Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 May 2016 Happynessa
niamh
Truth
 May 2016 Happynessa
niamh
The lies
like dirt under
fingernails.
Call on your inner
Lady Macbeth
but no amount of scrubbing
can cleanse them.
They lie thick
on the tongue
tainting tastes
with blistered buds.
A thousand ants
marching on your
skin.
Unscratchable itch.
Descending into
madness.
Only truth can
set you free.
Only you can
free the truth.
 May 2016 Happynessa
niamh
For tears that fall
On hollow cheeks
When the weeks feel like years
And the years feel like weeks.

And you sit by a grave
Where the roses grow
But the rose that you seek
Is buried below.

You have my heart
Heavy with sorrow
For the velvet rose
With no tomorrow.
Absolutely over the moon (if a little shocked) to see that this piece made the daily.  Thank you all so much for your comments - I promise to reply to you all individually at some point soon.  It was an extremely emotional, difficult, but ultimately cathartic write. Dedicated to our wee Shane, who we will never forget ***
 May 2016 Happynessa
Deeee
Words.
Used and abused.
Spoken and misunderstood.
I love you
He says to her
She says to him
He says to him
She says to her
I love you
Do You?
Words.
I love you
The most beautiful lie ever told
The most common deception ever believed
I love you

*but for how long?
 May 2016 Happynessa
Little Bear
We endure the desolation so we can rebuild
and suffer evil in order to give,
shouldering the burden to lighten the load.
But only when we sacrifice our skin for love
do we truly live.
I don't know.. I could be wrong..
but I read your poem :o)
Swarming:  bees above a skylight.
Breath forming:  a child asleep in fading light.

Innuendo:  eyes when a kiss ends.
Before crescendo:  the audience as the curtain descends.  

Age:  a handwritten journal from a wandering liar.
Exhausted rage: Slauson Avenue after the Rodney King fire.

Utility: a brown wooden desk with empty drawers.
Apostrophe: an oration delivered near crashing shores.

A life destroyed:  an Olympia typewriter covered since 1975.
The void: a poem read aloud, addressee not alive.
Next page