robin-goodfellowmj - Hello Poetry

Sleeping flowers fall past soft leaves, the morning light greeting velvet dew.

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Jun 9, 2017

Jun 9, 2017 at 9:49 AM UTC

44

Sleeping flowers fall past soft leaves, the morning light greeting velvet dew.

3

Nymphs grace the woodlands, silver flutes in hand, the moon within lonely skies.

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Jun 2, 2017

Jun 2, 2017 at 12:33 PM UTC

43

Nymphs grace the woodlands, silver flutes in hand, the moon within lonely skies.

3

Is there a reason for prayers? Scared beyond the deepest depths of sanity, while clinging to thoughts known as despair. Laughter dissolves into mayhem, the chaos tamed to a dull glow within a hearth of memories, as if the madness had hesitated to even touch them, touch you, and everyone that had ever appeared before you. Happily, sorrowfully, singing to children, losing themselves to harsh innocence adults, relishing within the corruption of twilight lovers, betrayed through truth and fluttery vows families, lusting after loneliness of an empty hearth friends, crying upon cliffs of nostalgia enemies, silently stitching hollow smiles allies, violently tugging at their skulls strangers, anchoring to drowning seas. So tell me, my weary fellow, who’s seen flowers wither and grow, who’s scandals blissful maidens know, who’s loveless acts saints still sow, who’s playing kings, both high and low, who’s wandered fairytales, to and fro, with a heavy, burdened soul in tow, Will you search for the right spell, mend the words, with only Death to tell, while listening to bells of time knell, upon the sake of my sinful wishing well?

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May 30, 2017

May 30, 2017 at 8:52 AM UTC

Wishing Well

Is there a reason for prayers? Scared beyond the deepest depths of sanity, while clinging to thoughts known as despair. Laughter dissolves into mayhem, the chaos tamed to a dull glow within a hearth of memories, as if the madness had hesitated to even touch them, touch you, and everyone that had ever appeared before you. Happily, sorrowfully, singing to children, losing themselves to harsh innocence adults, relishing within the corruption of twilight lovers, betrayed through truth and fluttery vows families, lusting after loneliness of an empty hearth friends, crying upon cliffs of nostalgia enemies, silently stitching hollow smiles allies, violently tugging at their skulls strangers, anchoring to drowning seas. So tell me, my weary fellow, who’s seen flowers wither and grow, who’s scandals blissful maidens know, who’s loveless acts saints still sow, who’s playing kings, both high and low, who’s wandered fairytales, to and fro, with a heavy, burdened soul in tow, Will you search for the right spell, mend the words, with only Death to tell, while listening to bells of time knell, upon the sake of my sinful wishing well?

49

I don’t know when it started. I don’t know when it ended. It began when they started shooting. It began when they started rioting. We ran for cover under bullet fire and fear. We listened to our screams as mobs sneered and jeered. Terror captivated us when they slammed us to the ground. Horror gripped us when they became bloodthirsty hounds. Familiar slurs echoed through our hearts and minds. They kept throwing punches, blurring our moral lines. Helpless when they smiled their cruel smiles. Helpless to preserve the peace for a while. Beaten down by the ones who were supposed to protect us. Beaten down by the ones we were supposed to protect. Then they started shooting again. Then they started shooting again. We have to protect ourselves, to fight for what’s right. We have to protect ourselves, to fight for what’s right. Give into our righteous sins. Embrace primitive instincts from within. Turn ourselves into demons. And pretend we weren’t heathens. We can’t afford to listen. Or watch fallen tears glisten. Sing to our loved ones a song of pain. Weigh our hearts for those we’ve slain. Hope for the days when we can love each other again. But for now, we need to pray for the freedoms we still defend.

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Mar 15, 2017

Mar 15, 2017 at 4:17 PM UTC

Lyrics to a Forgotten Lullaby

I don’t know when it started. I don’t know when it ended. It began when they started shooting. It began when they started rioting. We ran for cover under bullet fire and fear. We listened to our screams as mobs sneered and jeered. Terror captivated us when they slammed us to the ground. Horror gripped us when they became bloodthirsty hounds. Familiar slurs echoed through our hearts and minds. They kept throwing punches, blurring our moral lines. Helpless when they smiled their cruel smiles. Helpless to preserve the peace for a while. Beaten down by the ones who were supposed to protect us. Beaten down by the ones we were supposed to protect. Then they started shooting again. Then they started shooting again. We have to protect ourselves, to fight for what’s right. We have to protect ourselves, to fight for what’s right. Give into our righteous sins. Embrace primitive instincts from within. Turn ourselves into demons. And pretend we weren’t heathens. We can’t afford to listen. Or watch fallen tears glisten. Sing to our loved ones a song of pain. Weigh our hearts for those we’ve slain. Hope for the days when we can love each other again. But for now, we need to pray for the freedoms we still defend.

28

What is the magic the aristocracy was entitled to rule over us? Binding us to society and the rules of the unknown and the unimportant, the weak and the lost only allowed to suffer. What is the magic where the thieves and fools fight for bloodless gold? Lulling my darkest silence to slumber, lest the compassion shatter like glass slippers that slay soft flesh. What is the magic of those forgotten words of corrupt innocence? Where birds were birds, monsters were monsters, the notion of humanity slipping away from my happy beginning. What is the magic that forces me to lust over every failed perfection? Prayers unspoken and thoughts from promises I’ve only begun to remember. But we can never go back to those times so long before. I can only hope that you’d come quietly in through that chained door.

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Feb 20, 2017

Feb 20, 2017 at 7:46 AM UTC

My Stepmother's Peace

What is the magic the aristocracy was entitled to rule over us? Binding us to society and the rules of the unknown and the unimportant, the weak and the lost only allowed to suffer. What is the magic where the thieves and fools fight for bloodless gold? Lulling my darkest silence to slumber, lest the compassion shatter like glass slippers that slay soft flesh. What is the magic of those forgotten words of corrupt innocence? Where birds were birds, monsters were monsters, the notion of humanity slipping away from my happy beginning. What is the magic that forces me to lust over every failed perfection? Prayers unspoken and thoughts from promises I’ve only begun to remember. But we can never go back to those times so long before. I can only hope that you’d come quietly in through that chained door.

35

A tiny boy races through a village, with fragile arms carrying books, papers, maybe a pencil or two. He's hugging the world with bright eyes, while stumbling through the morning light, traveling aimlessly in a field of ash. Never looking down at animals' hopeless faces, flesh blown away by the bombs of freedom, the scorching heat smearing morality, changing what should be, what shouldn't be. But here he is still, his shadow in the haunts from forgotten tears no older than I.

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Feb 16, 2017

Feb 16, 2017 at 2:57 PM UTC

Shadow

A tiny boy races through a village, with fragile arms carrying books, papers, maybe a pencil or two. He's hugging the world with bright eyes, while stumbling through the morning light, traveling aimlessly in a field of ash. Never looking down at animals' hopeless faces, flesh blown away by the bombs of freedom, the scorching heat smearing morality, changing what should be, what shouldn't be. But here he is still, his shadow in the haunts from forgotten tears no older than I.

16

You look up with those big eyes of yours, while talking about the things you once loved while hiding promises you’ve recklessly made to others. Then secrets spill into your heart. And with a mischievous gleam in your smile, you list the ways you’ll conquer the world, all with the eloquence of a child. But you still cling to everything and nothing, as if you’ve lived for a very long time.

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Feb 1, 2017

Feb 1, 2017 at 8:46 AM UTC

Silent Dissonance

You look up with those big eyes of yours, while talking about the things you once loved while hiding promises you’ve recklessly made to others. Then secrets spill into your heart. And with a mischievous gleam in your smile, you list the ways you’ll conquer the world, all with the eloquence of a child. But you still cling to everything and nothing, as if you’ve lived for a very long time.

18

Through your white nightmares and your lover's looking glass; sighs from reflections

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Jan 18, 2017

Jan 18, 2017 at 8:36 AM UTC

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