I am 16 years old and wanted to get some of my work out there and see what people had to say. Most of my inspiration comes from hard times ether in the past, present, or future. It would ether come from friends family or weardos. more »
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Christon SykesSmith Poems
Life as a Teenage Boy
Run'en through life like it's a simple game So confused don't know why I came Who i am what I'm here for Where did I come from Why don't I fear anymore I feel like a door
Fear of love, Fear of hate, Fear of staying out to late.
The mountans where I wanna be The tree that is see is the closest thing to home for me The flowers blowing in the breeze The tranquility of the buzzing bees
Waiting For Death
Sleeping in the shadow of death Waiting for its cold embrace. But it never comes, Sitting in the dark curled up and defenseless.
Sitting in the dark, Waiting to be found, Sitting in the dark, Where no one can see you frown.
Keep it Real
Livin a life And living a lie Same thing just not f Just keepen it real.
Ode To Death
The sun shines upon everything even in the hour of death. The plants, People, Civilization.
Getting played and then shut down. Spark. Getting beat up then thrown on the ground Spark!
Pack of six. Unbreakable. Undefetable. Unstoppable.
Got to find myself in this sea I'm up a stream without a paddle I’m on a boat without a saddle People are expecting me to fail
Never The Same
Up all night, Hanging all day. We were inseparable. Nothing will ever be the same.
Drives You Insain
Life and death are all the same. To get through you have to play their game. Keep going untill it drives you insain.
Thinking about doves, Thinking about love, Thinking about whats all above.
The sweet smell of candy and pumpken pie in the air. Looking around giving a scare, Running around without the slights care. Feeling like a creature of the night
Comments about Christon SykesSmith
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
Life as a Teenage Boy
Run'en through life like it's a simple game
So confused don't know why I came
Who i am what I'm here for
Where did I come from Why don't I fear anymore I feel like a door
People just walk strait through me
I am the lion that won't be loved
But life is too short to be sad
Too short to sulk in my loss of love...
What should I do?
I have no clue
I'm in the dark
They keep saying I'm a sweet as a strawberry
But on the inside I'm as bitter as a rawberry
You know i everyday i get older
And i feel like the world is on my shoulder like a bolder