Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
InkHarted May 2020
Oh cry of the heavens why pat my shoulder
will they ever return to me
I think  not
thank you for lending your heartfelt sighs
but I too can cry a river
but like all rocks, sharp and cutting
my tears will go around them
and within their hearts
will remain dry.
InkHarted May 2020
The Convicts and the kingdom
have finally fallen
and the jailbirds will cry
through the iron bars they'll whimper
and concrete towers they built on our graves
are their prisons of solitude
tell the sky she can cry tears of joy
and the rivers to carry them pure
tell the deer that they may roam
without a rifle sighted at their belly
this might not be long or as painful for them
but thank the guardians for giving earth
one last breath of fresh air before
they destroy the world  forever
InkHarted May 2020
A cherry blossom deemed soft
yet a rose deemed ******
how is it that red screams danger
and pink births comfort
if once blended with a dash of white
does it forget of its tainted shade
does it blend so fine
that pink is purer than white
one must never forget that
A coal was once a flame
the pink was once a crimson
InkHarted Apr 2020
Watch the quill dance her Waltz
spinning from a corner to another
dressed in a brides vail of feather
her trail of sweat drawing colors on the dance floor
painting mesmerizing as her puppeteer spins her around
but when the dance is over
and she takes her bow
only the nameless trails of her effort remains
no one will know the dancer
and only the puppeteer
gets a standing ovation
while the curtain closes her away
and she is casted back
into the wooden box she was summoned from.
InkHarted Dec 2019
Not the thickest canopy
of the deepest forest
can stop the sun
from seeping
for the bark to root to a spot of soil
to be lit by the morning sun
and for it to cry when the dusk be slipping in
no canopy can stop the mighty star
but remember now
as the sun comes down
the canopy stops most of its warm embrace
only a measly amount of the sun lands down
but alas when the rain starts pouring down
every drop of it will seep through to the heart.
and make the woods soggy.
InkHarted Dec 2019
silently being drowned in the sands of the broken castles
silently being torn to shreds by roots ripping to its core
as rock withered to sand and seed grown to its limb
like a cancer it slithers through the bedrock and body
the streams are her teardrops quenching the parasites
paralyzed by her generosity she sits on the molten
when the rains try to wash her and and the winds try to cool her
we men try to rid her right that was born before us all
to be in her peaceful slumber and let us live on
we Gush out her blood and use it for our motors
we nail her in cruxifixction with our tall nails of concrete
we tear her and mine her flesh for our beauty
and in time slowly dying she silently bares the burden we rested
upon her body as a master would do
why must we enslave our mother who forged us.
and tortue her for our amusement
insight to what and should be more important than anything
InkHarted Dec 2019
the slender knife between his eyes
and the dripping crimson dew
flapping of the ravens feather
drenched in the sound of silence
as the thunder echoes what she cannot speak
his hands tied together
in prayer to the empty heavens
whom no one has set foot upon
his eyes open but his sight has been seen
and a secret to his grave-less burial he shall take
who did he see in this burnt paper town
and why did he die for its cause
and in his hand his paper blots
to the river of sewage beneath the street
to the heavy cries of the dark clouds
that bare no more a silver lining
where his paper bleeds not far different
from the man who is losing his ink.
i'm writing a story in the form of poetry
and this is part one hope y'all like it
Next page