Most days don’t end with less energy;
Half meant for gathering, collecting vague trifled tasks, or conclusive unwinding.
Henceforth; this day will be on such a category, different from exclaimed, for the time being.
As I have bogged my head down chiefly; I hesitate.
Coasting on a poor diet and alcohol, the air felt layered, entwined with a mild cold.
Only passing when the breakage through season sickened branches grant be.
So forwardly put that they could do a better job. I’ve stood long enough.
Locking my fingers taunt together to reassure them with warmth.
The pacing motion began at once; Not that this was intentional.
Although, my blood provided the temporary motivation to continue on.
Now walking away came to mind.
Past all the Nightfolk that watch their windows; waiting for streetlamps to show curfew.
Not for a person such as myself to worry upon now. So I press home.
Maybe with less energy, but at least another daunting stress done.
This day had been gracious with its hours alive.
Nov 20, 2019
Nov 20, 2019 at 3:13 PM UTC
Magic is that
When water turns to glass
It goes by a name called Ice
It shifts and it cracks
With winds no laxed
From the cold which is outside
But when the sun comes
Its puddle within
Begins its movement inside
For no colder days
Could plague the sky
That could keep the puddle Ice
Stick and leaves
In frozen seas
Suspended weightless for a time
But pressure from the sun
And nature stuns
Its levitation mirrors a crime
Snaking like a valley
It dissolves so grieffully
And will never be a solid no more
Until next year
Someone may steer
Upon it
And see Ice like never before
Mar 19, 2019
Mar 19, 2019 at 11:01 AM UTC
In light their feet
always comes against morning
They rise
having bed peacefully
though only nearing evening
She will spin hope with dance
And
His shape believes exuberant sleep
is his favorite
Charm sizzles all the room
smoother than polished
gloss paint
Enjoying the fresh warm drink
with good music
They laugh broad
aware of delicate pride
Like the world
it can be
Jan 23, 2019
Jan 23, 2019 at 11:39 PM UTC
Sad of wood
We step the Many
Seen of people so
Forgotten stop of Few
But the magic that shows
We as people
Never get to see
Such light of plenty
From a height so pure
From a height so sound
I as a story
And I as spoken
Person of steps and miles
Can’t take an hour
Or moment to long
Foreseen by Few
But left by Many
A table or chair
With word to share
So simple a connection
To the Many
Many, Few, Many, Few
The numbers unseen
Or ones we can
We value such
For we as people
Can’t see the Many
But cherish the
Few we experience
Nov 19, 2017
Nov 19, 2017 at 10:52 PM UTC
I can stick a gun in my mouth and it will jam. I can cut myself and miss. If I set myself on fire; it will rain to put me out. I can work up an appetite and not eat. If I stick my face to the wind; I won’t burn my skin. The world spins and I stay still. I can hear bombs from miles and crush rocks to sand. Give life to what is dead. I can move a hill to mountains’ domain and they won’t argue. I can throw the world into chaos and be praised. When I sit long enough; it is art. A mind can be set for this outcome. A person can image great future and greed. We have this power to march for one. We have this power to march for all. An unmovable object walks into a room. Does the room move with it? Or does it still stay? An unstoppable object steps on dry land. Does it crack? Or does it stay together? We are not malleable for a reason. But we can be broken with such few spaces. Such small and uneasy movements from across the world. It can be miles; but next to us. It’s impossible to march if no one knows how to dance. To waltz into trouble is easier than a solution’s dream. It is elegant and depressing as the same. We can compare scars but stay clothed and masked for others. We sometimes don’t miss when we cut. Sometimes the gun goes off. When a fire burns; it won’t be put out quick enough. This is real. This is life. But words mean more. Word mean more than actions because words are forever. A page can be lost and found. Paper can be cut and burned. But it’s still there in the mind of the writer. It’s still there in the mind of the poet. We as humans have the ability to move the hills. Move the world. But we care to not join. We, as many others, keep straight. We fall into the lines given ease. Giving the ease a way into the mindset of strength. Too much hate. Too much greed. Too much misunderstood points and confusion. We want to identify as something else to make us special. We want to be different than the person better than us. We worry about who said this and what they had done today. We look at horrifying things all day and change a picture to match it. We are numb. We are ignorant. We are invincible. And that’s sad.
Nov 6, 2017
Nov 6, 2017 at 10:55 AM UTC
Sadly, I am null. I can see nothing but forest. Dense and thick as shadows in midnight lights. Can I still see them for what they are? What purpose do I, as a simple body, take from such feeling? I haven’t missed a beat. Never off of scale or rhythm long enough to catch the tempo. This is the feeling I can muster up after half a day. Like cream isn’t sweet enough for strong coffee. Or the rain doesn’t fall hard enough to break the ground. A mind can only hold a candle to the objects that surround it. But what prime can I count to that will get me closer. May I be able to count that high? Can someone such as me count on the speed of time to solve problems for me? This is only a simple thought or play in my book. I can sit for hours and count how many evil intentions I have passed. Every single human being cannot and will not comply. I think this is why we see evil as such. A good person can say a good person. But I don’t see this as solid as the sentence. A bad person can still be bad after a good thing. But a good person is holding true to good even after a bad thing? What bad measures does a good person have to do to be bad? What questions press against my forehead like rocks and soft sand. The amount of time I have placed on this plain can weight a mountain’s ton. We as people cannot feel a ton though. No human can lift it or experience the difficulty. So how do we know what it is? It is just a word and a number measuring what we as people cannot achieve. Sadly, this too is something a ponder about as I press on a mental quest. I sat in a chair long enough that my knees decided it was time to weaken. I have had this feeling before, but not with a good outcome. I begin to walk around the room as normal. No purpose of course, just as some track around the fake wooden furniture. I skim my hands across water swollen surfaces from missing costars and melted ice in glasses. I have to side step to get around stools and piles of sand from beach trips and communal drinking fits. I have had friends over of course, but none stayed too long so see this of me. I may not look like the type to keep a secret or thought to myself. I am more open the usual as of right now. I can chip away at a keyboard or book. I can perform mindless tasks better than the rest of the world. I can blend into the surface long enough to take a life-time of conversations in an hour’s time. I can walk outside and feel wind before it comes. When rain falls, my eyes begin to water at drops that weren’t from water. I think we as people haven’t understood each other enough. Maybe it’s a people thing to be so ignorant to this fact.
Nov 1, 2017
Nov 1, 2017 at 11:07 AM UTC