elizabeth-ann
American
The poetry I write isn't always from my point of view. It's often taken from the view of another because in my free time I will fantasize what it may be like walking in the over-grown shoes of another. / / It keeps me in good perspective. / / Also, I have a Tumblr now! Find me there: / elizabethannpoetry.tumblr.com
Memories of orange afternoon sun
Burning gold rays into mist
Such a sight of beauty beheld
Guns and bombs are hardly missed
There is such a gas that burns the lungs
My ears heard months before
But my body believed not in such hate
Before the burns of war
The roar of engines soared from above
A cry of warning before the storm
I had hardly a moment to breathe
The walls of my trench move, deform
Never before has my imagination torn
The edges of evils like these
And never before could I imagine death
Be carried on such a breeze
The moment I saw the hazy air
I jumped to my feet in shock
And out I surged from my home of mud
Choking, I could not walk
A man knows not panic
Until he cannot breathe
As a man cannot know war
Until bullets he lays underneath
To this day I remain unsure
If it was tears of poison or pain I wept
But I laid and watched my men retreat
In the moments before I slept
Memories of orange afternoon sun
Burning gold rays into mist
Such a sight of beauty beheld
Guns and bombs are hardly missed
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 7:19 PM UTC
"Your eyes look empty"
I thought to myself
I know the look well
I've worn it myself
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 7:25 PM UTC
Ambien is a drug
A pill which makes you sleep
And all I can say
Is that it's very reassuring
That I will sleep tonight
Even if it means
That I cannot dream
Because who needs night dreams
When you have day thoughts
Like mine
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 11:33 PM UTC
Some days
I am the cactus
On the windowsill
Sitting stiff
Ready for a fight
But all that I really want
Is some sunshine
And a friend
To share my day with
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 6:50 PM UTC
It's hard to write poetry
When your mind stops
Tracing the words
Of your day dreams
And your heart starts
Pumping the emotion
Of night thoughts
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 6:44 PM UTC
Promise me
That you will not
Make empty promises
Promises
Without meaning
Or sincerity
Because
I don't know
If I can handle
Another
Broken heart
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 11:04 PM UTC
The butterflies dance in my thoughts
Braiding my mysteries along
With the frost in the air
Hoping that you might be just fine
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 10:58 PM UTC
My chest is a cage
Constricting
Concealing
Holding back
And keeping away
A place where I hide
From my deepest of fears
But this prison
Is where my fears are held
Tucked away
In a
Not-so-safe hiding place
Because it is all too easy
For me to reach inside
And ponder them
Until they
Grow
Expand
Metastasize
To the point where they consume
My chest
My shoulders
My arms
My fingers
Through my legs
Into my toes
Until these fears finally fall
Down
Down
Down
Into the pit of my stomach
Where they stay
Until in the dark of the morning
When I can finally throw them out
Through way of mouth
In fits of
Coughs
and
Words
Of the unflowered kind
Because what I am spitting out
Is of the unflowered kind
And yet there are survivors
Who dangle
And play
Amongst my heartstrings
And the air in my chest
Until another
Bad Day
When they can consume my head
And constrict my chest
With the overbearing weight
Of
Everything
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 12:45 AM UTC
Fingers dance
And crickets hum
Stars twinkle bright
As thumbs strum along
You sit with me
And we sing a song
Summer at last
Has finally come
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 12:28 AM UTC
I wanted to write a poem
But sat outside and watched
The leafs grow
And the children swing
And the flowers dance
Instead
I wanted to write a poem
But read a book
And thought about adventures
And hoped for one myself
Instead
I wanted to write a poem
But called up a friend
And told a joke
And made them laugh aloud
Instead
I wanted to write a poem
But listened to music
And the sound of your voice
And the house settling at night
Instead
I wanted to write a poem
But always find myself
Doing other things
Instead
But if you think about it
It's kind of like writing a poem
Anyways
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 12:26 AM UTC