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These little monsters
Follow me around.
I need to run,
Outrun them now.

They run miles,
But never slow down.
Living in my head
Until I am dead.

Shall they follow me
To the grave?
Six feet under,
But there they lay.

Would they
Still have life,
If I am to die?
Would they still speak whispers
Into my mind?

For they are infested
Into mine.

But what am I thinking?
My enemy is me.
I am unkind to myself,
Left my senses to flee.

They are just a small
Depiction of myself.

For I am not them,
Nor anyone else.
 Nov 2023 CyprianVanDyke
lyka
I sold my soul to poetry
And never looked back
But now every relationship
Is a writing prompt
Every trauma, a metaphor
Do you have a secret
that’s never been told
Deeply within you
like long buried gold

Do you keep your own counsel
for no one to hear
While staying intrepid
admonishing fear

Do you treasure those moments
in spite of the time
As words born an orphan
adopted in rhyme

That one treasured secret
alive roaming free
Transcending the silence
—of what’s yet to be

(The New Room: March, 2023)
There are challenges,
but what is life
without challenges?

well,
a lot less challenging.

no easy ride for me,
'I plough the fields and scatter'
( that is not a euphemism )

anyway
I always surface and
my nose tells me I'm no rose.
still
at least I'm growing and
some ask,
wild?
Bad days are just stepping stones to the path that will lead to brighter days!
Love is like hugging a porcupine as tight as you can while it pierces your heart through
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