Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Marco Carlos Jun 2020
Everytime I see her
She’s far away
Maybe I should go talk to her
Maybe I should stay
Out of reach
My fingers turn to clay
They freeze in the night
And they burn in the day
They are nothing
Waiting to be molded by her
I can’t
She is surrounded by knights
What she wants is steel
Im a mere peasant
At the bottom of the hill
Looking up at her
I imagine her voice soothes
Harmonic like a flute
But I can’t hear
I’m a bystander
Watching a movie on mute
Everytime she talks
It’s to someone else
I see her cherry lips moving
Motions I felt
Words of fire
that could bring ice to melt
She is a silhouette
A shadow
Dancing in the back of my mind
As I wonder what it would take
To make her mine
Marco Carlos Mar 2020
The moon is a beautiful thing
This big and bold gleaming grey rock hovering amongst the stars in a clear sky
Something so simple yet has the power to illuminate skies
And form waves like Poseidon himself
But best of all
To me personally
It acts as a beacon of hope  
The eyes of great men, strong men
All those with trials and tribulations
That shaped this very world
Have at least once gazed up to that moon
Like me they felt small
Yet they persisted and made something special
That will forever be echoed to its craters and back
My existence unexplained and a purpose not assured
In this insignificant position
Which at one stage those great individuals found themselves
I am reminded that I too possess the potential to achieve what they have
maybe greater
And like them
My name could echo for a thousand years
On the very same craters
I ponder as I stare at the moon
as they did.
Marco Carlos Dec 2019
Marco Carlos Sep 2019
When you rose this morning,

I got you 12 more roses.

Hold them close,

They more similar to you than you think.

They’re short, full of life,

And both of you smell nice.

When you go to bed,

I hope them to be near you in a vase,

Their pedals will be ever spread,

Waiting to greet your waking face.

When time has passed,

And the pedals no longer glisten,

They won’t cling to the stem,

The beautifully imperfect flowers,

You will truly miss them.

But give them love and patience,

They will bloom in the rain.

And every time you look at them,

You will relive this night again.
Marco Carlos Aug 2019
Who is who?
Is he, he?
Is she, she?
Who is false?
Who is true?

They are not themselves,
They are others,
to their own.
Who are they really?

If you are one of them?
Then who are you?
If you are not truly yourself?
A mere shell pretending.
An impersonator of who
You once were.
Marco Carlos Aug 2019
I feel trapped in my own mind sometimes,
A mind of four walls.
These four walls mock me,
making a cell of 176 mm length and a width of 145 mm.
I’ve grown to see it change.

At first it was a collage with the upmost potential,
With plenty of space to be filled.
As years went, the cell learned,
Like a bucket collecting rain drops,
Under a cracked ceiling,
One idea after the other entered.
I can only hear the echoes of my own voice here,
No one else can hear the screams,
laughs and everything in between.
No one can help save me,
nor join me,
in this cell.
I feel it observing me from the deepest hallows,
of my subconscious,
Grinning at me and my meagre existence.

I greet the sun, through the barred window,
Every once and a while.
For those moment’s I am not imprisoned,
I am free as the wind and the birds that glide upon it.
But always,
The bucket over-flows,
I drown to awake.
It can’t be escaped and
With every attempt to,
It always find a way,
To tame, subjugate and leave me in submission.

I realise I am the door that separates me from my desires
and ambitions.
The concrete and steel, are figments of ones own
Somewhere within, there is a key.
When found, I shall take it and run,
never to return,
to this cell of mine.
A journey through my conscious, if you will.
Marco Carlos Jun 2019
I don’t need just your love.
It doesn’t interest me.

I need your thoughts,
Your heart to beat a little faster
Every time I enter the room,
Your eyes to gaze a little longer
When they cross over me,
Your stomach to jump
When someone mentions my name.

An Illness that cannot be cured,
Coursing through your veins.
A part of you that you can’t remove,
No matter how hard you try.
That’s what I want.

Love me so much, you could die.
Next page