Pisaries Creator

And here’s my second set of attempted poems from famous poems. Now, I will move onto something else and not do this again for a long time.

Another Time (Luck by Charles Bukowski)

another place
we were stupid
at telling time
smoking
another time
we were dreaming
of better days
still smoking
another city
we were tired
of waking up
not having cigarettes
another state
we kept silent
during long days
not smoking
another country
we were wishing
during short nights
smoking again

Fight (Alone by Edgar Allan Poe)

By the time I was old enough to know
As others certainly did, I held it all below
As others never had to do, I did not ask why
Emotions bestowed upon me, for I could not cry
And in a similar origin I never watched,
Did not do as others did, for it was blotched 
My poor soul lost in saturated brine
And all I wanted, I wanted more time
In my childlike wonder, at the turn of the night 
When no one was around, my life became a fight
Through every miracle and misfortunate fate
Every moment followed me to any and all gates
Through the echoes and the speaking
Through the yellowish hints of shrieking
Through the moon lighting my way
As I moved through the day
From the tornado above my head
As I laid still on my bed
Through the accidental and constant noise
The form that disguised as a toy
When no one came to help, my path was black 
And the figure following me had not fallen back.

How Do I Not Love You? (How Do I Love Thee? by Elizabeth Barrett Browning)

How can I possibly love you? Let me not count my fingers on each hand.
I have never loved you far, wide, and deep.
For my heart and soul knew you were never mine to keep.
From the stunted beginning and the ending of us,
I cannot bring myself to see all the fuss
Everyday I am in yearning for peace, in any warmth
Whether man or nature made,
And during the nights by the fire, when dogs sleep
I know you never counted the mountain sheep, 
I could love you if I wanted, others have done this before.
But I could never truly love you, for you were never close enough to adore,
I will not confess how I feel, as you will remain tight lipped
Over days and nights and mornings and afternoons,
And we will follow the perfect defined script.
If I were to count how many fingers I have used, there are enough left
To find my way back not in a state of bereft
There are no angels above and if I lose my footing,
I will rely on my own to upright my path, turn the journey 
I am on around, and all the emotions I cast aside,
Should be a gift to me, strictly wide-eyed. 

Anecdotal Plea (A Poison Tree by William Blake)

To be so angry is foolish.
There is more than fire.
People need to listen.
Let the aftermath expire.
Everything is fixable.
Accept the brutal truth.
Do not feed your skeleton.
Or let it grow out of youth.
Hold back your tears.
Fight without sticks and stones.
Your words will only hurt you.
No more sacrificed broken bones.
Use your personal style.
Fill the emptiness with charm.
You are beyond a hot flame.
There is nothing more to harm.
Allow it to be free.
Be aware of the inside.
Do not stray far from the middle.
Anger is nothing more a useless riddle.