Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Feb 2015 Spencer Craig
ryn
Felled
 Feb 2015 Spencer Craig
ryn
Arms outstretched like the branches of a tree
Aspiring to be amidst with those borne of sky.
Gnarly bark, imploring the eyes of another
Weathered and worn... Skin and grain but parched dry.

Twig-like fingers that would bear no leaves.
With open barren palms that hover in the wind.
Longing and thirsty for the tears of rain
Pining for the heavens to wash away all they have sinned.

Spreading disjointed roots dig in,
In touch with the unseen core buried deep.
A tainted trove of lifelong poisons...
They greedily drink and keep.

Lone little trunk... That shoots up strong from ground.
Sturdy and hale, at least to the naked eye.
When in fact it's core is rotting within,
Eaten away by the worm of a single unassuming lie.

Sad fruitless tree...
Standing amidst the green thriving brush.
It dies with the hours baked in sun...
One day it'll fall, consumed by the secrets trapped in a silent little hush...
when you tell me Im okay.
And that i'll be better soon,
All the hope fades away
Because I dont feel better at all
I feel so much worse
Nothing can help me now
I am always broken
Glue wont keep the water behind the dam.
The water always finds a way in.
 Feb 2015 Spencer Craig
Latiaaa
My back against the glass,
I'm sitting waiting for you.
I'm cold but I can take the breeze.
I wait patiently,
my hands in my pockets.

There's butterflies in my stomach,
my hair is flying in my face.
I check and wait for the bus to come,
I see one, but it isn't yours.

While I'm waiting patiently,
I hear a knock against the glass behind me.
I turn around for a complete surprise,
there's you.
Your hand motions tell me to come,
I follow.

As we hop on the same bus you were on,
we catch a seat.
Me staring out the window,
your arm around my shoulder.

You kiss me on the cheek,
and my whole face becomes red and warm.
I feel secure,
you right next to me.

We hop off the bus to get another one,
we wait.
The bone-chilling weather aggravates me,
but you keep me warm.

Our first kiss was memorable,
people tend to stare.
You grab my ***,
I grab yours.

You hand me a stick of mint gum,
I shove it in my pocket for safe keeping.
Our bus finally arrives,
it's gonna be a long trip.  

The bus is crowded,
but we can't stand long.
You hitch up a seat for us,
but there's only one.

I have to sit on your lap,
you don't seem to mind.
You're in pain though,
not my fault there's no seats.

A guy finally gets up,
there's a free seat for me now.
The bus trip is dreadful,
but it's worth every dime.

We get off the bus,
we have to walk still.
Hand in hand as we go, the cold can't stop us now.

Once we're in, we're finally warm.
The mall is huge,
we walk a little, shop a little.

Those endless times of our lips touching,
we must be careful so people don't interrupt.
We grab a bite and drink,
we cuddle.

Our legs walk through every entrance,
not my fault I love to shop.
More lips are touching,
hugs too.

The sun gets weary, and dims down a bit.
We must get home soon,
one more entrance, it wont be long.

It's time to head out,
the sky paints a sunset view.
We catch that bus,
we're warm again.

Our day was exquisite,
too bad we only lasted a week.
 Feb 2015 Spencer Craig
Latiaaa
I remember that wonderful lady like I remembered the scab on my right knee.
She was from Georgia, a honey sweet peach that lived a blocked away from me on Summer Set avenue.

She was as white as snow and fragile like my mom's glass figurines.
She always wore her long bleached grey hair in a pull-back tight bun,
almost like a nun. She would always wear powdered makeup that seemed to be brought from the 50's,

Very pastel and brittle on her gentle old skin.

She was humble like the bees, soft talking too.

I remember every early summer weekend I would walk on down to that lady's house.
I would knock on her burgundy shiny wooden door and peek through her small window filled with cat-like collections.

She would let me in and treat me almost like I was her own.
She would sit me down on her floral sofa and whip me up my favorite treat,
Oatmeal baked cookies with a tall glass of hickory sweet lemon tea.

My favorite.

This lady was everything and anything.
She would wrap me in her quilted blanket and play some classical 50's tunes,
We would swing on her back porch and count the Blue Jays in the sky.
I loved the way she would tell her magnificent stories,
The way she talked sounded like soothing waves of the seven seas.

I loved her.

Her deep, poetic advices gave me hope,
It made me realize my inner self.

As the days became weary and the summer sun was drifting,
That wonderful lady was getting weary herself.
She was able to hang as long as anyone I can think of.
At least she stood her grounds and fought for every penny she made in her life.

What a trooper.

I'll never forget that wonderful lady,
She was like a grandma to me.
I actually felt I had someone to talk to during those long summers.

What a wonderful lady.
 Feb 2015 Spencer Craig
ryn
Flame
 Feb 2015 Spencer Craig
ryn
.
•    
re-
     kindle
    the spark
   that governed
    this game•the fire
  that once burnt as bri-
  ght as sun•all of this once
before, had a name•but now
is weak from the time it had be-
gun•there was a time when it wo-
uld consume•......it would defy the
odds....just so it could burn as one•
frantic and desperate for the magic
to resume•uncertainty has carved
itself into the heart that has come
undone•winds bearing ill no-
tions revealed as the enemy•
stitch up the gaps keep-
ing out the rogue
gust•
  pro
tect
  the
light that burns ever weakly•rejuve-
nate the spirit that harbours broken trust
•rekindle me now... i'm still in the game•
the heart                   save the     you will
isn't                              candle           need
ready                           and              to see
to make                         nur-              me    
sense                            ture             with
of the                             it                 this
dark•                             to                  in-  
                                    fla-              sig-  
                                   me•             nia
                                     ­                     as my
                                                         mark
                                                         •
.
Voice
Eyes
Face
Fade
Fades
Fading
Away from me
Desperation shows through
Shining
Shines
Shine
From me to you
Too soon
Lying
Lies
Truth
Too many times
Too many ways
Life
Lives
Living
Fading
Fades
Fade
­

        O
          u
             t

                                Into space
See.                    I'm.                                
No- ­                     fi-                                   I  
   thi                   ne.                             was
     ng                  I'm.                        up
        is    ­            Go-                   rea-
          wro-          od,                 lly
               ng.      Okay            late.
           I had a snack before I came.
             The.                              I'm
       make.               I'm                Just
up.                          Not         ­         Tired.
Makes.                  Broken                      I    
      ­ Me                                           Don't
           Look.                                 Feel
                   pale.                Well.
                   Yesterday was great
              I just.          I'm            I just
          Had.                Ha-            Like
      A bad.                ppy.               The
Sleep.                                               Style.

These are the threads
Of my web of lies
That I build above your heads
Strenghth ending everyday

My common day lies
Spun like spiders silk
Drifting unbroken in the skies
So plain it stands hidden

Entwined strings of excuses
To form a mask from the world
With a million uses
To fake that I am whole

Because I am the spider
Creeping through the day
Dangling off silk as my web grows wider
Trapping all the flies
Women are angels
If someone breaks our wings
We will simply continue to fly...
on a broomstick.
We're flexible like that.
:)
Next page