Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
You have traveled thousands of miles
From East to West

Resting upon times
Blindly heading toward the future
The times you've taken those fives
It'll bloom even brighter

Now you can run as far as you want
Till you lose your breath;
but not your pace
Fear not, you have paved your own way then

The future is gonna be okay;
and I'll still be here to stay
Till you have reached your destination
a letter to me from me
.
inspired by the song "D-Day" by AgustD
Man Jun 2023
Scalding my palm
On her rosy skin.
We are young, with a love that's warm
In it's infancy; honest, open, and giving.
I burn for her,
A wildfire of desire
With no forests' end.

I yearn to be the
One she does, when
She learns to love again.
Keah Jones Jun 2023
She is now all elbows and bird limbs
Eating her ever smaller
Hearing her cry in the night ****** nails on a chalk board
I want to hold her help her
Be the rescue swimmer in her ocean of tears
Holding for I am soft
Her daughter no fine specimen
A coward
A softy
Not once did she hold me
In seventh grade when I had my first kiss and he broke up with me for the girl with blonde hair and bangs
She said I was just too young
In eighth grade I fell in lust with a high school boy for the first time and ended it when I got bored but not before I gave him what i thought symbolized love.
I didn't tell her
In 9th grade I fell in love with a boy that would never be able to love me the way I wanted him to. But I stayed  for four years until I couldn't find any more of myself to break off and give to him.
She told me I would get over it.
I have a mother who the world made cold
And she had a daughter that felt too much
who she taught feeling was a waste of time
D Cole Jun 2023
Attic lily,
Crafted from Michelangelo's  hands,
a gem eyes fumble to adore.
Shapes, lines, curves perfectly placed on her body to sing harmonies that echo perfect anatomy

Attic lily,
a dazzling dream,
but her soul hugs a dead sun.
She's a sculpture of fair marble
built with a jungle of thin strings to fill her entirety, like a cat's cradle adorned with twines of roses to mimic completion.

Naive,
she thought losing a few petals for the happiness of others was kind
A rose for him, a rose for her...

Selfless,
she is all but a mirror,
for her smile has always been a reflection of others.

Hypocrite,
she wears a face with printed traces of happinesses to shadow the gloom breeding under her own.

Attic lily,
strong built independent woman
but secretly prizes to be caressed in hands with a feeble touch,
...to be pursued with a genuine smile
..to be treated worth more than an art piece in a gallery that eyes dart on and forget about it, the second they walk past.
to be checked when her soil dries out.
Attic lily, she is,
for no one notices her unless they need something from the attic.
My friend's story. Relatable?
Thomas W Case May 2023
As a child, the 80 acres seemed like the whole world, with its ponds and streams and sunlit meadows.
It looked like Eden to my young eyes.
I chased the lambs and dragonflies, caught tortoises and toads.
The banks of the streams looked like cliffs to me, as I watched the suspended shadows of the bluegill in the water below.

With July's on broil, I found shade beneath a black locust tree, and tried to figure out, how I could use the thorns as fish hooks, to catch dinner for the night.
Evening set the sky on fire and the clouds were all a blaze.
Passion found me early, so much land, and nothing but time.

Then dusk turned gently into night and the summer Moon looked sad, like a giant porch light left on, for a lover that's never coming home.
As I lay in bed the cicadas buzz tucked me in, and from the pond came to bullfrog sad song, and I knew he was lonely like me.
Thomas W Case Apr 2023
The under shell of
the tortoise looked
like a sunset.
Blasts of color:
orange, maroon, burnt sienna.
I caught them in
the garden at
sunrise, eating a
tomato or chewing into
a head of lettuce.
They always looked so
serious.

I was just a
sunburnt boy, with
cutoff jeans and a
straw hat.
I caught toads too.
But when they peed on me,
I let them go.
I loved that land.
Ponds and streams,
fishing and climbing trees.
oh,
sweet, green
youth.
Kris Fireheart Apr 2023
When I was young,
I had a dream,
Just a small house,
down by a stream,

Far away from all that mattered,
All the dreams that ended shattered,

Just a home where I could roam,
And be me....

Call it causality, maybe reality,
Call it a God, who looks
Tearfully, down at me,

Call it an arrogance,
call it ambition,
Never conformed, you can call it
Attrition,

Call it a fantasy, call it
My lunacy, call it
my dream...

But in my madness, and still,
In my sadness, There's something
I cling to with hope and a prayer

That one day I'll find it, or worse,
Leave behind it, but still it remains
Like the chains that bind it to me...

When I was young
I had a dream,
Just a small house,
down by a stream,

Call it a fantasy, call it
My lunacy, call it
my dream...
Just a small poem I wrote this morning. I had a dream of what I would call my perfect reality, and decided To share it here. I hope you like it. After all, we all have our dreams...
Nigdaw Apr 2023
when we were young
everyday was an adventure
the farthest we could walk
the fastest we could run
ten minutes was a lifetime
when a lifetime was just begun

no guilt could outweigh us
no conscious could ***** us
sleeping blameless sleep
only our own dreams to keep
darkness hid no demons
because we had never met

but then the world moulded us
told us to be responsible
sensible, obedient, subservient
we could be whatever we wanted
if lines were towed, rules obeyed
it was our oyster to be enjoyed

but with clipped wings
we can never fly
the appearance of a freedom
we can never find
D Cole Apr 2023
"I am broken"  slides off the tongue easy,
but leaving the dream is not as thrilling  
I have made friends with my cracks that I
I don't remember how not to be broken
We sit and chat around the bonfire of my, insecurities....
Laughing on, about our best memories
....Memories of heartache, depression betrayal,,
of obscurities
that Kindled my life as long as I can remember.

I think,
I'm now addicted...
To holding hands with my pieces
To the warmth of my insecurities
To the peace when I trace my, backtracks

I think I'm now addicted,
.... to the lies painted by my smile
to the tingling feeling when my heart is pricked by arrows of, disappointment
To the reality of feeling uncomfortable in my skin
Because to me that is, contentment.

I am broken,
Parts of me can no longer fit, together.
My thoughts are triangles, In a circle of my reality, around my square life.
Held together by tired strips of, leather.
I am broken, but somehow I make it work.
Mark Wanless Apr 2023
tree in bloom with white
flowers construct of a mind
forever young
Next page