Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
skyblueandblack
skyblueandblack
a wanderer in search of a Muse.. / / http://skyblueandblack.com/ / http://about.me/skyblueandblack
What a fool Love makes of us... and oh, how we let it.
0
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 2:53 PM UTC
fools
| | |... I sit to write what is to be my first novel, and the cursor blinks at me. I stare at the white screen as it glares back, daring me to perform, daring me to begin, One strike against a key one letter one word.. a sentence perhaps,.. ... a paragraph or two... | | |... moments later the cursor persists determined from deep within the white canvas screen.. Taunting me Which of us is truly empty, it implies.. You or I?
0
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 7:26 PM UTC
empty.
It is not the pain, but the hope, that hurts‘, I insisted, thinking I was wise; as he plucked two twinkling stars from the sky and placed them in my eyes My head upon his shoulder lain he carried me to my resting hour, climbing the tresses of Ferdowsi’s Rudāba he freed me from the imprisoning tower ‘We’ve seen each other’s scars‘, he said our imperfections seem so perfect’ As I gaze into his fathomless eyes my heart, in soothing undulation, swept Carried away on an emerald ocean within the cadence of my wanting, ‘the deeper you dive, the less violent the waves‘, I immerse, the current no longer daunting First buds break through winter’s frost ushering the blessed re-birth of spring, his kiss, a flame, melts the ice in my soul re-awakening my heart to blossoming.
0
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 1:26 PM UTC
It is not the pain, but the hope, that hurts..
I miss him he was the poet in my poetry the leaves of my poet tree; and now this winter is so barren. ˜ I miss him like the flowers miss the springtime like the nightingale misses its song; and this silence is a deafening cacophony. ˜ I miss him and I long to hear the nightingale sing rather than recall it from memory.. before it becomes an unfamiliar fragrance in my garden. ˜ I miss him.
0
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 11:33 AM UTC
i long to hear the nightingale sing..
Time and time again life will prove to you how fragile and rare is Trust, and how valuable when found. It will prove to you that many people will disappoint you and hurt you; and how important it is to hold on to those that don’t; how important it is to hold on to those who can taste your tears through the kisses, and then kiss them away. It will reveal to you that there is nowhere to go to escape from heartache, that it will hurt deeper and stronger each time; even though, each time, you thought you had mastered the pain. But pain is not meant to be mastered — it is meant to conquer ‘you’, --- it is meant to reveal you. Life will manifest to you that heartbreak is a lesson we must learn, and that its only teachers are those we have loved. It will show you that sometimes it takes a smack in the face with a boulder to finally see things as they truly are; and we realize we can lie to ourselves for only so long. Life will prove to you that sadness is only one of two wings; and that we need both wings to fly. That at the end, and in the end, there is only God and you… …and that is sufficient.
0
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 12:37 AM UTC
Living Proof
I think I loved you most the winter your heating was broken And we’d stay inside all morning Pretending to complain that we couldn’t get out of bed Our clothes becoming little islands on the floor, Ones that we could not quite find the courage to visit Your hand stayed glued to my hip, Your breath warming my shoulder Like a long drag of whiskey That kind that had a home so far away, In a glass bottle on top of your refrigerator. The one that would not be opened Until that fateful day in February, When everything went wrong And on that unbearable night When you joked that you’d freeze to death if I left you There was a long silence Like it might be true. Now it’s warm enough That I show too much skin when sitting in bars And you avoid me like the plague, Whispering in any girl’s ear that’s near to you Every time you see me watching out of the corner of your eye We should have stayed inside when the ice began to melt Because I think When those doors opened and we finally ventured outside The world had changed, And so had you and I.
0
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 2:53 PM UTC
winter
A girl once wandered along a field of flowers, feet bare Carefree and unafraid of what she might encounter there She knew the thorns she removed from her staunch heart were the launching point, from the point of depart With the promises that come with the freedom of wings that portend magical Hope and other beautiful things. She stopped in the midst of flowers abounding held out her arms to soak in the sun’s rays astounding Her head raised high, her eyes serenely closed no more tranquil an image could have been posed. ♥ Soon thereafter, a feather from the heavens fell suddenly appearing, as if cast from a spell It gently danced and glided, sought out her hand as if searching for a place to land A feather of the most vibrant hues like the flowers; reds, yellows, greens and blues. No sooner had the feather ended its flight there followed a most ethereal sight . It was the most exquisite bird, and suddenly, something within the girl’s staunch heart stirred. ♥ On her outstretched hand, the bird gracefully landed, peered into her soul, her attention it commanded. Resplendent and fine, its feathers in all those dazzling hues like the flowers; reds, yellows, greens and blues. She could not help but caress those fine feathers, as she stood amidst the irises and the heathers. The bird sang a melody so sanguine and so sweet only briefly it lingered in sorrow, a song reminiscent of times long past, and a subtle promise of tomorrow. ♥ As the bird then moved to the palm of her hand its beauty, a stunning mesmerization; the awareness that it may soon fly away was a sudden and terrifying realization. She held it with care, grateful for each moment treasuring each offering like a gift from a lover Is your heart here to stay, she wanted to ask, or does it belong to another? You are not from this place, she thought to herself You belong in paradise, your heavenly abode Are you visiting, dear wanderer? Or lost, searching for home? Still pursuing a path along your designated road? How easy it would be to close that hand hold the exquisite bird there forever.. It would sing to her every day, A bond that would not sever. But love is not of a forced possession In her being, this she knew. That vibrant light would surely dim There would be no more vibrant hue ♥ And so she wandered on in the field of flowers, towards the blazing horizon of the dusking sky. The majestic bird perched upon her open hand as it sang the songs of days gone by. Fear remains, along with many thoughts awoken they set behind the fiery orange-crimson sun, they hide behind fragile promises spoken, and gold-gilded intentions begun. Twilight descends, infused with the disquiet dark brings accentuated by the stillness of night.. ‘but the morning brings strength to her restless wings*’ and Hope, emerges with the Light.
0
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 9:53 AM UTC
Wanderers In A Field of Flowers
A girl once wandered along a field of flowers, feet bare Carefree and unafraid of what she might encounter there She knew the thorns she removed from her staunch heart were the launching point, from the point of depart With the promises that come with the freedom of wings that portend magical Hope and other beautiful things. She stopped in the midst of flowers abounding held out her arms to soak in the sun’s rays astounding Her head raised high, her eyes serenely closed no more tranquil an image could have been posed. ♥ Soon thereafter, a feather from the heavens fell suddenly appearing, as if cast from a spell It gently danced and glided, sought out her hand as if searching for a place to land A feather of the most vibrant hues like the flowers; reds, yellows, greens and blues. No sooner had the feather ended its flight there followed a most ethereal sight . It was the most exquisite bird, and suddenly, something within the girl’s staunch heart stirred. ♥ On her outstretched hand, the bird gracefully landed, peered into her soul, her attention it commanded. Resplendent and fine, its feathers in all those dazzling hues like the flowers; reds, yellows, greens and blues. She could not help but caress those fine feathers, as she stood amidst the irises and the heathers. The bird sang a melody so sanguine and so sweet only briefly it lingered in sorrow, a song reminiscent of times long past, and a subtle promise of tomorrow. ♥ As the bird then moved to the palm of her hand its beauty, a stunning mesmerization; the awareness that it may soon fly away was a sudden and terrifying realization. She held it with care, grateful for each moment treasuring each offering like a gift from a lover Is your heart here to stay, she wanted to ask, or does it belong to another? You are not from this place, she thought to herself You belong in paradise, your heavenly abode Are you visiting, dear wanderer? Or lost, searching for home? Still pursuing a path along your designated road? How easy it would be to close that hand hold the exquisite bird there forever.. It would sing to her every day, A bond that would not sever. But love is not of a forced possession In her being, this she knew. That vibrant light would surely dim There would be no more vibrant hue ♥ And so she wandered on in the field of flowers, towards the blazing horizon of the dusking sky. The majestic bird perched upon her open hand as it sang the songs of days gone by. Fear remains, along with many thoughts awoken they set behind the fiery orange-crimson sun, they hide behind fragile promises spoken, and gold-gilded intentions begun. Twilight descends, infused with the disquiet dark brings accentuated by the stillness of night.. ‘but the morning brings strength to her restless wings*’ and Hope, emerges with the Light.
Continue reading...
67
Reluctant traveler on a dusty road on a path not of his choosing.. As he struggles with his load, he wonders what he is losing. Feet blistered from the harrowing walk face weathered from the sun his hands, they bleed his throat is parched, yet water does little for the need. He convinces himself it is for the best And accepts it in his mind. But his heart is hesitant to catch up to his head afraid there, of what it might find. Reluctant traveler on the choppy seas distance has not been smooth sailing.. His conflicted soul he tries to appease, and he wonders if he is failing. Steadily he moves, still looking back to the shore of the ocean inside his mind. Meanwhile, waiting at his horizon’s door, is what he had prayed to find. She waits for him inside his eyes so deep he cannot see her behind the lens where truth resides, she waits for him to free her. But on his boat he drifts along carried by the current’s roll, still looking back, he misses the beacon song from the lighthouse of her soul. And so she waits resting deep, deep within the ocean of his eyes. As off he drifts, drifts to sleep while the emerald currents reflect the skies. Their paths, though seemingly guided may never come parallel; And kismet conspired with the stars and collided but only time can tell…
0
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 10:31 AM UTC
Reluctant Traveler
we live and grow and breathe through scars ~ but heartache is not a metaphor..
0
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 10:59 AM UTC
metaphor