A silly young girl named Louise
Oft would squeak when she felt she would sneeze.
She squeaked and blew, then
She went scarlet red when
from behind came a squeak on a breeze.
Dec 18, 2024
Dec 18, 2024 at 5:52 PM UTC
I don’t exist
outside the lines
on this page.
The physical has never
been my reality.
We have only circled
each other..
mutually unnoticed..
mutually indifferent..
My world is bigger
than this earth.
Yet… so small.
© Nathan A. Brock
Dec 5, 2024
Dec 5, 2024 at 5:43 PM UTC
I like my coffee
The same way I like my men
I don't drink coffee.
© Nathan A. Brock
Dec 4, 2024
Dec 4, 2024 at 4:49 PM UTC
O, crawler of the night, I pray
That thou doth not resent this day.
Grudge me not that I must take
A hook to make thy belly ache.
But in this murky pond, methinks..
And as thou on an egg weight sinks,
That swimming knight in plated mail
Might be inclined to munch thy tail.
And thus be caught, yet try to sprint
From straining monofilament.
But I, Oh I, the water's lord
Shall see knight lay on cutting board.
Forgive me, friend, for this, my vice.
I'll not let fade thy sacrifice.
In verse I'll speak thy final plight..
My supper's final meal tonight.
© Nathan A. Brock
Dec 2, 2024
Dec 2, 2024 at 3:04 PM UTC
The sounds of whispers
echo endlessly in the
mind of the ******
unintelligible words
commingled with
toxic silence,
the mind
hovering over the void,
suspended by a
single breath held in
nervous anxiety,
awaiting the nudge of
fates hand
-the exhale-
and then,
the slow fall.
Thus is
taken the will from the life;
thus the seedling
tears it's own roots from the
soil - leaving itself to
wilt on the asphalt-
it’s leaves turned down
hiding their faces
from the sun
they once adored;
the sun they now
reject for setting too often.
©Nathan A. Brock
Dec 1, 2024
Dec 1, 2024 at 8:42 PM UTC
I cut the chords from my throat,
Presenting them as a
Gift in homage to the
Gods of the citidel, burying my
Resentment with the
Bones of my ancestors.
I ripped the nerves from my face,
Offering my apathy to the
Wraiths that would prey on the
Bitterness of mute lamentation .
I tore the veins from my arm,
Freeing the hidden
Tears that flowed like a
Creek over my
Wrist and into silver phial.
I dipped my quill in the phial
And let the
Shadows hear the
Sound of my voice.
©Nathan A. Brock
Dec 1, 2024
Dec 1, 2024 at 1:27 PM UTC
I am not broken...
Only cracked down the
side...
I leak as you try to
fill me... but you never
bothered to fix me
first.
Perhaps it's because you
know you can't...
You have not the skill...
Or.. perhaps.. you are
simply out of clay.
© Nathan A. Brock
Dec 1, 2024
Dec 1, 2024 at 12:56 PM UTC
That steel guitar has
cried it's last..
a shrill twang that
faded into a
chasm...
I followed that last
bitter note
until my legs struck.
A sharp crack..
As they tangled in a
heap of vinyls and
plastic cassettes.
Scratches.. white noise..
the film pulled out and
tangled in a ball.
Not that it matters , for the
only phonograph is
missing a needle...
and Post Malone is
stuck in the deck!
A recording from the Opry...
The Opry?
No.. No...NO!
Not the Opry...
It must be mislabeled!
I must have
screamed for
hours as I played it
over... and OVER!
'The Grand Ole Opry welcomes....'
CRASH
the stereo hits the
pavement as it
shatters into tiny
fragments that fall
neatly back into their
original configuration.
'The Grand Ole Opry welcomes...'
I ran...
I ran...
but it followed...
and it consumed...
all.
©Nathan A. Brock 2024
Nov 29, 2024
Nov 29, 2024 at 4:53 PM UTC
I held my head
too high;
made it a
home in the
drifting clouds,
but the
rain came
all too soon;
and now
I fall to earth
soaked in my ignorance.
The lies have
lost their power,
leaving me to
face the truth.
My worst demons will
always haunt the
shadows of my
waking thoughts,
they will always
invade my dreams,
and I will
always fight the
longing for their
company.
It will never
be over
© Nathan A. Brock
Nov 29, 2024
Nov 29, 2024 at 10:54 AM UTC
I took my broken pain and
laid it in a cradle.
I hid it from the world
deep in the corners of my secluded dwelling -
Caressed it tenderly, and fed it
bite sized pieces of anger and
contempt.. until it
blossomed the most beautiful hatred
I had ever known
It stretched forth vines..
gnarled and twisted.. with
barbed thorns that
clung to my every limb..
enshrouding me in a deep and
comfortable nirvana .
How I hate how I love my hatred..
The only genuine gift
I can give freely.
© Nathan A. Brock
Nov 28, 2024
Nov 28, 2024 at 6:21 PM UTC