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    One Hundred Poems, Volume I
    One Hundred Poems, Volume I
    One Hundred Poems, Volume I
    Ebook125 pages47 minutes

    One Hundred Poems, Volume I

    By Tuomas Vainio

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    About this ebook

    A hundred days ago I set myself to a task of writing a single poem once a day and this is the result. A hundred short poems of varying length in the amount of lines and width in the number of words. There is no overall theme to this collection as each poem was written separately from the latter. Thus you can feel free to read them in whichever order you wish, and it should not affect the over all experience.

    But I suppose you are still curious of what you are about to leap into. Thus a brief summary of the poems would be; depression, love, popular culture, politics and regret.

    My personal favourite is the one called "Fishfingers" that also happens to be the shortest by my estimate.

    So go ahead and read.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherTuomas Vainio
    Release dateMar 7, 2015
    ISBN9781311618771
    One Hundred Poems, Volume I
    Author

    Tuomas Vainio

    I write, I read, and the typos are still there. It is the crux of my life. Anyhow, my published works should not be overpriced and in some outlets you might be even able to set your own price!

    Read more from Tuomas Vainio

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      Book preview

      One Hundred Poems, Volume I - Tuomas Vainio

      Barrel in bed

      So today was another day,

      I should already know my way,

      Yet I find no reason to share my smiles,

      As I keep running through these empty miles,

      I am sick of these grey days that see no end,

      I am sick of this constant down trend.

      I feel I am lost without a guiding light,

      That I have lost all my earthly might,

      Even my sense of what is right,

      I do not know how to continue this fight.

      I woke up to face yet another morning,

      My body once again is barely moving,

      And I find my finger on the side of my forehead,

      I imagine a barrel of steel with mechanism for bloodshed,

      I keep trying to squeeze my finger harder,

      To breach the veil of fantasy to our reality,

      But there is no sound,

      I am given no ground,

      And so my finger falls,

      To make space for another day,

      I do not know how to stop longing for my own death.

      The three-eyed fox (For a Fantasy Novel)

      I saw a dream today,

      I was in a forest looking for wood,

      I stumbled on a ruined house,

      Or a barn that had a tree-eyed fox inside,

      The fox ran around me and nudged its body against mine.

      I wanted the fox gone;

      So I grabbed a stick and tried to beat it away,

      But it only gnawed and played with the other end.

      So I took another stick and threw it far away,

      The fox chased and came back with it.

      I took a third stick and threw it at a tree,

      That stupid fox crashed against the pine and still came back.

      So I took my fourth stick and threw it off a cliff,

      The fox followed and tumbled down yet still managed to come back,

      The third eye on its forehead had closed and disappeared.

      I took the fifth and final stick,

      I threw it at a tree standing below the cliff,

      The fox leaped, crashed, and tumbled down,

      The stupid little shit had finally left me alone.

      But there it lied,

      Down the hill all bloodied and still,

      It did not deserve my pointless ill will,

      My anger and annoyance had turned into guilt.

      I woke up,

      I tried to excuse myself,

      I tried to explain how the fox was me.

      But I know it was not me,

      I am forced to look and see myself what I have done,

      I killed that fox and now guilt is my only company.

      Frank Underwood

      Have you ever thought of the burden of a leader,

      Have you ever thought what it took to get there,

      Of all the lies, broken promises, and conscience so dark you have become a miser of heart,

      Of all the dreams and fears you must learn to never impart,

      For those are weaknesses that could tear you apart,

      Of how your intentions became twisted and butchered,

      Transformed and mutilated,

      How deep down you feel nothing but the scars of how you shall remain,

      Forever broken.

      That is the burden of being a leader,

      That is the burden I chose to bear,

      Not out of malice nor greed,

      Not out of virtue nor fears,

      But for what the world is,

      For what we are,

      And what we are; nothing but pieces on the game board,

      Lives that are either wasted through mistakes or moved forwards with greatness.

      Thus it begged and haunted me with the question;

      What is the difference of being a pawn or a king under the whims of someone else,

      Under the guidance of someone who makes all the mistakes at every turn,

      To be at the mercy of some despondent moron without a clue how the game is played,

      To feel powerless and weak, left to blame yourself for

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