Poems Written by You

[Slash Dementia]

I've been wondering how many of you write poetry, and if you're willing to share it with the rest of us.

I started writing this March, and this is one of the most recent poems that I've written.

A Nightmare's Dream

Spoiler

What more to me is there than to be a dream?
Unspoken of
Held deep within the very mind of sleep
Forced to stay until the sleeper awakes
Forced to see my sadness
Until I expire

Night again and I start anew
I caress this heart to sleep
Grant it with dreams of love
Hope to be all
Wish to be more
Need to be more

The sun rises and falls
I slowly enter the mind
Still no trail of mine has been seen
Fearing my caress has lost its touch
Retreating into nothing
Trembling at another sight

Another day, another mind
Another fear
The moon shines bright tonight
The cold breeze blows
It sends into your mind a dream
Sadly, it is of me

Shivering, I cling to your heart
No safer has a nightmare felt
No such light has my darkness seen
No love has such lust beheld
No sleep has this dream slept
Still, I cling

Enter now this dream of you
A cold caress upon me
A whisper upon my ear
No feeling can you feel
No sound of mine will you hear
Now I am the dreamer

Now I wish for all to be true
And now I spend my nights in silent madness
Shake me awake, as I tremble in my sleep
Be the eyes I see when I am awaken
Bring my dream into reality
For my dream is of you

So, maybe the user below can rate the poem above, and tell why he or she wrote the poem.

I wrote this poem because I feel that I've lied to too many people to have them fall for me, just to hurt them at the end, then I fell in love with my current girlfriend. I fell hard and it changed me.

 

[Palademon]

I write them sometimes. Usually when I had to write them for school. I've written one as profile info once, involving an analogy comparing a chatbox to corrupt authors in a library, but I have since deleted it because people who didn't care for it, mocked it.

I have noticed though, that when I think I've done a good poem, people don't care. But when I think I've done a crap one, people like it.

 

[Gaz6231]

There is a very fine line between a heartfelt, moving poem and clichéd, emo ramblings about darkness and nightmares and sadness and death and darkness.

This poem perfectly straddles that line.

 

[TheTaco007]

If we're sharing poems, I have a pair I'll share. (Fuck, I'm still rhyming...)

Spoiler: He Name was Everything

Her name was Everything
And she loved her name.
She loved it all
Without a hint of shame.

They told her the world
Was a dismal place.
She shook her head
And danced off with grace.

They asked for her secret,
How she could always smile.
But she wouldn't tell
It just wasn't her style.

Some people fought,
And others cried.
Some people cheated
And some people lied.

She grew tired
Of watching others lament.
So Everything left,
And with her paradise went.

All beauty, all charm,
All happiness gone.
Nothing was left
Not even the dawn.

The world despaired,
But everyone knows
That Everything comes
And Everything goes.

and: (This one's shorter)

Spoiler: Pretty Girl on a Bicycle

Pretty girl on a bicycle
Roll on by
Don't stop to look 'round,
Go on and fly

Pretty girl in a pink skirt
Flower in her hair
Passed me for a moment
Didn't stop to stare

Pretty girl with sandals
Follow your dreams
Watch the world go by &
Come apart at the seams

Pretty girl on a bicycle
Don't know her name
Never see her again
She left as fast as she came

 

[KEM10]

The only poems I write are bad emo ones in a black composition notebook and are there for satirical value only.

Example:
Roses are red,
Razors are steel.
All I truly want
is something I can feel.

 

[Tigurus]

Tigurus.Deviantart.com

There is pretty much my poem collection ._.
THough only 1 (which is fate) is just kinda my own translation of a very old one D=

I mostly write because of this girl.....the bastard D=

 

[Slash Dementia]

There is a very fine line between a heartfelt, moving poem and clichéd, emo ramblings about darkness and nightmares and sadness and death and darkness.

This poem perfectly straddles that line.

Thank you, I try not to be cliche, and just express my own feelings, so I can't rhyme. I don't want to because I feel like I'll use to simplistic rhymes if I do.

If we're sharing poems, I have a pair I'll share. (Fuck, I'm still rhyming...)

Spoiler: He Name was Everything

Her name was Everything
And she loved her name.
She loved it all
Without a hint of shame.

They told her the world
Was a dismal place.
She shook her head
And danced off with grace.

They asked for her secret,
How she could always smile.
But she wouldn't tell
It just wasn't her style.

Some people fought,
And others cried.
Some people cheated
And some people lied.

She grew tired
Of watching others lament.
So Everything left,
And with her paradise went.

All beauty, all charm,
All happiness gone.
Nothing was left
Not even the dawn.

The world despaired,
But everyone knows
That Everything comes
And Everything goes.

The people cried out,
And so she returned
Made the world anew
In the hopes that they'd learned.

(I'm thinking of removing that last stanza. Opinions?)

and: (This one's shorter)

Spoiler: Pretty Girl on a Bicycle

Pretty girl on a bicycle
Roll on by
Don't stop to look 'round,
Go on and fly

Pretty girl in a pink skirt
Flower in her hair
Passed me for a moment
Didn't stop to stare

Pretty girl with sandals
Follow your dreams
Watch the world go by &
Come apart at the seams

Pretty girl on a bicycle
Don't know her name
Never see her again
She left as fast as she came

I like these two a lot, and I feel that by removing the last stanza would improve the first poem because it doesn't seem to add much. The stanza before it seemed to make an end, and the last just revives the poem for a short while.

Here is another of my poems.

Burn

Spoiler

Your light, alone, shines in my darkness
Like a flame, you dance
Like fire, I burn
Your feet scorch the ground
With each step
You move closer

The light flickers in your eyes
The fire spreads
Once again I ignite
I feel your breath
Still moving closer
Your trail of flame licking the air

With each pulse of my heart
The flames jump
With each breath of yours
They grow
They burn higher
They light up the sky

Each star above kindled by your flame
A thousand candles now burn in the sky
Slowly, each one sways
Each looking down upon us
Seeing this shared flame
They grow brighter

With the skies ablaze
Your breath upon me
A sweet burn
A warm caress
Your soft skin glows
Now the lights dim

No longer does the fire take my breath
Your sigh gives me air
And my heart beats faster
As you give your touch to me
Lips aligned
The last candle flickers

You breathe
Embers fly through the air
The last flame goes out
We return to darkness
As I breathe for you
As I live for you

I wrote this one because I wanted to write something sensual for my girlfriend. I won't really explain more.

I have, if interested, a collection of my poems in my blog at: ghost-galleon.blogspot.com

 

[Monkfish Acc.]

Roses are red,
Razors are steel.
All I truly want
is something I can feel.

I love this poem.
With my loins.

Roses are red.
My soul is black.
I... write shitty poetry
'Cause it's awful good craic?

Jesus I'm bad at this even satirically.

 

[BlindTom]

The form here is very reminiscent of song lyrics. My best advice is to bear in mind that your reader will register the monotony of an overly consistent form, breaking it momentarily can have a good effect.

Here's some of my free verse:

Spoiler: A String On My Brothers guitar

His fingers swum swiftly across the abyssal plane of their own muscle memory
And snapped back into place
Perched on thin air, knitting empty space.

And the sinews he plucked were a flickering silence.
But each time woven twitch
And each synaptic shiver
Ensured that the great troughs
Into which
I?d pitch
And boil
With a queerly aspirational jealousy,
Might one day be scaleable
By mine, the bluntest of digits.

I have stepped the steps of the poorly shod horse
I have galloped in the cast off footprints
Of elders, of betters, of siblings.
And in mine, the final of our three wakes,
Grow shattered coils of vine like guitar strings.

Hand me down twine crunches like snow beneath my heel
His used guitar strings
Too strained for
A second gig
Worn
Down
And skin flayed, coated in tender
finger flesh that fell
from the bone
on the cusp of a sliding chord

these were the tired sinews at which I artlessly sawed and snapped and gave up on

But despite all of this.
I have felt the feeling of a spinal column
That could do long division
With enough repetition.
and I have felt the feeling of making something happen
By willing something else to happen
To myself.
And my fingers have pounced upon a fret like the surest feet upon the infinitesimal elevation data of uneven ground. And my fingers have crept at blinding speed across the pearly legs of saxophone scales and in their grace they have rejected all notion of thought.

I have felt the feeling of doing something for the thousandth time
And not feeling it
In the brain.
Or the leathery fingertips
Or the open throat or the muted strings
Or anywhere particularly tangible
But I have felt it anyway.
Like those old notes
on my brothers guitar.

Alas, it is cut short.
Like the cadaverous shadow of waning ambition
Like a mere quickened throb to the staccato flicker
That he has so often drizzled upon my skull.

Like a moment of triumph
Cut off by the unwinding spring
Or the fleshy and now snapped string.

 

[dsmops2003]

A shitty Haiku

Stomach Bubbling
Building pressure in my ass
Hot brown eruption

 

[TheTaco007]

There is a very fine line between a heartfelt, moving poem and clichéd, emo ramblings about darkness and nightmares and sadness and death and darkness.

This poem perfectly straddles that line.

Thank you, I try not to be cliche, and just express my own feelings, so I can't rhyme. I don't want to because I feel like I'll use to simplistic rhymes if I do.

If we're sharing poems, I have a pair I'll share. (Fuck, I'm still rhyming...)

Spoiler: He Name was Everything

Her name was Everything
And she loved her name.
She loved it all
Without a hint of shame.

They told her the world
Was a dismal place.
She shook her head
And danced off with grace.

They asked for her secret,
How she could always smile.
But she wouldn't tell
It just wasn't her style.

Some people fought,
And others cried.
Some people cheated
And some people lied.

She grew tired
Of watching others lament.
So Everything left,
And with her paradise went.

All beauty, all charm,
All happiness gone.
Nothing was left
Not even the dawn.

The world despaired,
But everyone knows
That Everything comes
And Everything goes.

The people cried out,
And so she returned
Made the world anew
In the hopes that they'd learned.

(I'm thinking of removing that last stanza. Opinions?)

and: (This one's shorter)

Spoiler: Pretty Girl on a Bicycle

Pretty girl on a bicycle
Roll on by
Don't stop to look 'round,
Go on and fly

Pretty girl in a pink skirt
Flower in her hair
Passed me for a moment
Didn't stop to stare

Pretty girl with sandals
Follow your dreams
Watch the world go by &
Come apart at the seams

Pretty girl on a bicycle
Don't know her name
Never see her again
She left as fast as she came

I like these two a lot, and I feel that by removing the last stanza would improve the first poem because it doesn't seem to add much. The stanza before it seemed to make an end, and the last just revives the poem for a short while.

Here is another of my poems.

Spoiler

Your light, alone, shines in my darkness
Like a flame, you dance
Like fire, I burn
Your feet scorch the ground
With each step
You move closer

The light flickers in your eyes
The fire spreads
Once again I ignite
I feel your breath
Still moving closer
Your trail of flame licking the air

With each pulse of my heart
The flames jump
With each breath of yours
They grow
They burn higher
They light up the sky

Each star above kindled by your flame
A thousand candles now burn in the sky
Slowly, each one sways
Each looking down upon us
Seeing this shared flame
They grow brighter

With the skies ablaze
Your breath upon me
A sweet burn
A warm caress
Your soft skin glows
Now the lights dim

No longer does the fire take my breath
Your sigh gives me air
And my heart beats faster
As you give your touch to me
Lips aligned
The last candle flickers

You breathe
Embers fly through the air
The last flame goes out
We return to darkness
As I breathe for you
As I live for you

Thanks.

That's a good poem, but I liked the first one better. This one repeats itself a little too much. (The second and third stanzas seem to be saying the same exact thing as the first.)

 

[TheTaco007]

The form here is very reminiscent of song lyrics. My best advice is to bear in mind that your reader will register the monotony of an overly consistent form, breaking it momentarily can have a good effect.

Here's some of my free verse:

Spoiler: A String On My Brothers guitar

His fingers swum swiftly across the abyssal plane of their own muscle memory
And snapped back into place
Perched on thin air, knitting empty space.

And the sinews he plucked were a flickering silence.
But each time woven twitch
And each synaptic shiver
Ensured that the great troughs
Into which
I?d pitch
And boil
With a queerly aspirational jealousy,
Might one day be scaleable
By mine, the bluntest of digits.

I have stepped the steps of the poorly shod horse
I have galloped in the cast off footprints
Of elders, of betters, of siblings.
And in mine, the final of our three wakes,
Grow shattered coils of vine like guitar strings.

Hand me down twine crunches like snow beneath my heel
His used guitar strings
Too strained for
A second gig
Worn
Down
And skin flayed, coated in tender
finger flesh that fell
from the bone
on the cusp of a sliding chord

these were the tired sinews at which I artlessly sawed and snapped and gave up on

But despite all of this.
I have felt the feeling of a spinal column
That could do long division
With enough repetition.
and I have felt the feeling of making something happen
By willing something else to happen
To myself.
And my fingers have pounced upon a fret like the surest feet upon the infinitesimal elevation data of uneven ground. And my fingers have crept at blinding speed across the pearly legs of saxophone scales and in their grace they have rejected all notion of thought.

I have felt the feeling of doing something for the thousandth time
And not feeling it
In the brain.
Or the leathery fingertips
Or the open throat or the muted strings
Or anywhere particularly tangible
But I have felt it anyway.
Like those old notes
on my brothers guitar.

Alas, it is cut short.
Like the cadaverous shadow of waning ambition
Like a mere quickened throb to the staccato flicker
That he has so often drizzled upon my skull.

Like a moment of triumph
Cut off by the unwinding spring
Or the fleshy and now snapped string.

You win, sir. That was fantastic.

 

[Slash Dementia]

The form here is very reminiscent of song lyrics. My best advice is to bear in mind that your reader will register the monotony of an overly consistent form, breaking it momentarily can have a good effect.

Here's some of my free verse:

Spoiler: A String On My Brothers guitar

His fingers swum swiftly across the abyssal plane of their own muscle memory
And snapped back into place
Perched on thin air, knitting empty space.

And the sinews he plucked were a flickering silence.
But each time woven twitch
And each synaptic shiver
Ensured that the great troughs
Into which
I?d pitch
And boil
With a queerly aspirational jealousy,
Might one day be scaleable
By mine, the bluntest of digits.

I have stepped the steps of the poorly shod horse
I have galloped in the cast off footprints
Of elders, of betters, of siblings.
And in mine, the final of our three wakes,
Grow shattered coils of vine like guitar strings.

Hand me down twine crunches like snow beneath my heel
His used guitar strings
Too strained for
A second gig
Worn
Down
And skin flayed, coated in tender
finger flesh that fell
from the bone
on the cusp of a sliding chord

these were the tired sinews at which I artlessly sawed and snapped and gave up on

But despite all of this.
I have felt the feeling of a spinal column
That could do long division
With enough repetition.
and I have felt the feeling of making something happen
By willing something else to happen
To myself.
And my fingers have pounced upon a fret like the surest feet upon the infinitesimal elevation data of uneven ground. And my fingers have crept at blinding speed across the pearly legs of saxophone scales and in their grace they have rejected all notion of thought.

I have felt the feeling of doing something for the thousandth time
And not feeling it
In the brain.
Or the leathery fingertips
Or the open throat or the muted strings
Or anywhere particularly tangible
But I have felt it anyway.
Like those old notes
on my brothers guitar.

Alas, it is cut short.
Like the cadaverous shadow of waning ambition
Like a mere quickened throb to the staccato flicker
That he has so often drizzled upon my skull.

Like a moment of triumph
Cut off by the unwinding spring
Or the fleshy and now snapped string.

I have to agree with TheTaco because this poem is amazing.

 

[daftnoize]

POEM 1

There used to be a picture of you in my wallet
There's a condom in there now.

POEM 2

Red

Shed

Blue

Shoe

Magenta

Placenta

White pale horseshoe on a gritty guset

It doesn't have to ryhme






Or does it...

 

[BlindTom]

The form here is very reminiscent of song lyrics. My best advice is to bear in mind that your reader will register the monotony of an overly consistent form, breaking it momentarily can have a good effect.

Here's some of my free verse:

Spoiler: A String On My Brothers guitar

His fingers swum swiftly across the abyssal plane of their own muscle memory
And snapped back into place
Perched on thin air, knitting empty space.

And the sinews he plucked were a flickering silence.
But each time woven twitch
And each synaptic shiver
Ensured that the great troughs
Into which
I?d pitch
And boil
With a queerly aspirational jealousy,
Might one day be scaleable
By mine, the bluntest of digits.

I have stepped the steps of the poorly shod horse
I have galloped in the cast off footprints
Of elders, of betters, of siblings.
And in mine, the final of our three wakes,
Grow shattered coils of vine like guitar strings.

Hand me down twine crunches like snow beneath my heel
His used guitar strings
Too strained for
A second gig
Worn
Down
And skin flayed, coated in tender
finger flesh that fell
from the bone
on the cusp of a sliding chord

these were the tired sinews at which I artlessly sawed and snapped and gave up on

But despite all of this.
I have felt the feeling of a spinal column
That could do long division
With enough repetition.
and I have felt the feeling of making something happen
By willing something else to happen
To myself.
And my fingers have pounced upon a fret like the surest feet upon the infinitesimal elevation data of uneven ground. And my fingers have crept at blinding speed across the pearly legs of saxophone scales and in their grace they have rejected all notion of thought.

I have felt the feeling of doing something for the thousandth time
And not feeling it
In the brain.
Or the leathery fingertips
Or the open throat or the muted strings
Or anywhere particularly tangible
But I have felt it anyway.
Like those old notes
on my brothers guitar.

Alas, it is cut short.
Like the cadaverous shadow of waning ambition
Like a mere quickened throb to the staccato flicker
That he has so often drizzled upon my skull.

Like a moment of triumph
Cut off by the unwinding spring
Or the fleshy and now snapped string.

You win, sir. That was fantastic.

The form here is very reminiscent of song lyrics. My best advice is to bear in mind that your reader will register the monotony of an overly consistent form, breaking it momentarily can have a good effect.

Here's some of my free verse:

Spoiler: A String On My Brothers guitar

His fingers swum swiftly across the abyssal plane of their own muscle memory
And snapped back into place
Perched on thin air, knitting empty space.

And the sinews he plucked were a flickering silence.
But each time woven twitch
And each synaptic shiver
Ensured that the great troughs
Into which
I?d pitch
And boil
With a queerly aspirational jealousy,
Might one day be scaleable
By mine, the bluntest of digits.

I have stepped the steps of the poorly shod horse
I have galloped in the cast off footprints
Of elders, of betters, of siblings.
And in mine, the final of our three wakes,
Grow shattered coils of vine like guitar strings.

Hand me down twine crunches like snow beneath my heel
His used guitar strings
Too strained for
A second gig
Worn
Down
And skin flayed, coated in tender
finger flesh that fell
from the bone
on the cusp of a sliding chord

these were the tired sinews at which I artlessly sawed and snapped and gave up on

But despite all of this.
I have felt the feeling of a spinal column
That could do long division
With enough repetition.
and I have felt the feeling of making something happen
By willing something else to happen
To myself.
And my fingers have pounced upon a fret like the surest feet upon the infinitesimal elevation data of uneven ground. And my fingers have crept at blinding speed across the pearly legs of saxophone scales and in their grace they have rejected all notion of thought.

I have felt the feeling of doing something for the thousandth time
And not feeling it
In the brain.
Or the leathery fingertips
Or the open throat or the muted strings
Or anywhere particularly tangible
But I have felt it anyway.
Like those old notes
on my brothers guitar.

Alas, it is cut short.
Like the cadaverous shadow of waning ambition
Like a mere quickened throb to the staccato flicker
That he has so often drizzled upon my skull.

Like a moment of triumph
Cut off by the unwinding spring
Or the fleshy and now snapped string.

I have to agree with TheTaco because this poem is amazing.

Cheers guys. If you want to emulate this kind of thing the first thing I advise you to do is focus on non conventional imagery. Poetry is often about making people re-examine the familiar and it's your job to do the hard part of that for them. Try to write a dozen things you have never read anywhere before then think about them. Take a conventional simile, for example why is anoying rumbling always compared to a jackhammer? Nobody gives a shit about Jackhammers, what else vibrates? Wings. Keep doing this until your description is alien as fuck then keep starting in different places and moving to a tone that is consistently alien in the same way. Hopefully you will create a coherent sensation for your reader to experience and if you do it particularly well you can help them reevaluate and freshen their world.

 

[Alien Mole]

The form here is very reminiscent of song lyrics. My best advice is to bear in mind that your reader will register the monotony of an overly consistent form, breaking it momentarily can have a good effect.

Here's some of my free verse:

Spoiler: A String On My Brothers guitar

His fingers swum swiftly across the abyssal plane of their own muscle memory
And snapped back into place
Perched on thin air, knitting empty space.

And the sinews he plucked were a flickering silence.
But each time woven twitch
And each synaptic shiver
Ensured that the great troughs
Into which
I?d pitch
And boil
With a queerly aspirational jealousy,
Might one day be scaleable
By mine, the bluntest of digits.

I have stepped the steps of the poorly shod horse
I have galloped in the cast off footprints
Of elders, of betters, of siblings.
And in mine, the final of our three wakes,
Grow shattered coils of vine like guitar strings.

Hand me down twine crunches like snow beneath my heel
His used guitar strings
Too strained for
A second gig
Worn
Down
And skin flayed, coated in tender
finger flesh that fell
from the bone
on the cusp of a sliding chord

these were the tired sinews at which I artlessly sawed and snapped and gave up on

But despite all of this.
I have felt the feeling of a spinal column
That could do long division
With enough repetition.
and I have felt the feeling of making something happen
By willing something else to happen
To myself.
And my fingers have pounced upon a fret like the surest feet upon the infinitesimal elevation data of uneven ground. And my fingers have crept at blinding speed across the pearly legs of saxophone scales and in their grace they have rejected all notion of thought.

I have felt the feeling of doing something for the thousandth time
And not feeling it
In the brain.
Or the leathery fingertips
Or the open throat or the muted strings
Or anywhere particularly tangible
But I have felt it anyway.
Like those old notes
on my brothers guitar.

Alas, it is cut short.
Like the cadaverous shadow of waning ambition
Like a mere quickened throb to the staccato flicker
That he has so often drizzled upon my skull.

Like a moment of triumph
Cut off by the unwinding spring
Or the fleshy and now snapped string.

You win, sir. That was fantastic.

Seconded, or thirded, or whatever. Think it'd be brilliant with a bit of music accompanying it, too. Not that I know music.

I don't write much, but here's my latest. I think it's about the best thing I've ever written (this is not saying much). Most frequent reaction tends to be 'I have no idea what this is about' but I'm not sure if that matters.

Spoiler: Après moi le Déluge

The arks and arches turned and toppled
In silence of the thunder?s roar
Profess and preach a turmoiled truth
Of churning tranquil?s reign afore
For Clarity did dance in shackles, and
Spoke half lies and then no more
Of whirling dark that counter-
pointed shadowed light and bleakened awe
And died. And rose again too briefly
Her chains as broken as her form.

So render me, to speak and be
The ?I?, now, of the storm.

Bit self-conscious about this, but I need to write more so it'd be good to have some feedback. Good stuff here, by the way. Inspiring.

 

[JRCB]

A shitty Haiku

Stomach Bubbling
Building pressure in my ass
Hot brown eruption

You have a talent, good sir.

And I wrote one a while ago. Can't remember the beginning, but it's about a person being forced away from his home.

...
I know it hurts, I know you'll cry
But I must leave before I die
Across the fields and grassy knolls
From tree to tree, from hole to hole
But no matter what I'm forced to do
I'll be wondering and thinking of you

It's shitty, but I was only allowed to use 400 characters when I made it.

 

[EHKOS]

I did this for school, but my teacher said it was amazing so:

In the south we got whips, cars with big rims,
Everyday millions of people get coffee at Tim's,
Nothing's changed with religion, we still deal with sins,
Nothing's changed with politics, we still wear pins,
I don't have to see you to give you news,
I can even invest stocks on a getaway cruise,
laptop, that?s not, what I mean pops,
cell phones the size of small rocks, can play movies like the Xbox,
We're looking out for the atmosphere,
Now the color is green, that which we must fear,
Asia's plotting, haters are watching,
Now even the economy is stopping,
Eight years ago when the Towers fell,
a nightmarish story that we must retell,
Now we suspect and protect or nation,
At the expense of discrimination,
Things have changed and stayed the same,
But we all still live in the home of the brave.

 

[EHKOS]

A shitty Haiku

Stomach Bubbling
Building pressure in my ass
Hot brown eruption

That is full of shit

 

[Hiikuro]

I enjoy writing poetry, though I do not write all of them down (many are spur of the moment, most lost in time). And the ones I have written down are ancient and I feel embarrassed at their flaws. One of them I was hailed for, though it is more of a cross between a poem and a short-story. I would share it, if I wasn't for its length and age.

A more recent one I wrote was as simple as

Spoiler

Dear (xxx),

Love.

From,
Me.

By itself it probably is nothing, not even a poem. But in context (and no, it isn't as obvious as it may look), and my mental state at the time, it carries significant meaning. I wish I could explain it all in full.