Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Him May 2022
I surrender to the sound of idleness... To the predecessor of penned paper. My fine point offers no salvation from your nothingness; the ink runneth dry, unto a full-stop - threefold - my tongue teaches no testimony of your truth and trap.

No words nor worlds wherein the wide wealth of your wonders, resides; lo language and land lend and law borders, to you, the Chaotic and Disorder. Toss then them aside!
Him Dec 2021
Come. I can be the constancy to changing centuries; since and stagnant, by your side. I can be your touch, Tomorrow - thereafter - your view beneath the sky.
Him Dec 2021
I am haunted by a soulful song; lacking lyrics, lo lost, lest lament found.

I am taunted by a merciless melody, mixed - measured threefold - with melancholy and memories legend-long.

Salvation and sweet, shall be Silence's Sound.
Him Dec 2021
I will wait, until Autumn allows your loneliness, to fall - leaves - amid an array of affection arising.
Him Oct 2021
The home you miss, is my burden; the longing of distance and miles is not there.

Concealed within living bone and spiral, no conquered land can I long winter, and longer yet retain.

Would you miss it - if it were always near? Those crude constructions composed of flora's corpses and Oran's nails; compose another, and... Still ye dismay:

"The house is similar, but the home is not the same."

A home requires a heart, but man has long since lost theirs; so crawling, I wonder:

"What difference is there?"
This piece presents a monologue, of a snail innately unable to appreciate Man's concept of "Home". The Snail professes an element of Man lost, a home's cause, thus no difference is to be had.
Him Jun 2021
My sheets dream of you, those dreams I do not dare. Polyester and cotton, impress upon themselves your figure; defined, blue and dear.

To long for a stranger, to be more than one's friend. Might you resist the urges, to cast pity upon them; for these fabrics were woven from naivete and virginal optimism.

My love is a burden, whose weight few have known, but for you... Might the Kg be measured and shown.

And may these sheets, no longer dream such dreams, as you call my bed - Your Home, with glee.
Him Jun 2021
There's a lone one, in alone.
   L  O  N  E
Next page