Written In His Ink

My second experimentation with different styles of poetry. This time, I tried adding a story element to my poems. If you like this, please be sure to check out some of my other work. Thanks.

Table of Poems

One Little Pebble

Opinions

In They’ll go…

Questions

Please Tell Me I’m Not Crazy…

Girl I Once Knew



One Little Pebble

It wasn’t very large, barely noticeable if you weren’t looking for it,

A small pebble laying on the sidewalk.

Staying there every day as many hundreds of people passed by.

Though it was small, many would trip and stumble,

Over this pebble that was only the size of an egg.

On this same sidewalk was a large rock,

Standing strong and firm, as large as a human head.

On that sidewalk, it stood, undeterred by the passing of many feet.

Yet, there was barely a dent in it from where peoples foots had been caught,

Large as it was, few were those who fell because of it.

A little pebble can cause many to fall,

but a large boulder will barely cause people to stumble.

The pebble was small, and few were those who noticed it,

Yet you’d be quite blind not to see the boulder.

Mistake and blunders,

Missteps and faults,

All rocks on our sidewalks.



Opinions

Your opinions are your own, so why do people care,

It’s not like your opinion controls the very air.

It’s the one thing that's yours, so why can’t others leave it be?

It’s not like everyone everywhere always has to agree.

Oh, but we all already know why people care about your views,

Because they want to feel better about themselves, so they create this ruse

Pointing fingers, calling others stupid or dumb,

Despite the fact they know nothing about you, like who you are and where you're from.

With time it’s become even easier to call people out,

Used to be that people acted their age, and didn’t shout.

They didn’t whine because you thought differently,

Sure, they would ask you why, but they’d do so gently.

My opinion is my own, that’s what makes it unique,

You own your own too, no one should tell you how to speak.

Now, don’t get me wrong, sometimes opinions can be morally wrong,

But with these, we should civilly debate, not shout and use language that's strong.

Seek to know why they think like they do,

Treat others like the way you want them to treat you.

Make sure your opinion is really your own,

And that you’re not just riding on someone else’s backbone.



In They’ll go…

There’s a black void that sits at the edge of every man's thoughts,

It consumes all around it, with the exception of one or two spots.

What is good and kind go in and come out changed,

Everything that leaves feels rearranged,

It feels off...

Slanted,

Distorted

All together feeling rather unsorted.

Feelings of goodness come out as greed

Twisted,

Corrupted

Sprouting in our minds like a weed.

In they’ll go one by one,

Into the black void, left nowhere to run

For no matter mans best intentions, they’ll always be tainted

For man's heart and evil are already acquainted. 

Questions

Questions, questions, questions.

Asking for help and suggestions.

Wanting more than can be provided,

Ready to have our very minds guided.

Some answers are quite right,

Some answers left little delight.

All answers tell a story,

Of past experience and old glory.

Seeking knowledge, we’ll always ask

Tring to find answers to unmask.

Try as we might, we’ll never know all,

For our lives are really quite small.

We take the answers we’ve found and past them on,

Giving them to the next generation like a baton.

Man’s endless search keep on going,

Even as our knowledge keeps on growing.

Questions, questions, always more questions.

But some will never have answers.

Please Tell Me I’m Not Crazy…

It happens, I’m sure of it,

I couldn’t be making it up, I don’t have the wit.

It always, always happens at nine pm,

That's when the door will open, and income… them.

They wander into my house, without even a knock,

They just open the door and in they walk.

Just please tell me I’m not crazy,

Though… sometimes my memories are hazy.

That doesn’t seem to explain why they come in,

It started a long time ago, I can’t remember exactly when.

Nine o’clock… never late,

It’s become something I’ve grown to hate.

At eight forty, I’ll hide under my bed,

But even then I can hear what is said.

They greet each other as if everything's totally normal,

And the way they talk, it’s not at all formal.

“Hey, did you see the game last night?”

“I crashed and broke my brake light.”

“Alright, alright, very funny guys.”

“Just gotta keep your eyes on the prize.”

On and on it goes,

It never ever slows.

Voices echoing outside my bedroom,

But why they’re here, I can’t even begin to assume.

One night, I was more daring than ever before,

I got up and approached my bedroom door.

I pulled it open with a strong tug,

So strong, that it folded over part of my rug.

As if by magic, everything stopped

With the silence… One could’ve heard a pen being dropped

Just then the people froze in place,

As if removed from time and space.

I got no answer when I asked one his name,

As for the others, they all stayed the same.

Never blinking, just staring ahead

Without so much as a movement of the head.

Behind me, I heard the clock strike ten,

Then they move, and only then.

They move right past me, bumping me on they’re way out,

Moving out, and leaving me standing about.

Are they real? Or am I just insane?

Are they there, or maybe there’s something wrong with my brain.

Tormenting with the fact that I’ll never know why.

Why they so continually drop by.

I needed some space, I needed to leave.

By staying here, what would I’ve achieved?

So I sold the house and moved out of state.

But they’re still there, nine o’clock… never late.

I don’t know if I’m crazy and nothing is real,

All I wanted was some space and time to heal.

I’m not sure I’ll ever get it with them around,

And whenever I try to tell someone they just frown.

All that I’m left with is this burden to bear,

Please tell me they’re really there...

Girl I Once Knew

I had a friend who I knew quite well,

Why we grew apart, I couldn’t really tell.

Maybe different interests and friends pushed us apart,

But we were still friends at heart.

One day I went to her home and found that she was gone,

Complete with a large “sold” sign in her lawn.

I thought it strange, but nothing more,

Though, I couldn’t imagine what she’d left for.

I went on with my life and thought less and less of her.

But then something strange happened to occur.

I heard a knock on my door five years after she’d left town,

I had always assumed she’d found someplace to settle down.

I got up and answered the door,

Little did I know what I was in for.

There she was, standing in front of me,

Soaked to the skin and with a bruise on her knee.

“Please let me in, I’ve got nowhere left to go.”

As for why I let her in, I still don’t know.

Maybe it was pity or our past history,

Maybe it was curiosity, but to me, it remains a mystery.

I gave her some food, and a blanket to keep her warm,

She looked as if she’d been caught in a storm.

Patently, I waited for her to regain her strength,

Then she proceeded to tell her story at length.

“It started five years ago before I moved,

I was in a relationship of which my parents disapproved.”

She told me of how she and he had eloped,

And moved to a better life, or so they had hoped.

“My parents then dissociated themselves from me,

But at the time, I didn’t know how big that’d be.”

Her husband had turned out to be a drunk,

And from there, her life had just sunk.

She told me how he’d come home, speaking in a slur,

Though she didn’t say it, I think he’d even beat her.

“I’d finally had enough and left him,

But things just got more and more grim.”

Her siblings ignored her when she needed them,

And how her friends would just condemn.

“You're the only one who took me in,

Despite us not talking since who knows when.”

“Well, it no big deal, you would have done it for me,”

I respond, still curious about that bruise on her knee

Before I can ask, she asks for something to drink,

Hesitantly, I left the room and went to the sink.

When I returned, she had disappeared,

The front door was left open, just as I feared.

Away she had gone, into the rain.

And I never did see her again...

Author's Note

Please be honest about what you liked and disliked so that I know what I can fix in future poems.