richie-snowden-leak - Hello Poetry

I I see everyday of my life spread Before me like an orchard in bloom. Each branch of tree, every bush and leaf, A memory for me to consume. In summer, when fruit is rich, I tread the path for fruit to pick, Indulging in the springful life: The ripened fruit bringing delight. But with each bite I enjoy Something is destroyed. Soon the spoils will reach their end. II I feel her touch, Hands soft from love, Stroking me, Providing ease, Like sliding through Horizon’s stretch— To a place where we Would meet again. But these moments fade In solstice’s blaze, Where the summers past are lost. Flowers wilt, their colours dampen, Trees break on the orchard path. What remains from winter’s wrath, Where one has used so much land? III The sodden marsh engulfs. The land itself falls. The somme-like pit pulls Into its hefty haul. But past the glint of glossy eyes, Lies a world where seeds survive. We fail to see past lives once lead, The growth thickening within our heads: The weeds unkempt, vines in droves, The bushes tangled with roses, broke, So concerned for orchards gone; We never made another one. ‘Cause the trees will grow in due time. The fruit will ripen with more life. An Eden will grow to replace An age, to show, that we can change.

0

Oct 21, 2018

Oct 21, 2018 at 5:31 PM UTC

richie-snowden-leak

Orchard in Spring

I I see everyday of my life spread Before me like an orchard in bloom. Each branch of tree, every bush and leaf, A memory for me to consume. In summer, when fruit is rich, I tread the path for fruit to pick, Indulging in the springful life: The ripened fruit bringing delight. But with each bite I enjoy Something is destroyed. Soon the spoils will reach their end. II I feel her touch, Hands soft from love, Stroking me, Providing ease, Like sliding through Horizon’s stretch— To a place where we Would meet again. But these moments fade In solstice’s blaze, Where the summers past are lost. Flowers wilt, their colours dampen, Trees break on the orchard path. What remains from winter’s wrath, Where one has used so much land? III The sodden marsh engulfs. The land itself falls. The somme-like pit pulls Into its hefty haul. But past the glint of glossy eyes, Lies a world where seeds survive. We fail to see past lives once lead, The growth thickening within our heads: The weeds unkempt, vines in droves, The bushes tangled with roses, broke, So concerned for orchards gone; We never made another one. ‘Cause the trees will grow in due time. The fruit will ripen with more life. An Eden will grow to replace An age, to show, that we can change.

46

The room's misted, I can hear voices I think; shrouded cries and muffled screams. But the smog consumes us all. I hear my name in the distance, disembodied and murky like they try to reach me through their sick seances. They all melt into one loud trill. There's only moments left but as I walk this invented distance, I feel a pull; magnetic almost, away from the oppressive subterranean smoke. There! A light that shines, and the ringing ever clearer now, so loud and harsh like a sick child's scream; perennial and pained. The veil of mist billows out as I step on the ledge; and the blackest of skies invites me, along with the winks of dying stars. The incessant noises and chaos and distraction evanesce, as the asphalt below beckons; blinking lights and enticing winds either predict or force my hand. With one lapse in thought; my foot slips and all there is to think is calm. I let the stream of air take me and consume me.

0

Dec 14, 2016

Dec 14, 2016 at 2:49 PM UTC

richie-snowden-leak

illness

The room's misted, I can hear voices I think; shrouded cries and muffled screams. But the smog consumes us all. I hear my name in the distance, disembodied and murky like they try to reach me through their sick seances. They all melt into one loud trill. There's only moments left but as I walk this invented distance, I feel a pull; magnetic almost, away from the oppressive subterranean smoke. There! A light that shines, and the ringing ever clearer now, so loud and harsh like a sick child's scream; perennial and pained. The veil of mist billows out as I step on the ledge; and the blackest of skies invites me, along with the winks of dying stars. The incessant noises and chaos and distraction evanesce, as the asphalt below beckons; blinking lights and enticing winds either predict or force my hand. With one lapse in thought; my foot slips and all there is to think is calm. I let the stream of air take me and consume me.

28

A husk, a shadow, a memory now weak. A place to avoid, a number to delete. A face to forget, a life given up. A name to erase, etched into your skull. A myriad of hopes to remember as dreams. A time spent alone to weaken the seams. A reason to drink. A reason to cry. A reason to laugh. A reason to lie. A past to detest, a loss to accept. A reason to bruise to soften the truth. An excuse to abuse; a home to lose.

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Oct 6, 2016

Oct 6, 2016 at 3:59 PM UTC

richie-snowden-leak

Loss

A husk, a shadow, a memory now weak. A place to avoid, a number to delete. A face to forget, a life given up. A name to erase, etched into your skull. A myriad of hopes to remember as dreams. A time spent alone to weaken the seams. A reason to drink. A reason to cry. A reason to laugh. A reason to lie. A past to detest, a loss to accept. A reason to bruise to soften the truth. An excuse to abuse; a home to lose.

22

O, the dreams I have. The whispers and promises that skies give to us; but all it can deliver Is cold boring rain

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Sep 23, 2016

Sep 23, 2016 at 1:41 AM UTC

richie-snowden-leak

Equivocator

O, the dreams I have. The whispers and promises that skies give to us; but all it can deliver Is cold boring rain

5

every tear drop, all the cold empty mornings; a moment with you

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Sep 21, 2016

Sep 21, 2016 at 2:33 PM UTC

richie-snowden-leak

Recall

every tear drop, all the cold empty mornings; a moment with you

3

I know that the grass is green and sun red, but sometimes yellow like dandelions, and the earth is brown just like trunks of trees. I know the skies are painted in blues that eventually fade into mauve, at some point coalescing into the seas and limpid waters of sun-kissed beaches, where strange exotic fruits would entice with violets and amaranths redolent of a night on some far island, stood beneath the stars whilst they shine white like... a million ways out. Each one a brush, showing me the palette. But everything just looks grey and dark and black.

0

Sep 21, 2016

Sep 21, 2016 at 1:06 PM UTC

richie-snowden-leak

Colourblind

I know that the grass is green and sun red, but sometimes yellow like dandelions, and the earth is brown just like trunks of trees. I know the skies are painted in blues that eventually fade into mauve, at some point coalescing into the seas and limpid waters of sun-kissed beaches, where strange exotic fruits would entice with violets and amaranths redolent of a night on some far island, stood beneath the stars whilst they shine white like... a million ways out. Each one a brush, showing me the palette. But everything just looks grey and dark and black.

25