3pm
Search of day break far gone
The muted lilac sheet
Tucks the rays away
As i feel the time slip with every sip of my afternoon coffee
Keeping me sane

Time to mend the broken clay
Of the beutiful sculpture, once
Now cracking under pressure and heat the rushing time keeps giving in

Layer by layer damp earth clay splattered on the cracks of distress
Will i mend once this comes to an end?

Recovering from the routine of days full of self disappointment
#time   #nature   #day   #night   #sky   #angry   #dissapointment   #waste   #quick   #mending  
Wejdan
Wejdan
5 days ago

What a bundle of blueness
in the beding time
My thoughts are rushing insane.

Thank you very much Jim Musics for the help :')
#sad   #haiku   #bed   #time   #thoughts   #blues   #insane   #waste   #rush   #haunts  
Spike Harper
Spike Harper
6 days ago

It isn't often that the sun refuses to rise.
Lately it seems to need encouragement.
Rising just a little later each day.
And when it is the sole reason that the passing of time is so named.
Everything caters to meet the new requirements.
Disregarding lunar activity.
Heliocentric minds have never felt so embellished.
A chaotic routine indeed.
Favoring those who won the right to stay apexed.
Only when so many fight to stay at the top.
Do all those in the middle lose center.
Compressing the foundation into neat distortions of the past.
Like laughing at irony meant to sting.
Or playing a stringless instrument​ to a deaf audience.
Captivating all the more.
For beauty lies in the only I that matters.

Most of American Culture  is a bunch of garbage.....
Not worth saving.
I guess that's why Donald Trump is the President of the United States?
He'll waste his time as President.
It will be a disposable administration.

In the howling waste even the darkness has a voice. It taunts and beckons, it begs and calls. It slithers it way into your thoughts and if you listen to it you may be lost within. You'll never see the light again.

Michael Robert Triska copyright 2017
#lost   #darkness   #voice   #waste   #howling   #beckons  
Knights
Knights
Feb 17

Tis a shame, for the ones who can see are the ones who are truly blind
For the ones who have ears to hear, lack the ability to listen
For the once who have gifts to share are selfish to share them
For the ones who have a voice to speak decide to keep quiet
For the ones who have a brain think that to think is too much

you called me trash, a piece of garbage
so i collected myself and analyzed what
i brought to the table.
i thought about what i could manage
and determined the effectiveness of
my current strategies
but i concluded that i wasted my
time sorting through my problems.

© Matthew Harlovic

#love   #life   #pain   #thoughts   #trash   #reflection   #waste  

Floating bloated.
Life aborted.
Rotting sockets.
A bobbing lifeless buoy.
where the river meets
the sewage.

#death   #dark   #morbid   #gross   #corpse   #waste   #lifeless  
James
James
Jan 9

A young boy sat atop a hill
Wondering at all his Father had built
He thought about the clouds, the flowers, and the trees
He thought about his life, what it all means.

Then he saw death, dark and grim
Walking up the hill, directly towards him.
With fear and dread, the young boy cried
“I am not ready, this can’t be my time.”

Death listened to the Young boy’s cry.
And asked “why should I grant you more time?
Convince me?” He said.  “Then we will see
If you are deserving.  Perhaps I’ll let you be.”

The boy stared Death directly in the eye.
He searched his heart and then knew why
His life should be spared.
Why he deserved more time.

The boy stood straight and tall on his feet
And said, “I have never sung a song so sweet.”
Never written a poem that changed a life,
Or shared a kiss with my future wife.”

Death sat and listened with intent
To the boy's argument and was convinced
That this boy was indeed sincere and true,
He would not take him with his years so few.

Death said “Go live your precious life,
Write your poem and find your wife.
Sing your song with a verse so sweet
That man will bow beneath your feet.”

“I will come again when the time is right
And we will continue our journey into the night.”
“But, heed my warning to you.
Live your life right and always be true.”

The young boy grew into a tall, strong man.
He found success, money, friends and fame.
But in all his glory he was alone
And he walked again to his childhood home.

He climbed to the top of an old familiar hill
And as he stared across the land,
He marveled at the majesty of his Father's hand
And the man sat down to ponder his life.

As he sat Death's shadow came into view
The man stood and said, “I remember you.”
“You came for me here when I was young and afraid,
And showed mercy on a small boy and set him on his way.

But, I beg you please, don’t take me today,
for I have sinned and lost my way.
I am empty inside, I still need my life.
I haven’t my poem, my song or my wife.”

Death said, “Write your poem and find your wife.
Find your song and live your life.
When next we meet, I promise you,
Your life will end, it will be through.”

The man traveled the world and enjoyed its pleasures.
He made and lost an endless treasure.
But, time was not the man’s best friend.
And He grew old, his time was at an end.

His money spent and his friends all gone.
The old man set out to find his song.
He tried to write poetry, but couldn’t find a rhyme.
He searched for his love, but she too had faded with time.

And he came at last to a familiar space,
A tall hill overlooking a plentiful place.
The old man clambered up the steep hill
And sat in awe of his Father’s will.

And as he sat he saw a friendly face.
Death had come to their old meeting place.
Death stared into his ragged face and weathered eyes,
And said, “How are you, my friend? How have you passed the time?”

The old man stood and stared Death in the eye.
With a heavy breath, he let out a sigh.
“I never wrote my poem and I never sang my verse.
I never found my love and loneliness has been my curse.”

He paused for a moment before he said,
“I am ready my friend for my eternal bed
Take me now for I’ve nothing to show
Nothing at all for your years that I stole.”

Death took his friend who had known no harm.
Down that tired hill, they walked, arm in arm.
Through the green valley that his Father created
And into the shadows, his image faded.

Revised version of the first story I ever wrote.
#love   #life   #death   #waste  

Hey, aren't you
That son-of-a bitch
Whose mother jumped the wall.
Yea! You know who you are.
I spotted you hanging on the corner
Through the windshield of my car.
Were you talking conspiracy,
And planning your next job;
Dealing girls, drugs and guns,
Looking goth macabre.

You know who you are.
I saw you look right back at me
Through the side window of my car.
You were talking to your buddies,
I couldn't hear what you said,
I'm convinced it wasn't good,
By the tatoos on your head.

Yes, you know who you are.
You're still idley standing there,
In the rearview of my car.

 
To comment on this poem, please log in or create a free account
Log in or register to comment