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Jay M Oct 2020
My mind is drifting off
Floating in the vastness
That is space and curiosity

Cold and tired
Longing for warmth
Wrap your branches around
My shivering torso
There is safety there
Calm and content
No longer to lament

- Jay M
October 7th, 2020
I keep leaving things in my drafts or notebooks. Based on a dream I had.
old willow Oct 2020
Fisherman is earth, his net is life,
Fish is Man, Ocean is heaven.
Sway by the earth, we dwell in life.
Entangle in this life, Earth is now home;
Ocean is just an illusion.
The fish move where the net moves,
The net move where the fisherman goes,
The fisherman move where the ocean drifts,
Man who dwell in life only see his net,
not both the drifting fisherman and ocean.
old willow Aug 2020
By the window, the lonely petals drifted,
so did my mind.
I dare not say I am virtuous.
Experienced humiliation, I obtain humbleness.
Live plainly, before lavishly.
Life often contradict itself,
look at death, therefore comprehending life.
Spriha Kant Jul 2020
As I stepped into the sea waves ,
I got drifted into our friendship and no longer remembered about going back to the sea shore.

The moment you held my hand in your hand amidst the sea my fear of sinking under it wiped out like that of sand houses on the sea shore under the violent waves and I bathed in your pearly love , my seashell.

Swim with me till those stream lines where there's no trace of the sea shore and I will submerge and breath in them with you as a mermaid till eternity.
old willow May 2020
Opening the window, I watch the bird depart
With a heart.
They say distant heart tend towards like places,
Yet my heart drifts with no traces of paces.
When the heart drifts,
So does the spirits.
Travelling a thousand miles,
I hope it finds its replies.
old willow May 2020
In the temple amid storms, I met you,
By the balcony, I heard you several times.
It was that time of spring,
The cherry blossoms bloom, foretelling its youth.

Oblivious, for I follow the path of ascetic,
The Ten thousand things began to dull in your presence.
Cold, and desolate, my heart has long hardened,
Loving too deep, sadness is too much.

The flowers that fall only left the vibrant river flowing downstream until the end of summer.
The beauty of nature, are of the past;
Inebriate, Indulging in little of what was left;
Our meeting, witness by the heaven above, and earth below,
This moment, can it last forever?

Life is a dream, very difficult to keep for a long time.
Taking the willow branch when I miss you at the temple;
Love sick is such a wine jar.

Lean on the balcony to feel the love melancholy;
My back is turned, only to remind me of your departure.
After getting drunk, when the dream is still there, you have long left.
Sleepless all night to miss someone faraway,
The quiet autumn has long passed;
I still await your returns.

The world isn’t peaceful, chaos and order;
like water and oil.
There are a lot of wrinkles on the face.
Outside the temple, cold white speckles rested effortlessly;
My breath has long drawn and hoarse.
The people dine with their loved ones;
Alone in this temple, I recall the dreams once again...

In the temple amid storms, I met you,
By the balcony, I heard you several times.
It was that time of spring,
The cherry blossoms bloom, foretelling its youth.

Oblivious, for I follow the path of ascetic,
The Ten thousand things dulled in your presence.
The beauty of nature, are of the past;
Inebriate, Indulging in little of what was left;
Our meeting, witness by the heaven above, and earth below,
Can it last forever?

The fruit of love, bitter shell yet sweet flesh;
One can’t help but take a bite.
The ground is hard, and cold;
Our meeting was ephemeral.

Outside, the storm is not kind,
Alone in this temple, no trace of your existence remained;
Was it just a dream?
The flowers have long withered,
River frozen, no longer flowing downstream.
Was winter always this dreary?
Gazing at the spot you once sat;
Time flicker like dying embers.

Before long, the cherry blossom bloom once again;
Yet the bud in my heart remained unmoved.
The blossoming flower, river flowing downstream amid spring;
Above, the firmament was clear.

Turning my back to see the returning sparrows;
Your figures were nowhere to be seen.
Intoxicated, Indulging in little of what was left,
My dream has long withered.

My knees kneeled at the gate of the temple as the countless nights passed;
Oblivious as my memories slowly disassembled.
Your promise of that summer, I can no longer recall,
The words you once murmur are now faint, and incoherent.
The heaven pitied, but cannot interfere;
The earth comforts but cannot disobey in fear.

Love is a dream, very difficult to keep for a long time,
Once gone, cannot be returned.
There are a lot of wrinkles on the face,
Opposite of the vibrant forest laying before my eyes.
My breath has long-drawn, immemorial moment unfamiliar to the self;
I still await your returns, alone in this temple...
Love is the sweetest fruit in this world...
Nilia Loh Apr 2020
Daydreams within blankets at night,
Cotton candy and candies alike,
Pillows and feathers so light,
Making me drift into the night.
Not too warm not too cold.
Feet hidden beneath the coats.
Head and body felt so light,
Making me drift into the night.
N E Waters Apr 2020
I’m going sideways
break like a wave
listing scribble
on the depth of
your page.
Our love is a stage
1,000 words
1,000 days
1,000 monkeys
1,000 typewriters writing our play
we'll recite ‘till the day
you split
and quit
and leave me here to break.
I’m listing
sideways
drifting
sideways.
Turn off the lights.
Lock up for the night.
Leave me here.
I’ll be missing
you
just drifting
sideways.
Bhill Apr 2020
the answers are not ready to be heard
questions from the ancients are still spinning
twisting, turning, swirling and churning
drifting in and out of the minds that maintain the stamina
having substantial durability throughout timeless echos
stories, of the stories, passed on with no conclusions
the answers are not ready to be heard
not yet

Brian Hill - 2020 # 104
Wait for the answers...
Alaina Moore Dec 2019
I hear a sound.
Near my bedroom window,
beyond the panes of glass.
A rumbling and humming;
an idle motorcycle, right on schedule.
Mixed in with the little fan,
it grows into the perfect white noise.
I drift away and think of a warmer place,
bright and expansive.
In my mind, I hear bagpipes playing.
It is some fierce melody,
unfamiliar, yet deeply known.
The meditation fades back to other surroundings.
Back to the dark blank room,
buzzing fan, and noise pollution.
Then I'm reminded, I don't care at all for bagpipes.
Blame my Irish DNA
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