LonePoet - Hello Poetry

Thoughts in flight chasing you down in the clammy air of the night. Black winged, in memorial dress, to mourn old times, while I swallow every memory of you. When I drift off in the night, to your buzz, I won't dread your bite no more. And as I rouse in the morning with an itch I won't even scratch. I'm weaponizing my mind, beaks and sharp vision, to devour memories before they bite.

0

Feb 19, 2021

Feb 19, 2021 at 4:46 AM UTC

LonePoet

The wings and beaks of the mind

Thoughts in flight chasing you down in the clammy air of the night. Black winged, in memorial dress, to mourn old times, while I swallow every memory of you. When I drift off in the night, to your buzz, I won't dread your bite no more. And as I rouse in the morning with an itch I won't even scratch. I'm weaponizing my mind, beaks and sharp vision, to devour memories before they bite.

23

I wept so violently My right eye oozed down and migrated to my cheek. I frowned so much my face shat-ter-ed in pieces. A remembrance of the light, the girl that was before, in yellows and whites. Parts of me are smoke, my fire smothered out, the ashes of a girl, all greys and blacks. I sat utterly distorted, poetry on my lap.

0

Feb 16, 2021

Feb 16, 2021 at 9:05 AM UTC

LonePoet

Tete d'une femme lisant

I wept so violently My right eye oozed down and migrated to my cheek. I frowned so much my face shat-ter-ed in pieces. A remembrance of the light, the girl that was before, in yellows and whites. Parts of me are smoke, my fire smothered out, the ashes of a girl, all greys and blacks. I sat utterly distorted, poetry on my lap.

15

My eyes are broken. the soul windows won't open, I want the morning sun in, but they won't open an inch. A bird is confined to my room, thinking about its impending doom in vain its beating its blue wings , while of unspoken sadness it sings. I need the windows to be closed, my rooms is to the rain exposed but they won't stay shut tight, the bird in my room has died, it starved to death on my floor, there is no pain inside anymore, but still there a blue bird sings and a symphony of sobs begins.

0

Feb 12, 2021

Feb 12, 2021 at 2:34 AM UTC

LonePoet

My eyes are broken

My eyes are broken. the soul windows won't open, I want the morning sun in, but they won't open an inch. A bird is confined to my room, thinking about its impending doom in vain its beating its blue wings , while of unspoken sadness it sings. I need the windows to be closed, my rooms is to the rain exposed but they won't stay shut tight, the bird in my room has died, it starved to death on my floor, there is no pain inside anymore, but still there a blue bird sings and a symphony of sobs begins.

16

Trust is a feeble thing. If a tiny little bird, falls from a sheltered nest and drops into your skirt, eyes still closed in rest, take it like a savor. Cover it in human scent, no longer mother natures, for you it was sent. If you let it pass away, it's a mothers heart break, it's the body of betray, burry it in the worst ache. Lay her precious flowers, decaying white roses, innocence's dying hours.

0

Feb 11, 2021

Feb 11, 2021 at 7:41 AM UTC

LonePoet

Trust

Trust is a feeble thing. If a tiny little bird, falls from a sheltered nest and drops into your skirt, eyes still closed in rest, take it like a savor. Cover it in human scent, no longer mother natures, for you it was sent. If you let it pass away, it's a mothers heart break, it's the body of betray, burry it in the worst ache. Lay her precious flowers, decaying white roses, innocence's dying hours.

16

Standing on tippy toes, you keep me in pursuit. Make my head spin, pirouettes for you. Every twirl I look at you, fixed point, but still dizzy. I'm the eye of your storm, eyes going to the centre. I haven't eaten in days, stick thin ballerina. Ribs visible through skin, heart closer to the service. Sweep me of my feet, I can't walk anymore. Feet all blistered, bleeding on the floor. We are like swans with interlocking eyes, necks forming a heart. We are new found lovers, white feathered innocents, so new to the dance.

0

Feb 9, 2021

Feb 9, 2021 at 12:39 PM UTC

LonePoet

White feathered innocents

Standing on tippy toes, you keep me in pursuit. Make my head spin, pirouettes for you. Every twirl I look at you, fixed point, but still dizzy. I'm the eye of your storm, eyes going to the centre. I haven't eaten in days, stick thin ballerina. Ribs visible through skin, heart closer to the service. Sweep me of my feet, I can't walk anymore. Feet all blistered, bleeding on the floor. We are like swans with interlocking eyes, necks forming a heart. We are new found lovers, white feathered innocents, so new to the dance.

22

I will admit it, I'm the best liar. A smile for you, don't worry for me, even crack a joke, old me would do. I won't ever flinch, statue of grace. I'm not in pain, I'm just stretching, we all get tired, I jawn and explain. I will do the task, soldier throught it. I can do it myself even when I can't, so you think me better, that's all I want.

0

Feb 7, 2021

Feb 7, 2021 at 10:58 AM UTC

LonePoet

I will admit it

I will admit it, I'm the best liar. A smile for you, don't worry for me, even crack a joke, old me would do. I won't ever flinch, statue of grace. I'm not in pain, I'm just stretching, we all get tired, I jawn and explain. I will do the task, soldier throught it. I can do it myself even when I can't, so you think me better, that's all I want.

18

I bought flowers today, tulips in a vase, petals are dropping, while I'm looking, yellowed photographs, memories of a flower Tulips are growing, standing in a field, smiling in yellow, early spring bloom cut umbical cords, leaving mother nature tied together family, a bouquet of love Tulips are dancing, dangling in small hands, A little girl is running, to surprise her mother A daughters flowers, a gift for mothers Some mothers like tulips, feet in the earth, icy stones with labels, daughter, wife and mother Lay them down, pretty little things, decorate the ugly, with little girl prayers

0

Feb 7, 2021

Feb 7, 2021 at 3:08 AM UTC

LonePoet

Tulips

I bought flowers today, tulips in a vase, petals are dropping, while I'm looking, yellowed photographs, memories of a flower Tulips are growing, standing in a field, smiling in yellow, early spring bloom cut umbical cords, leaving mother nature tied together family, a bouquet of love Tulips are dancing, dangling in small hands, A little girl is running, to surprise her mother A daughters flowers, a gift for mothers Some mothers like tulips, feet in the earth, icy stones with labels, daughter, wife and mother Lay them down, pretty little things, decorate the ugly, with little girl prayers

28

She would hold my hand and look at me. Pearls in her eyes, like mine. I don't have her eyes, hers are blue, mine are green, but I could see myself in hers, a faint mirror image like looking into a lake. Pearls on her cheeks, whiter than mine. I have young cheeks, still burning red, reacting like a traffic light, to everything new and exciting. She said that changes, when you're older. We sat there, mine hand in hers. I don't have hands like that, hers are long like pianists, wrinkled and full of character, interesting hands. Mine are young and smooth, like a dolls hands. So small they disappeared, when we held hands. And so freezing cold, I would take her hands, just to steal a little warmth.

0

Feb 7, 2021

Feb 7, 2021 at 3:07 AM UTC

LonePoet

Mum

She would hold my hand and look at me. Pearls in her eyes, like mine. I don't have her eyes, hers are blue, mine are green, but I could see myself in hers, a faint mirror image like looking into a lake. Pearls on her cheeks, whiter than mine. I have young cheeks, still burning red, reacting like a traffic light, to everything new and exciting. She said that changes, when you're older. We sat there, mine hand in hers. I don't have hands like that, hers are long like pianists, wrinkled and full of character, interesting hands. Mine are young and smooth, like a dolls hands. So small they disappeared, when we held hands. And so freezing cold, I would take her hands, just to steal a little warmth.

31

I get angry when sad, cries like throwing darts. I never really aimed, hit only by mistake. But with you, you made me try with you was knifes, your body the apple. I wanted to cleave, your chest in two halfs of an apple, split like me. See your clockhouse, never cared for time, promises are old seeds, never coming up. Now you're wrinkled. Fallen from the tree, kicked around by life, but still the same. Apples go bad, faster when in two. Turn back the years, to safe us a little time.

0

Feb 7, 2021

Feb 7, 2021 at 3:02 AM UTC

LonePoet

In two

I get angry when sad, cries like throwing darts. I never really aimed, hit only by mistake. But with you, you made me try with you was knifes, your body the apple. I wanted to cleave, your chest in two halfs of an apple, split like me. See your clockhouse, never cared for time, promises are old seeds, never coming up. Now you're wrinkled. Fallen from the tree, kicked around by life, but still the same. Apples go bad, faster when in two. Turn back the years, to safe us a little time.

24