coryemorrell
American
Poet, General Author / / Ever since a young age, I have been enthralled with creating stories filled with mystic wonder, a sense of adventure, and a broad spectrum of emotions. I soon discovered in my growth that poetry could hold all of those things as well. Writing is a vivid expression of your own soul, and words are just works of art waiting to take form. / / Born in South Carolina, Cory Morrell fully knows well what it means to be a Southerner. However, Morrell has also traveled to different areas of the country due to his parents' work and has experienced various aspects of life in America.
the light streams through glass shards
held
together by stone-pressed force
columns of light refract onto the hard
and cold wooden floor
dust particles, suspended in free fall, dance as the light
shimmers on their skin
gleaming like small glints of silver
the dust fades into the
Air;
transcendent, Gone.
Aug 4, 2015
Aug 4, 2015 at 6:53 PM UTC
The Time has come for Sacrifice.
High and wasted on the night's fumes,
The ****** gives her heart,
letting it bleed.
Drip.
Drop.
Silence.
Now, she lies there, sleep deprived,
the Early Morning Sunlight
streaming through
the cracked window panes.
The broken heart makes no more
signs
of
Life:
NUMB.
Crushed and Ground into stained red dust
by the pressure of
welling tears.
Her eyes, open, seem VACANT;
once shining bright and dark
are
now Dull.
The sheets of the bed
spread out
in Waves
and
Ripples
beneath her,
disturbed.
Aug 4, 2015
Aug 4, 2015 at 6:38 PM UTC
the tortured ones are those who cannot sleep.
Their brains filled with words
which ceaselessly whirl
like drafts of a breeze
dancing through the fallen
leaves of autumn.
lamp posts beside windows serve
as a reminder that dawn approaches;
a subdued, yet piercing, orange light
envelopes everything it touches.
Perhaps the secret lies with the eyes.
Does darkness cure the tortured soul?
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 3:10 AM UTC
I had a feeling.
And so far it proves true.
Ever since the time you said
you didn't want to live together next year,
I knew
you had had your fill of me.
A nuisance and delusional twit;
I would abandon me too
if I weren't so attached physically.
My heart,
shattered, strewn across the fresh carpeted floor;
I desperately swept the shards into my hands.
Plucking the larger pieces,
I manipulated them as though working
a jigsaw puzzle.
I cringed and the
tears
began
to
drop,
like the bass flowing from your headphones.
The pieces fell from my fingertips;
I realized the effort equates to
a person's ability to repair a broken mirror.
I,
however,
refuse to discard the shards
into the nearby waste bin.
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 8:03 PM UTC
A state of emotional purgatory;
unable to flee to paradise,
yet still away from the Scathing Flames
of the Inferno.
Love, broken, lies in pieces
beneath the cage that is a Heart.
The bars pulse with a thumping rhythm;
they too transforming into
Fragile Things,
easily shattered by words unspoken.
Fleeting and Cursory glances.
a nervous flutter of eyelashes.
Things that exist within the
gray landscape of
purgatory.
Silently, like an assassin, resolution
evades those who give chase,
and paradise remains Locked behind
a gate.
Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 9:17 PM UTC
flood the cement With speakers
Rally a million generations;
information is becoming
obsolete,
Instead of necessity.
provide and define the Costs.
it is worth it.
Spread the word.
Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 8:54 PM UTC
No one paying attention,
especially the colorful leaders.
I, the man who Unites the
nothing.
I am among many with
common origins,
rewritten to focus
interest
on Stardom
Criticism and
Image.
Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 8:53 PM UTC
Gaunt cheeks, solemn eyes.
Wizened, gray wisps hang from head,
perhaps I am already dead.
My face, like death in the night,
frightens all with sight.
Why does this corpse contain motion?
It has no purpose, not a single notion.
Terror breathing, emotion seething.
Tell me what to do
when age creeps through.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 12:25 PM UTC
The class impatiently waited for the bell to ring,
second after second.
The clock still ticking, taunting them.
Will this class period ever end?
The boys tap their pencils on their desks or kick the floor,
the girls check their makeup or nails.
The bell rang!
They all stirred from a deep slumber in the hardened beds,
and rose from their seats,
yet only to return to another one once more.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 12:21 PM UTC
A crescent reflection of pure light
shines above in black velvet.
Miniscule stars dance with it,
enthralled with mystic mirth.
One little star, tired from the excitement,
decides to rest; its path glows behind it.
Quickly, hurriedly, it streaks
through dark fields, transcends
over tall mountains, rushes along
cold, winding rivers.
Suddenly it stops, cradled by earth;
Its final respite.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 12:16 PM UTC