nathaniel-munson
Maybe the reason, I let my eyes wander the sky, is because I’m searching for a glimpse of the divine. Maybe I stand outside, and stare at the sky, even when the sun goes down, because I want to see a God who loves me...Maybe the reason I stare into the clouds, is because I’m waiting for a chance to see God, whoever he may be.
They tell me I'll be fine all by myself,
But I sit here waiting to talk to you, My Love.
It's strange how we try to be so strong,
yet we all need a shoulder to cry on.
I was lost in a sea of self-loathing
and it was there you saved me.
A train whistles through the cool, still air.
Not much longer will we be left in this moment.
I pray you know I admire you, Baby.
I hope you know my love for you knows no limit.
I wander under these storm clouds,
wishing it would just rain love on me; on we.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 5:18 AM UTC
Let me provoke you.
Let me stir you.
Let me make,
That chair you are sitting in,
Not as comfortable,
As it was a second ago.
Move with your words.
Write your heart.
Get mad once in a while.
Feel love once in a while.
Witness beauty once in a while.
Feel disgusted once in a while.
Let Me provoke you.
Let me stir you.
I want to make you cringe!
I want to make you move!
Write!
Write!
Write like Shakespeare,
But curse like Dangerfield.
Provoke Me!
I want to feel your grit,
your emotion,
your constant devotion.
Write.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 5:09 AM UTC
The Shadows dance about me;
Taunting me;
Consuming me.
They torment my every breath.
They contort and conform with my every move.
Following me everywhere I go,
haunting my troubled soul—
Except at Noon.
The Shadows dance about me,
and I do not know where to go,
nor where to hide.
so time I’ll just bide,
until it comes time to die,
and the Shadows will follow me,
no more,
no longer,
the Shadows dance about me.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 5:05 AM UTC
I’m Standing,
Proud.
Let these,
Words,
Fall on you.
My lips,
Are strong.
Let them,
Smother you.
This Hate,
Decays.
Let my love,
Devour you.
Spoil you.
Let these arms,
Consume you.
Embrace you.
Gently,
Carry you.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 5:04 AM UTC
I want to feel that again.
I want that desire to intertwine words;
To create meaning from spontaneous emotion.
I want to express my love again.
I just want her to hear my heart.
I crave the inspiration.
I want to feast on the words I used to know.
I miss my insomnia;
I miss those nights when it was just me
and those words
exploring the deepest depths of my mind.
I miss the music coursing through my ears,
as I sought to explain the image
of a cloud I had fallen in love with that day.
I miss it.
I wouldn't have it any other way.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 4:57 AM UTC
Crisp is the sea-bound breeze,
as I sit here on the banks
of lovely Queen Lake.
I can’t begin to fathom,
the journey this wind has,
traveled.
The countries it has seen.
The smells that it has breathed.
The tastes it has gorged on,
Oh!
How I envy the wind.
A boat sails by,
and two jet skis race around it.
Their wake is generous,
and the waves tumble o’er each other,
as I sit here and wonder,
where the red leaves fly,
when they die,
here in Boston.
No.
No.
Don’t push them away,
for they need to hear this too;
all living things,
come,
and go,
before we even know what’s around us.
I watch the dogs splash on the shore,
as the old church bells sing,
in Philipston;
how can this be the land of war,
and revolution,
when it’s plagued with beauty and peace?
I lift my eyes to the trees above me,
and watch the leaves fall,
floating in a wind that I cannot see.
I believe that I too,
while sitting here on this bank,
am meant to fade away,
with the breeze.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 4:27 AM UTC
the beets are looped in grass,
the squash is on our plate,
the river runs so smooth,
while the rapids take their break.
the trees begin to sway,
at the slightest hint rain,
but there’s nothing we can do,
there’s nothing we can say.
my toes begin to curl,
when the fan is turned on high,
your heart begins to race,
when the bullets hit your thigh.
the sauerkraut,
and carrot sticks,
are never done on time,
leaving us the thoughts,
of a dream world gone awry.
there’s nothing I have heard you say,
that will take away the pain,
there’s nothing you have done,
to close this little gate.
my trust is so gullible,
to the sound of open arms,
your deception was the pawn,
that swept this poor king’s heart.
forced upon my knees,
with a trademark on my arm.
there has got to be a way,
to remove this purple yarn.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 4:24 AM UTC
Render Your Salutes,
And say your prayers.
The night will come and go.
Follow me from this misery,
to the land of immortality.
Where you will shine,
like the brightest of stars,
and I will be,
your shadowing moon.
Take a glimpse of the Earth,
As we slowly fade into,
The Universe.
My hand will guide you,
while my love confides in you.
Together we will see,
the sunrise on Mercury,
or spend our days,
wandering the Milky Way.
I will take charge,
of controlling the march,
of this absently ambling asteroid.
And you will be,
the courageous Queen,
of this cleverly considerate comet.
Hold my hand,
and maybe we can see,
this awesome galaxy,
from where Pluto and Neptune,
watch the constellations congregate.
I want to be your shadowing moon,
if you will be my shining star.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 4:20 AM UTC
I was writing you a letter
a letter with my confession
My confession
of unruly decision
but then my hand froze
and my body trembled
and my neck
twisted
Left,
Right,
Left,
Right,
Left,
Right,
****
My body collapsed to the floor
like the Titanic capsized
in that frozen ocean;
like the Lusitania was drowned
by the torpedo’s bite.
There I lie
staring into nothing
because nothing stares at me.
and there I let my mind creep
into the vast expanse of death
where the demons claw away
but I can only speak when I bleed.
Mutilated I hang
waiting for the moment
when I am pulled from this hellish nightmare;
the moment when I take refuge
in the sweat-soaked bed sheets
that surround me.
Yet,
That moment never comes.
I continue to hang,
speaking when I bleed.
The tree holds me,
while I reap the consequences,
of my foolish escape.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 4:17 AM UTC
An average guy,
Twenty-two years old,
Whose life is just a picture show.
Cliché acting
And Predictable drama,
This boy’s life
Is a rewound product.
Slave by trade;
Free Spirit by desire.
He holds his head high,
In search of his destiny.
Yet, deep down,
He’s just a common typist
Who spills his emotions
On the page of Sadness.
Good God!
Won’t somebody save him!
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 4:05 AM UTC