Rushing Rivers, Leave me on the shore, With the sand folding away, Beneath my soles.
Help that I should never forget, When I find myself the weakest, I am a child of the strongest. When I am surrounded by the darkness, I am the bearer of the brightest hope. When I am set upon by troubles, I can never be destroyed. Help that I should never forget, That I am guarded by a love, Which is of impoderable greatness.
Day in, Please, Stay out.
Another simple day, Distressing in a way. It’s as boring as they say, A life that is okay. Months drifting away Hours churning like the bay, Dullness is my pay, Rescue me from day After day After day After day. It’s monotonous. It’s monstrous.
As Summer Ends.
These are the days I live for, A story that whispers of rain, Tranquility writ with the rustle of leaves. A mind that sings vividly, Of dreams that have yet to be dreamt, Spurred by knowledge that life steals by like thieves. A sweet feeling of freedom, That drifts through the evening clouds, Begging us to stand with eyes closed and receive.
As sweet as, The purest honey to my tongue. As still as, A glass topped pond, untouched. As gentle as, A mother with her newborn child. As patient as, A father’s kind instruction. You speak to me.
Anonymous asked: i love this one. - cris who cannot figure out how to get an acct in here...
Suffocating under, The damp decay Of fallen leaves. Winter is lurking, And the foliage; Evacuating.
You cannot cry out for equality, and demand that only one side be allowed to...– The City of Rain
There is something here, There is something beyond. Rusted brass adorns the lock, The key is frail with time. There was one moment, There was one cry, That made you wish to stay. There is something here,...
Blood and Iron
I want to learn To live a’wing, Higher every turn, Capturing even dreams. Far away, And unaware, Of earthly play, And human care. To be the kin Of men with fire Liquid, in their skin; And bones made of iron.
A strong wooden box, Plated in gold adornments, Sealed tight with lock and key. It would make the whole world curious, The entire world envious. A gilded house, That must hold a gilded treasure. Wise men would tell you, “This is beyond the price of gold.” Women of understanding would beseech you, “This is the only thing worth seeking.” On the day the lock is broken, In the...
Would you still sing the song, As you go down into the pit, Of the king who condemned you?
A soliciting smile, An amiable laugh, Immeasurable cheer. A haimish act, A honeyed tongue, Slow spilling, Sickly sweet.
Above it all, Next to the sky, Miles around to see, To live against the wind, To fill the air with songs. Teach me to soar, Teach me to sing, To leave it all behind; To see from above, To live with abandon, To soar, to sing, and In my heart, take wing.
Every brisk morning, Every endless night, Turns perpetually along, The stark, blank, white, frozen face.
Silent for ages, For you have no ears that hear. Devoid of cares, You’ve had no plea for centuries. Eyes closed, and shut out Still you stand; Under the summer gazebo Of drying flowers and dying vines. Their sweet scent and cool shade, Long since vanished. Winter is come, And the world has been calling your name, Your feet are deep roots, Reaching into graves, Your legs, rusted locks, The...
I pray for dreamless sleep, Soft, silent, and deep. The kind with no monsters to meet.
Will never come to understand, Each part of her soul. Will never learn to make peace, With all of her wars. Will never close her eyes, When there is a world to see. Will always be stronger, Than you ever dreamed. Will always make it through, When all the lights have faded. Will always love you true, Even when all else has forsaken.
I watched the moon rise, As for once, Our joy drowned out the stars.
Strength, I can taste, Thick in the air That becomes you. The fast burning Fuse that threatens To consume everything around. A dark and heavy scent, Oak and Ashes, In that, I am want to drown. Call me a willing victim, And imprison me here.
The Thing I Am, and Have Become.
All I do is sit, All day and think; Of things I want to become. And all I am, Is a ghost, Of the things, I’ve never become.
Happiness is yours, To feel, treasure, or scatter. You may keep it in your pocket, Quietly tucked away; Wear it around your neck, Like a jewel on display. You may give it, Reuse...
Tomorrow is not enough, Today is far too gone. Living for what comes next, Is like breathing to sing a song. You may never know tomorrow, And today is far too gone. Decide to do right now, What you meant to do all along.
I see your face, On the faceless, I hear your voice, In silent places. Eyes tight to banish, Willing memories to vanish, Your selfish choice, Causing this chapter to finish. A year later, a day after, Spirits left in disaster, My pain yet unvoiced, Your memory, still my captor.
Entire worlds, Pressed between pages, A magic spark, A river of imagination. That little girl, Still alive in my being, Escaping to run amok, With my tired thinking. I know too many, Too serious to reveal, The small little dreamer, Which resides in them still. Ashamed of their childhood, Of knights, wizards, or dragons, Desiring to be too old, To adventure and imagine.
I am struggling through this hole of, “There is nothing we can do.” That is the most frightening thing I have ever found to be the truth.
Looking in windows
Pressing fingers against the cold glass, Aware of the pane that separates us, Pain, surrender, a forced mask, There is nothing I can do, just trust. The distance marked by this window, Too vast to wander, to ever travel, I will not trust and pray for rainbows, Paralyzed, myself the keeper of my shackles. No power to move, no power to do, Beating against the rain-speckled glass, If I could only...
We are all....
Spun from a laugh, Conceived by a smile, Born of a spark, Displays of an artist. Made for His joy, Existing to bring pleasure, Remember you are here, To be loved forever. The daughter of a crinkle, At the corner of His eyes. The son of a rumble, Of a deep, cheery belly laugh. We are here for enjoyment, To be a wandering smile, To be laughter in the wind, And to dance away our miles.
Tattoo me with your words, So that I may never forget, All the things, you’ve promised me.
I stand in the chill of your coming, Startling cold. I close my eyes and hold my breath, Cresting the horizon. You are beautiful and fierce, Frighting in a way. No man could ever tame you, ...
Wastelands, Demand totality. Struggle to satiate, Unquenchable thirst, permanent greed. Wastelands.
My own, Personal Secret
I feel like I am the keeper of an extraordinary secret, A whisper to hide away from the world, Because I know what so many others Will never be privileged to know. I know the in’s and out’s, I know the late nights, The early mornings, The truth behind, The kind of man You are.
Wrinkles in Time.
Some days stretch lazily Across the vast expanse of forever. All I have to show for it Are a few wrinkles in my t-shirt.
Flashes through, The tall and majestic Filtering green canopy Just by the side of the road. Out in the rural, forgotten parts of town, In the center of abandoned, vacant places Is where I always find You. Waiting and smiling, Soaking through my imagination; Dripping off my saturated heart. An old forgotten home, No doors, and no windows, Are left to deny entry, To invading Azaleas. Spring flowers...
A particularly Intoxicating gift. Simple, yet effervescent, But now more grandiose Than in many years past. A spectacularly Arranged display. Inviting to the inmost, That ‘wide-eyed wonder’ part Of my child-like heart.
An open canvas, shining gems, Encompassed by the night. Lustrous, twinkling specks abound, Calling me in their light. Bidding me to fancy them as Things of soft silver made, When hanging precariously, They bend each tawny blade. Begging me to imagine them, As small fragile cocoons, That are selfishly capturing, The faint and distant moon.
Trumpets, Small and dainty. Spilling out, Sweet spring. Drifting through The late afternoon air After the rain. Drinking it deeply, Like sugar in my lungs. Tiny lilac trumpets.
A meek breeze, Carrying incense, That does not reside in me.
I have little bits of poetry lying around everywhere. It’s sort of like the ruins of my castle of thoughts. A stanza here, a verse there, a few words that only half describe a feeling I was experiencing and attempting to capture in a thin net. I was too tired, or too busy to stop and make full thoughts out of these snippets of some sort of poetic revelation I was experiencing. So, now...
I am your mockingbird
Perched on the rooftop, Singing songs, That never belonged to me.
Follow me into the forest, Into the deep, lush dream-scape. Follow me into the ocean, Into the blue, hungry depths. Follow me into the desert, Into the vast, lifeless estate. Follow me into the city, Into the perpetual next. Follow me for your life, Into what cannot be escaped. Follow me into the dark, Into what will become the apex.
I am at best...
A moon, Reflecting a light, Not my own.
I am quite...ordinary
Far from memorable, A distance from desired, Overlooked and unimpressive.
Paper, is all that is left of your tragedy. Paper, is all that continues to be born of it. To me it is only a story book, Unfolding at each page that turns. To others it is a life of pain, loss, and love. Paper is all that is left of you, Black and white words, that stamp The cold hard facts of your end On thin white sheets. Paper is all that outlines the details Of the last memories that will...
The flowers are too sweet, To stop smelling. The water too cool, To stop drinking. The forest too deep, To stop wandering. The melody too sweet, To stop listening. The eyes too bright, To stop staring. The arms too strong, To stop holding. This life’s too good, To stop living.
Knotty fingers reaching, Out into open air, Tendrils dripping, Slowly down to there.