Some short works

I’m no genius, but here’s a few of my poems.

The Rose
A rose is but a dream, a dream in a head.
A head full of thoughts, while one lies in a bed.
The dream is pretty, and fair, and sweet.
Like a crystal river, flowing at ones feet.
Shift slightly, and feel the breeze.
Ruffling your hair, brushing your knees.
Shift too far however, and you’ll fall,
endless and forever. At least until you meet the floor,
Then you wake, and dream no more.
The rose just gone, the river dry.
Blood in your mouth, and a tear in your eye.

Mein Herz… Mein Seele…
My life is beaten, My mind is bruised.
These simple words that you have used…
Three simple words, A life time of guilt.
All rolled up in a gift you built.
A gift of time, A gift of hope.
A gift for which I can merely grope.
You set the bar high, You work me hard.
It sounded sweet, Like the song of a bard.
But the meaning to them, The depth behind it.
Is kind of mean, And doesn’t quite fit.
This statement you made can only be whispered.
Otherwise it might offend the people that heard.
The phrase is this:
I expected more.
This shut up my heart and locked the door.
So if you expected, Expect to receive.
More anger, More hatred.
And even more greed.
You wanted this,
So suck it up soldier.
Cause my heart is broken.
Yours is merely tainted.

The Door
It is a door to oblivion,
a door to black,
once you go through,
you can never turn back,
troubles will come,
and troubles will rise,
but find not this door,
for its your demise,
now family won’t wait,
and family won’t call,
for into that door,
you truely did fall,
you felt it was good,
you felt it was right,
but these things you felt,
were feelings of flight,
so emotion shall rise,
and blood shall fall,
for on this night,
you ended it all.

Take a chance,
roll the dice.
Jump right in,
don’t think twice.
Watch them bounce,
see them roll
as you’re falling
down this hole.
Hold your breath,
hope for seven.
Phew! You win!
It seems like heaven!
Again you take the dive,
oh dear god…
this time it’s five.
"One more time."
you say aloud.
Getting cheers
from the crowd.
Bounce and dance,
dash and dive.
Hope to god,
you stay alive…

Probably more to come, if I ever hit the drunk and artistic mode again. Constructive criticism is accepted and appreciated. Flamers can rot in hell :wgrin:

I liked the first one and the last one only because of the subject matter. Your style overall is staccato and repetitive which is alright, but I could see myself getting bored after awhile and I lost interest after a few poems.