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Today a man told a **** joke.
Everyone laughed.
I stood there and thought about it for a moment
And then I asked,
"What is funny about that?"
The laughter stopped
and they stood there in silence.
The momentary silence of shattered illusions,
There was no answer
Because it wasn't funny
So why laugh?
Because on the darkest nights
I see faint rays of the purest light,
And among the fatal deceptions
lost in exalted sorrows,
       I know that there is still poetry.
When the words are welled
Inside a throat like a fire
Waking from its slumber,
Rain the embers to paper,
      The words like a familiar pain,
      Speak as the darkness speaks,
      Take in the honest friend,
      Let them take you to tranquillity.
Because when I am at my blackest,
The poem understands me,
It speaks to me,
Cries with me,
I give my darkest to its white surface,
       A cave serrated by light,
      The words will speak in the night,
      They will light the way
      To new dawns,
And you are never alone
If you have read these words,
Because through them,
We become as one.
I'm always here if you just need to get something off your chest. I offer myself to you who might feel alone and in deep darkness.
A hint of blue lit up her hair
Who was this dark beauty
Who just stepped out of nowhere
Who was this punk creature
A pierced face, so fair?

She tries to look mean
But she doesn't know
What I have been
The things I lost
The things I have seen

My gaze passes hers
And a moment I am paralized
As I know
She too realized
I'm in awe

This secret we now share
Me and the beautiful,
Punk, mean looking girl
And her blue hair
I passed her today, was stunned by her beauty and needed to write about it.
 Mar 2016 Pastell dichter
katie
they    were      not      
     someone      you  
could        lust    over,  
they    were     fey,      
blood       not    running
   the     usual     way,  
they     made     me      
   dream    of    streams  
touched    by  moon
beams,    ice     cold    
  fields  at       dawn,      
every     season    I      
have    ever      known
breathing      within
    their     bones;    
dark      woods      were  
organs   once     stood;    
    each      touch    a    
   crunch      underfoot      
revealing   another        
layer  so       deep,      you    
doubt   you     will 
   ever      reach     the    
heart       of      its    beat.
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