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These Words Aren't Weapons

Robert Jepson, 25, UK. Unpretentious Poetry.

A sickening shallow thud
reminds me I’m still living
my heart pumps blood
but life is unforgiving.

My tear ducts feel
like they’re filled with lead
they weigh down my head
but there are no tears to shed.

Auron’s Address

31. August 2014

thesewordsarentweapons:

I have a job to do
and promises to keep
battles to fight 
before I sleep.
A teacher.
A guide.
My blade
I abide.
My promises are kept
the battle won
out of the father’s shadow
stand his son.
It’s the end 
for our stoic septet
Romeo says goodbye
to his Juliet.

(via thesewordsarentweapons)

He got onto the bus
and my first impression
it wasn’t a good one.
The long grey hair
the unshaved face
and the scruffy clothes.
He held a plastic carrier bag
he placed it on his lap
as he sat down
he reached and pulled from it
a single item
my favourite book
just like mine
a broken spine
dogeared pages
I never thought that
I judged people by appearance.
I guess I do.
I guess we all do.
We just don’t admit it.

thesewordsarentweapons:

A soft wind blew around us
carrying snowflakes
gentle, soft but cold
ice cold.
A perfect sadness.
A perfect stage.
A perfect goodbye.
'goodbye my love'
'remember the summer'

thesewordsarentweapons:

She told me of her troubles
what life had put her through.
I heard her being sick
but I didn’t know what to do.
I’ve dealt with depression
self harm and suicide.
I’ve been right beside them
when they’ve sat and cried. 
I can honestly say that
eating disorders really scare me
but I won’t just turn my head
and pretend that I don’t see.
I told her of my concern.
I told her how I feel.
I told her that I loved her
I’d be there to help her heal.
In my darkest times
when I’d stand on the ledge
she’d be the one
that coax be off the edge.

thesewordsarentweapons:

Anger manifests
storm clouds break
thunder roars
what we make.
In a brain
an electric storm
the rage inside
a filthy form
a filthy form
a filthy form
a filthy form.
Written in blood
on glass
easy to smear
unable grasp.
The storm of century
its lasts one day
what was the damage?
its too hard to say.

We Don’t Respect The Scientists

24. August 2014

A handful put on pedestals
and paraded as pop icons.
A far cry from times long gone
but how can respect them now
when they’re forced to milk
the commercial cash cow.

The truth is

24. August 2014

I wanted to forget about her.

Ghost Train

21. August 2014

They were disused and defunct
so we walked on railway tracks, in moonlight.
There was such sadness
for a celestial being, which glows bright.
I guess, you had messed up my mind
because I saw a ghost train roll by.
I even felt the conductors sorrow
when he looked me in the eye.
He saw through the facade
he saw through the pride.
He saw quite clearly
I was dead inside.
Expecting it to stop
I stood still to the spot
my intestines twisted up
like the Gordian knot.
She makes you miserable
she’s unforgiving
she’s made the dead
salute the living.

The Little Bird and the Predator’s way

20. August 2014

thesewordsarentweapons:

Immature wings try to fly
they fail
they flap aimlessly
in the gale
beaten and bruised
battered by hail.
The winter winds
that growl
that howl
masks the sounds
predators prowl.
Our little bird
that lays fallen
from its home
of trees grown tallen.
Our predator sees
its new prey
but birds don’t have gods
so they can’t prey.
There’s nothing more to say
even little birds
live the predators way.

Butterfly

19. August 2014

thesewordsarentweapons:

I am not just
another object
for you to collect.
For you to end
my life and pin
my wings.
Wings that once
granted me my
freedom.
You have taken 
that from me
and you have 
drained the
life within me 
that once 
reflected the
external beauty 
that you preyed
up on.

Preserve

19. August 2014

thesewordsarentweapons:

She was a poet
and she said
that it was fate
that together
rhymes with forever.
Amazing
This was her, 
gentle and she
was un-scarred
by reality of the
life she had led.
So far.
So to preserve
her innocence 
I chose not to
remind her it also
rhymes with never.

What does it matter (It’s someone else’s daughter)

19. August 2014

thesewordsarentweapons:

With his assistants
he’s a little sleazy
he always goes the distance
offering promotions makes that easy.
He knows the next time 
he wants to commit a sin of the flesh
he wants to do it
with something a little more fresh.
At just seventeen
she’s a corner queen
under red lights
if you know what I mean.
Middle aged men
with clueless wives
pay for her time
to get between her thighs.
Now he’s got a daughter
that he likes to please
but he loves this princess
because she drops to her knees.
His daughter 
she maybe of the same age
but she’s on a different page
A different page.
A different book.
Well anyway,
it’s one he can’t fuck.
So he’ll drive a new car home
for his daughter tonight
but just a bundle of bills
for the girl lit by red light.

(via thesewordsarentweapons)

Tragically Magic

19. August 2014

thesewordsarentweapons:

The moonlight
fills the city with magic
but in the cold light of day
it seems so tragic.
This career woman
is out every night
and only returns
in the morning light.
They say she’s got it together
and she’s doing alright
but the amount she drinks
is becoming a fright.
It’s becoming a demon
that she can’t fight
and in this city
there’s no white knight.
Yet still she goes searching
in the clubs and bars
but it seems the drink
has left it scars.
It began with a quick drink
after a stressful meeting
but now it seems whisky
sings a morning greeting.
Her life’s like this city
it had so much potential
but now to enjoy it
drinking’s essential.