amorphous-scintilla - Hello Poetry

under the weight of the universe, a breath becomes a miracle against the law of nature, the pervasive cling of gravity on everything it touches. every bit of me is against the pull of the earth. my ribs heave. it satiates the hunger of my lungs for space, for its place. when I tire, and succumb to the force demonstrate that in my most serene - supine and asleep, I fought to live, for every breath is a miracle.

0

Mar 2, 2021

Mar 2, 2021 at 1:04 AM UTC

Lying

under the weight of the universe, a breath becomes a miracle against the law of nature, the pervasive cling of gravity on everything it touches. every bit of me is against the pull of the earth. my ribs heave. it satiates the hunger of my lungs for space, for its place. when I tire, and succumb to the force demonstrate that in my most serene - supine and asleep, I fought to live, for every breath is a miracle.

12

now, i can only grasp how it resonates. thunderous in chambers seeping into crevices to which light cracks.

0

Jun 7, 2020

Jun 7, 2020 at 2:51 AM UTC

...

now, i can only grasp how it resonates. thunderous in chambers seeping into crevices to which light cracks.

5

a feather, even if anger was a boulder i rather shoulder.

0

Feb 16, 2020

Feb 16, 2020 at 9:04 AM UTC

Forgiveness

a feather, even if anger was a boulder i rather shoulder.

3

is navigated by a steady ghost.

0

Dec 20, 2019

Dec 20, 2019 at 7:30 AM UTC

a misguided heart

is navigated by a steady ghost.

1

! ! ! Crocodile Crying In Neon Lights: A beacon of slippery slopes ! ! !

0

Dec 14, 2019

Dec 14, 2019 at 5:37 AM UTC

A T T E N T I O N

! ! ! Crocodile Crying In Neon Lights: A beacon of slippery slopes ! ! !

5

apple of the eye, red lip with a poisoned kiss, peonies for the dead.

0

Nov 22, 2019

Nov 22, 2019 at 6:21 AM UTC

what if true love’s kiss didn’t work?

apple of the eye, red lip with a poisoned kiss, peonies for the dead.

3

i am no object shattered, unlike paperweight i’m meant to cut deep.

0

Nov 22, 2019

Nov 22, 2019 at 6:17 AM UTC

"who broke you?"

i am no object shattered, unlike paperweight i’m meant to cut deep.

3

was a sticky mess dripping slowly down the broken walls of what we called home, and i the ever so buzy bee who hover to stare from a distance remain as my gut twists of hunger for the continued days of work: measuring the rooms that would strategically contain our— my, remaining efforts in keeping this symbiosis a force enough to drive through the blistering storms and past what you thought was the drought. but this, is the fallout where the flowers cease to bloom and the sun grows weary to shine on leftovers of what we called was home as honey drips ever so slowly into a painful mess to clean.

0

Nov 20, 2019

Nov 20, 2019 at 9:51 AM UTC

Honey

was a sticky mess dripping slowly down the broken walls of what we called home, and i the ever so buzy bee who hover to stare from a distance remain as my gut twists of hunger for the continued days of work: measuring the rooms that would strategically contain our— my, remaining efforts in keeping this symbiosis a force enough to drive through the blistering storms and past what you thought was the drought. but this, is the fallout where the flowers cease to bloom and the sun grows weary to shine on leftovers of what we called was home as honey drips ever so slowly into a painful mess to clean.

21

every time my phone dings that chime I set, our patterend steps have been evenly paced but sometimes i miss a few, just so our hands won’t graze — a metronome back and forth. though I’d still steal a glance from it: soft fingers on keys, light wrist on the right beat, slender palms fit in my sweater sleeve. wondering, how quickly it can thaw the frost in mine; and before my boiling belly boil over surrendering the mistletoe nose; how many are missing the same warmth I have yet to hold.

0

Nov 20, 2019

Nov 20, 2019 at 9:25 AM UTC

Marimba

every time my phone dings that chime I set, our patterend steps have been evenly paced but sometimes i miss a few, just so our hands won’t graze — a metronome back and forth. though I’d still steal a glance from it: soft fingers on keys, light wrist on the right beat, slender palms fit in my sweater sleeve. wondering, how quickly it can thaw the frost in mine; and before my boiling belly boil over surrendering the mistletoe nose; how many are missing the same warmth I have yet to hold.

23

Do little birds hesitate, to jump from nests perched like cliffs? Do little birds pray, to ricochet from the ground towards the clouds? Or, do little birds learn, to flap feeble wings; a desperate plight to survive?

0

Aug 15, 2019

Aug 15, 2019 at 9:28 AM UTC

nesting grounds

Do little birds hesitate, to jump from nests perched like cliffs? Do little birds pray, to ricochet from the ground towards the clouds? Or, do little birds learn, to flap feeble wings; a desperate plight to survive?

15