Early Poetry

My first attempts at putting poetic words on the page.  Middle school.


Blood rushing through my veins,

Fearful pounding at the door

To the ante room of Hell.

Endless torture awaits my soul;

Awaits the blood

Rushing through my veins.

Endless torture awaiting me.


Frozen in nothing; space and time.

Hardened into sheer oblivion.

Death is imminent,

Frozen in the eyes of the hunter.

Fear arrives;

Legs pump;

Heart beats;

Death is here

My Pen as a River

My pen is a flowing river.

A river of ink;

A river of emotion;

A river of hope;

A river of hopelessness;

A river of hate;

A river of love;

My pen is a flowing river.

Endless torture awaiting me.


Second by second;

Minute by minute;

It's Going.

The sand is leaving.

The blood is flowing.

It's disappearing;

Death is imminent.

Life is going;

It's nearly gone.

Ever present feeling

We are terrified.

It's gone forever.

Paralyzed with fear

Waiting for it to come.

Time’s End

I do something caring

I get hate in response.

I try to make someone happy,

I get hate in response.

So many emotions,

So little time.

Time is precious

It's gone.

Time's End

The End of Time


What once existed in light and dark,

Has been ripped from the grasp of those who care-

Your life is so short, and so swiftly thrown

Amidst the thorns, and rocks, and brutal waves

That we will never realize the meaning of love,

Until we have raced beyond what is no longer there.


The light, and the dark from which it poured forth,

Are gone, forever in void, in mind and heart.

Living to hold on to all that is sliding away-

It is truly no way, to live, but all that I know.

What seems best is hidden behind a mask of hope,

And what is worst, is the cure for all pain.


"Simple mistakes, easily fixed,"

As time rushes onward, and the splinters fester,

Pouring forth pain, and hardship,

But without pain until all is lost.

Friendships are gone, never to be fully healed,

And for what?

Why Condemn?

Why condemn?

Writing my way out

Of a vault of emotions.

Too many to let go at once;

Too few to let go at all.

Writing is my salvation;

Salvation is my writing.

Why do they hurt us?

Why do they hurt us,

Through years and years?

So why do we suffer?

Years pass.

I wait for an answer.

When will it come?

The Pain We Bring

Can we not see the pain

We bring; the sadness?

We don't care.

All we see is money.

We are poor with greed; evil.

All we see is hate.

© Tofer Carlson 2011