View Full Version : Contest ~ [submission]

March 11th, 2006, 5:25 PM
'Official' deadline -> 4/2/06.

By then all work should be submitted. Please refrain from editing your post after the due date. Thread is only for posting the actual work; if in need of discussion, please see the previous thread labeled 'Contest, applicable entries.' Direct all questions and comments there, as no conversation is allowed in here.

^_^; That is all.

Lady Akita
Rolling Pichu


March 13th, 2006, 1:19 PM
Seeing no one else posted yet, I'll just go off and post this.

I had intentions of posting a different poem, but apparently I wrote a better one recently. I also feel it right to post this one in a contest (considering the context of the poem.)

When you read the title of this poem, you'll probably be very bewildered as to what the heck that gibberish means.

It's in German for "Work Leads To Freedom". It was the sign posted above Auschwitz, one of the death camps in the Holocaust. Of course, this was a lie the Nazis used against the Jews.

This poem is about the Holocaust. As a Jew and a writer of 3 years, I felt obligated to write a poem about it, since I never did.

Everything mentioned in this poem happened. The gas chambers, the ovens, and the pits. Everything. Just felt I had to justify that.

Please be respectful to this, as I took this really seriously. And if not for me, please...Do it for the 6 million innocent people who died in the hands of evil.
By the way, Zyklon B is the gas they used in the gas chambers.

Arbeit Macht Frei

Train tracks;
Endlessly rolling through arrays of serenity.
Rusted metal amidst these hills of gold and crimson, concealed
within emerald forests, leading past this secluded horizon.
Stretching on through frosty hills; peaceful sceneries engulf the silent terrain.
Where do these tracks truly lead?
For no train rides these snow topped mountains.
No; that distant rolling belongs to another.
Looming closer, closer; its formed now revealed.
A cattle car lies in the wake of this route.

It was a simple machine- wooden and small.
But observe oh so carefully, for there are cracks between the planks.
Look with caution, however;
What lies within is a sickening nightmare.

A hundred skeletons crushed together;
Body space a figment of another imagination.
Eyes so sunken they seem nonexistent;
Endless abysses bearing painful burdens from dozens of horrors.

Corpses of children, mothers, elderly people;
Cramped inside that deadly box.
Such sorrow, such irony;
For those people were innocent.
Soon to be carried to their hollow graves,
never to be remembered or acknowledged again.

But you soon after realize that these corpses aren’t dead.

Clinging to a miniscule thread of pathetic life;
Struggling to survive in a reality where all that surrounds them is hate.
Smitten by sickness while typhus bleeds though.
Bodies drop daily; but does anyone care?

For this is only the beginning, only the beginning…
They knew where they were headed; “life” would only worsen.
The wheels start to slow as the car abruptly stops.

A blackened gate greets them, a sign overhead;
“Work Leads to Freedom” but it was only false hope.
Only false hope…

Mutilated swastikas brimming with cruelty
scream out orders to wearisome corpses.
Through the gates they walk, straight into death;
Fully acquainted to a living hell.
A living hell that was now their home.

The skies were covered in veils of red;
Bloodied from the crematories where bodies were burned.
Not burned in death, however.
They were burned alive.
Earsplitting screams sounded every single second;
Sounding from those ovens where escape was only futile.

The ovens were not their fate for now.
Past the infernos bearing such gory agony.
Past the stench of burning skin.
They marched onward, onward…
A silent death march, bodies dropping constantly…

The gas chambers loomed forth;
gray buildings containing such nightmarish delusions.
Again, the screams of agony;
But now, they were cut short.

Cans of Zyklon B falling through small holes.
Into cells they drop; the victims draw their final breaths,
their final screaming pleas of mercy, begging unheard.
If you look at the walls, there are a thousand dents;
Dented from fingernails, digging into concrete walls of doom.
Trying to escape the unavoidable.
Trying to flee from the embrace of death.
But it is too late now.

And they pass these, too.
They glance at themselves, see what they’ve become.
An undead army, fallen by some unknown cause.
Their heads shaven, dressed in gray cloth;
Appearing to be aliens from a foreign world, so far away…

For then they see workers, like them;
Working for the enemy, forced to be slaves.
Tortured, abused, spat at;
treated like the very dirt they tread upon.

A piercing gunshot; laughter.
The swastikas crowd around to kick a body down.
The man had died 10 bullets ago,
but yet they persisted the endless torture.

Unable to help their fallen brother,
unable to change the constant tragedies…
They marched forth.

At the end of the march, they reached a field;
Not a meadow; for no flowers grew here.
No butterflies dared touched upon this deadly battleground.
For then it dawned upon the corpses minds;
They know now where their destiny lies.
For that pit in the center contained hundreds of bodies,
Writhing in anguish, skeletons of a long lost life,
their limbs ripped to shreds, their bodies long mutilated…

One by one, they stood in line.
Hopeless, stranded, abandoned;
Fallen casualty to monsters, incapable of fighting back.
Shot after shot, they fell into blackness.
Shot after shot, as blood poured from the sky.
Shot after shot, the swastikas will never be forgiven…

6 million points of light, flying straight into the heavens.
6 million points of light shattered into millions of pieces.
6 million points of light, you will never be forgotten…
6 million points of light…rest away from these dreary nights.

O, the nightmares at Auschwitz…
Never again…

code zerro the deluge
March 13th, 2006, 4:43 PM
Some speeling mistakes I now are intended. Nice poem Eliana. 2nd to post!

Wether you worry my way
I will be shour to follow
Wether I chill wit my homies
Baby don't worry you know dat you got me

I was kinda hard for people like us growing up
Life was tough punishment was enouf
But even then my girl stayed right by my side
When I cried she cried
This happened a lot of days and nights

Wether you worry my way
I will be shour to follow
Wether I chill wit my homies
Baby don't worry you know dat you got me

Though I couldn't help
No stress
That was what she told me
Friends calling me phony
Told umm your the only
One going on and mess
Hating on me never said I was the best
As I proved through my final test
That the dilusion is the conclusion
Get past it or your lossen

Wether you worry my way
I will be shour to follow
Wether I chill wit my homies
Baby don't worry you know dat you got me

We parted took are seprete paths
Remeber her laugh in the bath
It was sad
Take you back to great memorys
She said she was gettin married to a guy already
I asked her who she said no the weight is to heavy
I told now there is secrets don't ever forget
She said is was me that is why I didn't quiet

Wether you worry my way
I will be shour to follow
Wether I chill wit my homies
Baby don't worry you know dat you got me

Baby You are my life
My dreams are shawllowed soft
At the bar
Looking at the stars
Baby don't worry
You know dat you got me

Careful With That Axe, Pichu!
March 26th, 2006, 12:21 PM
Geez, Eli... That poem makes my wish for the first place almost unreachable... >>;

Oh, well...


Before, and as a murder happens... What twisted thought of revenge could be possibly drifting trough the killer's mind? This person is not seeking vendetta for some action the victim performed, his sorrows were caused merely by the only existance of that other man. And now the question he's asking to himself is, should he kill that person and end his own grief, or should he just forget and overcome this situation? Two choices, and two voices, trying to either encourage him to do it, or stop him. First the sinful voice, that represents his anger and wants the killer a.k.a. Diamond to shoot; Then the other voice, that basically tells him that there are better things to do with his life.

With those little details pointed out, everything else is pretty self explanatory, I guess...



Trembling by the stairway, the man was looking at my eyes.
I moved across the room, I screamed my torment at the skies.
But the skies were responding no more.
And the dull breeze closed the door...
Between my doubt, the moon was obscured;
Clouds that my hollow dreams never endured.
It left no shadows, just a tear,
That this fiend was not to fear.
I held the gun, I could surrender
But my anguish had to render
A life wasted until this day,
When I throw the veil away....

And underneath my skin, deep in my cold and hardened heart
The sinful voice was pleading to pull my smile apart...

"Do it.
Shoot the gun and kill your sorrow,
Leave the questions for the morrow.
And from the shadows, make the move...
Make a stain they can't remove!
Wear away your aching heart
Don't let time perform your part,
Shine among the other stars
And put the guilt behind these bars.

Take away the words he cried,
Watch your stardom being tied,
Like a puppet hanging down
Right from the point where the man hide.

And so to play the clown when you are trapped between the crossfire,
Thinking every moment, should you let him take another breath?
And so to shoot and finish this once short and useless timeline,
Questioning his only fate, should it be agony or death?"

Two paths before me, one to forget.
Will I arise, or will I regret...?

"Who would ever know, my precious Diamond?

Maybe there's a better future right ahead.
It will be always waiting for you, so let him live that life instead.
Would you kneel, behind a shadow holding murder in his hand?
Don't let the doubt embrace your feelings, and we'll make you undestand.
Those who seek the easiest deadly path before they choose the light,
Are the roles you should not ever play after the heavy night.

But if you can still hear the echoes, if you watch the falling moon,
You might find the faulty answer for your life a bit too soon.
And if you smile behind the sun, and then it turns his face away,
Don't sit down and keep the song, there's always something else to say..."

I found myself behind the wall and standing by a man
I have got a way, should I kill him as I can?
He brought fears to me when I was lonely singing with the breeze,
And my dark side broke apart his life and put him on his knees.

Should I shoot, and finish now, or stay this ill and leave the room?
Should I end the drama, and hide under the distant gloom?
Should I feel this sickness, when I put the gun against his head?
Should I pull the trigger, after I watched as my heart bled?

Sometimes you can't keep the tigers in the cage...

And the window cracked against a thunder of the crying storm,
Suddenly a gun was shot, leaving a blurry past behind.
But as the blood went down upon his hand, and left the feeling carved on stone
The dead man's broken dreams were being carelessly kind.

Was the song already over?

And then our naive child ran away,
With a bitter debt to pay.
Walking out with withered memories he saved
His face darkened by fears he once enslaved...
Our Diamond cracked behind the lyrics of this tragic act,
But shone among the screaming darkness with commanding tact.

The dream is dead.
...The poor man too.

March 28th, 2006, 2:11 PM
Okay, here is my submission. I've worked on it forever...

A Desert's Winter Night
written by Jamie Frye

As I walk in the desert, weary and far from life, I feel forgoten, like a desert's winter night. I long to see life, I long to see fortune, I long to live. Out of my senses, I can't find my way, like a cold desert's winter night. I feel nothing as I collapse onto the coarse, sandy, rough pass. I bleed as never before, and I cannot tell if I am alive, like a cold, lonely desert's winter night. But, just as I feel that this is the end, a strange force pulls me apart from the ground, and I feel alive once more. No longer do I feel apart, but alive again, and I see new hope shining, like a warm feeling desert's spring morning.

oni flygon
March 31st, 2006, 11:15 PM
Again, forced by Lily to submit... anyway, this is what I've made. Inspired after a story that written in the School literary magazine that I personally retyped to be published. I really loved how the story was made and turn out so it inspired me to write this poem:

“A Blue Room for Rose Stone”

Wandering eyes, drifting in this blank room,
This chamber is your canvas.
Your imagination, your paint brush,
Within your brittle and lovely heart of glass.

Here, the bucket of paint you wanted,
The shade of blue you yearned for.
Your deepest wishes, I granted,
So smile for me with that merry face I adore.

I’ll guide your frail pale hands,
Helping you spread palette on our wall.
Holding you feels like it’s a dance,
Inside the most elegant of balls.

Moving your hand, left to right, up to down,
Covering this vacant wall of your mind
of the enchanting color of your soul
with the paintbrush that holds your spirit
that I hold dearly with your fragile fingers.

Your love and my love, within grasp of each other
Causing numbing sensations through my fingertips
As I continue to reach out for your innocent soul
To where it leads me: arms wrapped around you so tightly,
Transforming this dance to a longing embrace.

O, love, I begin to see what you see:
Blue, blue, blue!
This utter happiness spilled upon the floor:
Blue, blue, blue!
O, your lovely mind I crave to explore.
Blue, blue, blue!
Such cold skin, housing a lovely soul.
Blue, blue, blue!
O, your eyes, meeting mine, black as coal.

With this thread of sanity I grasp,
I wish this room remains unpainted, my lovely Rose.
O, my gentle Rose, how your lips tremble…
O, my precious Rose, such delicate skin…

Tell me more of your stories,
Of your paper thin lanterns, and the lessons we learned
Of your garden dreams, and of the broken seams
Of promises we make, and of hearts we break
O, Rose, how I wish we never ever finish
Painting this charming chamber.

Your blue room. Your blue, blue room.
Such a delightful place to love you.

April 2nd, 2006, 6:45 AM
All right, all right, finally got around to this. So here it is. Not gonna say anything about, go into it without my bias.

When All The Good Books Have Been Read

I. Reading
“Don’t read that,” they say
“It’s not good for your mind
Your mind is so beautiful.
Good books.”
They give you the good books
But the good books aren’t good
So read
Your good books
All of the
Ones that make sense
In your beautiful
(slightly rainbow-hued)

II. Writing
Your good books
Have all been read and
Re-read and
Re-read and
Re-read again with their
Broken spines
Maybe you should pity them
But you don’t
They’re the good books
They’re all gone
What do you do when
Good books have all been
Read and
I know what you do
When all of
The good books have
Been read
All you do is
Write the next one

April 2nd, 2006, 4:02 PM
I said I would post it today, y'all. I wouldn't lie to you. Here's my entry. If you know Latin, the title may make sense. So...here's my entry. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Duos Polus

by blackhaert

Loose all your chains - Or stop all the rain
I want to stop talking but I have to explain
It's so hard to say - My life's been so upset
Can't even remember what I'd like to forget
It seems like a dream; I'm not sure I'm awake
If I am, shut me up and put me back to sleep
I'm so confused, I seem out of my mind
Have I just lost it? Was it just left behind?
It's just a bit hard to save someone else
When you need someone to save you yourself
But I'll shut up now while I'm ahead
I should be thankful: at least I'm not dead

I want this all to go away - Kill it away
Please help me, save me - Kill it away
But not yet

For it's my salvation - My mind's quick vacation
And I can't lose it without losing myself
My ideas and progress and thoughts of utopia
Losing them would be like losing my life but
It's still killing me from the inside and
Everyone knows it and everyone sees it but
I cannot fight, it's what I was born into
Can't change what I have - I can only deal with it
But that doesn't mean that I couldn't change this
Do I want to deal with therapy and lack of control?
For that kind of help I would have to fall victim and
I don't want it to become my god

I want this all to go away - Kill it away
Please help me, save me - Kill it away
But not yet

Kill me, and kill you, kill us all, kill me off, just kill something

I don't want to be saved but I'll have to go along
Unless I go down the alternative road
But then I'll just leave them with bloodshed and bullets and
That social stigma and-

Hope I have a chance~

April 2nd, 2006, 6:12 PM
@ 4 people who failed to submit something:

You make Lily cry. ._. I tried extending it; I really did. Now the contest is closed (as I must sleep and it wouldn't be fair). If you have any question, excuses, or anything of that sort, *points to PM*