyes of many rather than a diamond,
    Cut from the roughs of a stolen island,
    Where a sea of small fry reside in to be eaten by Lions,
    Concrete jungles,
    Running from police sirens,
    And street thugs seduced by pseudo pleasures of violence...

    So scratch what I said in the beginning.
    I guess that's why I speak to myself all the time.
    Everyone's busy trying to bury lives...
    Just put me in a hearse,
    At least then I can enjoy the ride,
    With my friends driven to the pearly gates by a bullet,
    Coming from a person who looks like you,
    And I...

    No one screamed black lives matter when my black brother died,
    By his own kin,
    While I watched his mother cry...

  • m3l0dic 147w

    Fancy Prose or Not...

    Poetry isn't just about fancy prose.
    It's about telling the truth when it matters most.
    It's about burying demons underneath ink spilled.
    It's about being honest with one's self to be the best you can be.
    I don't care about the amount of metaphors or similes you're able to come up with,
    I just have one question:

    When you wrote your piece, were you being honest?...

  • m3l0dic 148w

    Devils Perched On Your Shoulder

    Up early in the morning,
    Mourning over past stories I'd wish to rewrite,
    I float across wrongs,
    Lies,
    And classifieds that leak from the corners of my eyes...

    Sinking further into my emotions I go.
    Whether wrong or right,
    I drown in dirty waters keeping skeletons in my closet afloat...

    And I find that,
    Dirty waters drowning my closet floor don't taste so bland...

    I rather drink poison poured in my veins...
    Pain,
    Resides in my mind,
    The longer I stay,
    In a place where we can't embrace palms in this war...

    Enough bravery to drive by on each other,
    But,
    When They play the trump card,
    Our hands fold while they hold our kings and queens in the pile down under...

    How can you live life on your toes in this game of poker?
    Friends laying hands around your neck,
    Feeling like the devil's perched on your shoulder?
    Boys in blue letting guns blow in the sky,
    A bullet shot at the clouds to notify,
    Us there's a race war on the rise...
    While they take false starts before they pop putting victims on a wanted poster...

    I want to be about us all being together,
    Problem is,
    Too many agendas are put ahead humanity whether,
    It puts us on the side of the fence where the devil lays for quick pay,
    Or the side where most revolutionaries are slain...

    So what do I decide?
    Which side shall I reside?
    I'm left with two options to face.
    Be a lawyer in my own right,
    And question those in power to date,
    Or mob through with like minded renegades.
    I choose neither,
    Kid.
    It's a dark night no matter who you choose to conspire in,
    Because death and hate is the bane of my existence.
    I see blood on both sides,
    And will not cover my mouth and hide from what's hidden underneath our eyes.
    Growing up in a dirty hood is a gamble
    And that's where we shower lies.
    As if we don't flip quarters on each other,
    Blast pistols and devour lives...

    Seems as if I'm unable to trust anyone as far as I can see.
    If we do win this war against authority,
    Who's going to protect my unborn children,
    While I'm at work for us to eat,
    From biting bullets in the streets?

  • m3l0dic 148w

    Lost In My Closet Mirror

    Numb,
    Out of touch with my inner self...
    Crushed,
    Over love lost in my wishing well...

    Well,
    I wish I was above waters,
    'Cause I'm drowning in my tears,
    Alone,
    While I fear,
    That I'll relapse and lower gears,
    On a road that took so long to get to...

    I'm here,
    Slashed in this battle verse words.
    Penned to rise from the curb.
    But,
    I'm trapped underneath doubt.
    What people really see in my smile is a bandage,
    Candid,
    To wear my wounds steering you away from this madness...

    How can you rise,
    With a cold soul?
    Nor reach the highest skies before the night's close?
    If you aren't brave and bold...

    Although it's hard to stay afloat,
    When uncertainty is anchored to your ankles by the ropes,
    I keep riding on a path to greatness,
    While I keep writing up a remedy to stay painless...
    Only that,
    I remain aimless...

    Wandering through my mind's darkest alley ways,
    Where skeletons hang as reminders of my darkest days,
    I find I'm lost how my closest friends left and disappeared...
    So numb because of every open scar left by my so called peers...

    It feels as if it doesn't matter what you do for someone.
    Because the minute you need to look after yourself,
    They'll turn around and bust one.
    That's when you realize they aren't there for you.
    They're there for what you can provide,
    While watching you lose...

    But,
    Sometimes I just want to grab a knife,
    Start a fight and have at it.
    Say fuck peace,
    If you rub me wrong I'll produce static,
    And pop heat,
    Leave you smoked and bust your head open,
    I'm a crack addict,
    Damn it,
    I've had it with this madness.
    So I'll paint my canvas,
    With blood.
    N.Y. state of mind,
    Life's a bitch when I leave you dripping with these ill matics...

    Sooner or later you'll become aware loneliness is all part of the road to greatness.
    People judge and abandon what they don't understand.
    So,
    As you watch people leave your presence,
    You're left gifted.
    Stay out of harms way and take the compliment...
    The universe is just afraid of your potential success...