In the black room he kneels before a barren wall.
Staring up he sees no end.
Staring up he sees many a friend.
Staring up he sees them all scream.
Staring up he hears not a sound.
Staring up he sees them reaching.
Staring up he sees them reaching.
The blank look on his face,
The confusing thoughts in his head,
The burning hatred in his sould,
All tearing him down.
People come and people go.
He sees this happening,
And let's them flow.
He's lost in a black pit.
He's lost in his mind.
He's lost in his thoughts.
He's falling behind.
There's no end in sight.
Not to the left nor the right.
He looks up at another black abyss.
He looks down,
And sees nothing but mist.
He looks left and then right,
He spins around and sees it's just all flipped.
His black thoughts flow like the blood,
The blood taken from family and friends alike.
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Aug 1, 2009 At 7:25 am on the last day of school, five avid fifth-grade readers hustle into the library of Chamberlin School in South Burlington, VT.
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In this world he has no friends.
In this world there is no end.
In this world there is no end,
So let's follow him,
Into his screwed up head.
it's got a good flow to it, but it seemed like you used certain words just to make the poem rhyme, so it sort of loses its depth that way...
In a black room he kneels before a barren wall.
Staring up he sees no end.
Staring up he sees many a friend.
Staring up he sees them scream.
Staring up he hears not a sound.
Staring up he sees them reaching.
Staring up he sees them reaching.
The blank look on his face,
The twisted thoughts in his head,
The burning hatred in his soul,
All tearing him down.
People come and people go.
These occurrences, he sees,
And lets them flow.
He's lost in a black pit.
He's lost in his mind.
He's lost in his thoughts.
He's falling behind.
There's no end in sight.
Not to the left nor the right.
He looks up to black abyss.
He looks down,
And sees but mist.
He looks to both his sides,
He spins around, it's all just flipped.
His grim thoughts bleed,
Taken from family and friends
In this world they don't exist.
In this world there is no end.
In this world there is no end,
So let's follow him,
Into his desolate mind (i know that doesn't rhyme)
This is just the english student in me, sorry i edited your poem so much!
Even though it had an even flow it was a little all over the place. It would have made a better impression if it wasn't as long and it was focused on one area. It is okay to write poems of sadness, hatred, no one can tell you to write one way or another. From what I have heard the best way to write poetry is from your heart. Write what you feel in your heart and you can't go wrong. You can always go back and edit it later.
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Is this any good? It's called "No End"?