A Poet of Anonymity
A Poet of Anonymity
3 hours ago      3 seconds ago

I look out the lonely window, misted in the mornings cold.
I see shadows, grey and formless, out there in the sleeping
world. Still sleeping, on this grey and quiet morn. I wonder
why I feel this way, why I hate the noisy, bustling day. Why
I prefer instead, to stand here, alone and cold, and draw
pictures in the condensation, gathered from my steaming
breath. My melancholy is my oldest friend. She sits there in
the corner, content to stare, wordlessly out the misted window,
and fidget with her hair. I wonder why I have this life, why I
am not instead, a tree or rock or distant star, burning coldly,
out in the great expanse. Or even a flower, violet with the
shade of twilight, here only for a brief while, a second to
The Infinite, and then gone, blown away like chaff upon an
Autumn wind. I wish. For I am like the quiet breeze that
stirs the grasses, and raises the heads of sleeping flowers, in
the cold of early dawn. I am like a shallow pool, clear for those
with eyes to see, still as a translucent mirror, set upon those
tiny waves. People glance my way, and then continue, on
with their vibrant lives, so full of light and color, determining
in a passing glance, the frailty of life I hold, no threat, no pain.
As easily extinguished as to blot a word of faded ink.
I sit here my melancholy by my side, hand upon my shoulder.
I wonder if it is not time, to seek some newer fresher place,
like the violet in her time. I wonder if it is not best, to leave
this faded world behind, and just....go. To leave and seek a
better clime. For after all, what's a word of faded ink, too
grey to read, so light as to be barely seen, but a thing, not far
removed, from the clean expectancy of the white beneath.
Awaiting only a ready brush, and ink, near at hand.

This is a quiet morning upon which I write. Truth bleeds from the tip of my pen,
demanding of the world, to recognize it as it truly is. My gift and everlasting curse.
Nuisance
Nuisance
4 hours ago      2 minutes ago

I've never heard
of a funnier joke
than the one
where you told me,
I love you.

Joke's on me.

Every year without knowing it I have passed the day
When the last fires will wave to me
And the silence will set out
Tireless traveler
Like the beam of a lightless star

Then I will no longer
Find myself in life as in a strange garment
Surprised at the earth
And the love of one woman
And the shamelessness of men
As today writing after three days of rain
Hearing the wren sing. and the falling cease
And bowing not knowing to what

HE stood among a crowd at Dromahair;
His heart hung all upon a silken dress,
And he had known at last some tenderness,
Before earth took him to her stony care;
But when a man poured fish into a pile,
It Seemed they raised their little silver heads,
And sang what gold morning or evening sheds
Upon a woven world-forgotten isle
Where people love beside the ravelled seas;
That Time can never mar a lover's vows
Under that woven changeless roof of boughs:
The singing shook him out of his new ease.
He wandered by the sands of Lissadell;
His mind ran all on money cares and fears,
And he had known at last some prudent years
Before they heaped his grave under the hill;
But while he passed before a plashy place,
A lug-worm with its grey and muddy mouth
Sang that somewhere to north or west or south
There dwelt a gay, exulting, gentle race
Under the golden or the silver skies;
That if a dancer stayed his hungry foot
It seemed the sun and moon were in the fruit:
And at that singing he was no more wise.
He mused beside the well of Scanavin,
He mused upon his mockers:  without fail
His sudden vengeance were a country tale,
When earthy night had drunk his body in;
But one small knot-grass growing by the pool
Sang where -- unnecessary cruel voice --
Old silence bids its chosen race rejoice,
Whatever ravelled waters rise and fall
Or stormy silver fret the gold of day,
And midnight there enfold them like a fleece
And lover there by lover be at peace.
The tale drove his fine angry mood away.
He slept under the hill of Lugnagall;
And might have known at last unhaunted sleep
Under that cold and vapour-turbaned steep,
Now that the earth had taken man and all:
Did not the worms that spired about his bones
proclaim with that unwearied, reedy cry
That God has laid His fingers on the sky,
That from those fingers glittering summer runs
Upon the dancer by the dreamless wave.
Why should those lovers that no lovers miss
Dream, until God burn Nature with a kiss?
The man has found no comfort in the grave.

Cathy Nguyen
Cathy Nguyen
3 hours ago      44 minutes ago

This isn't love,
This isn't healthy I know
But your eyes aren't stars no more..
and I'm no longer attached to your soul

But you made me strong..
though you broke my heart and then some..
Oh you are the only one
who could still do that, again..

See I found our love in a memory card,
I still hold the memories in my heart
replaying voice mails and singing voice notes
and praying things will go back to normal,
and we could reminisce as friends..

Oh say you'll remember please,
that big promise you made back in December to me
told me you'd still be there, even when it's over, when I leave
you told me you would still care, even if I did not..

'Cause flash back to our last scene,
you went up to me, played with my arm before winning prom queen
and there's pictures on my phone of when i looked pretty
But you were so pretty, my heart stopped..

Oh won't you wait for me to let go..
Cause I know I'm close to doing so..
with every picture and song I find, I know you less..
'cause to me you weren't always the girl with short hair in the dress..

Oh tell me you still dream big dreams
and how you'd still wear my bracelet, the infinity one I got at 16
'cause I threw away mine that night you changed, it hurt me
And now you're only pretty in your looks..

And I've found a new safety net
someone beautiful like clouds
but hasn't fallen down, just yet
she's still up in the skies, out of my league
but her silhouette..
will forever be the crush i run to,
with all my favourite books..

So when it is time..
When the clock strikes at 12,
and you're with your lover
I'll burn this memory card and buy another..
I'll be ready to love, and find new books to share..

Wait for me to get there.

think i got everything off my chest :)
Phil Albritton
Phil Albritton
2 hours ago      1 hour ago

One day a little monkey said to me
"You wanna see me climb that tree?
Or jump around and juggle three lemons?"

I answered, "No. That won't be necessary.
It's quite entertaining enough,
Just to hear a talking monkey speak."

Arlen
Arlen
4 hours ago      1 hour ago

Beneath the grey shivering clouds,
With the mist swaying over me,
Chilled by the thin air,
I kept down for too long,
As a nobody, at nowhere.


The sunlight's warmth,
Passed straight beyond me,
Ignored by all prayers,
I kept numb for too long,
As a nobody, at nowhere.


All the sorrows and the pain,
Kept building inside me,
The cries never actually escaped,
They slept silently with my emotions,
As a nobody, at nowhere.


Passers-by passed by,
With just a flinch by looking at me,
I kept howling at them square,
The frustration took the better though,
As I slept forever as a nobody, at  nowhere.


Arlen.

I hope this never happens to someone in real life. I don't want this poem to come out of my imaginations.
"There's another kind of prison,
Caused by a deep depression,
It's called isolation." -Elsa Angelica <3
 
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