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TheKindling Mar 2020
Two faces stare lovingly at one another.

Once unified, they were

Broken.

Broken by time.
By the world.
By force.

A great chasm eroded between them.
Each tear drop another waterfall.

Each face made from the destruction of the other.

One cliff face across from another,

For Eternity. Separate. Alone.

*

A boy stands above an ancient tomb.

A tomb of two lovers doomed to death.

Behind the boy is a girl.
A pretty girl with cute freckles,
Kissed by the sun.

The sun as orange as her hair,
Smiling a new day to the boy.

Together they cross the chasm.

The boy lays himself down across the gap.
Happily the girl walks across his body,

Learning him through every footfall.

Living years in seconds she crosses.

Walking past ancient warning signs.

Signs of those who crossed the bridge before,
Those who ran across,
Those who crushed his hands,
Those who cracked his spine
His hands
His soul.

She stepped foot on land,
Grabbed the boys hands.

They made eye contact and for a second the world stopped.

The two cliff faces looked up at the boy who was a bridge for hundreds.

Then they wept as the girl dropped his hands.

Plumiting the boy down.

Down.

Down.

Deep below the tears of long ago.





Time went on.

The boy recovered.
Brushed clean,
Walked the path discovered,
Atop the ravine.

There he sat.
Brushed clean,
Waiting for the next passenger.

To never look back.
This is a rework of an old poem that never lost its meaning.
TheKindling Dec 2019
I'm not sure which it is correct anymore.

If the slight red in the sky means the day has died,

Or like a newborn baby begins a new life.

The deafening silence of winter,  

The dead of winter.

Contrasted with the first breath of a new day.

Witnessed by few,

The early risers,
The late night workers,
The sleep deprived insomniacs
Skipping mental stones wishing for sleep.
It's late and I cant sleep. So I made this subpar piece.
TheKindling Aug 2021
I think it’s important for you to know,

The line between love
passion, fire, light, heat

And hate
passion, embers, dim, heat

Is the treatment you give me.
You, you are barely worth my hate.
TheKindling Feb 2020
Whimsical rhyme ~
With modern time ~

What may be?
The future of me?

Knowing my past.
I'll probably finish last.

Will I be a star?
Drive a fancy car?

Or will I be poor.
Going door to door.

Will I be successful?
Career and family and fed and full?

Or will I be alone.
Withered starved to the bone.

Oh God what if I fail.

What if I dont preva-
**** this rhyme
Existential crisis don't rhyme.

They don't fit fancy couplets
And prose.

They just ****.
They really just ****.
TheKindling Oct 2019
Out upon my window pane
Willow leaf gusty day,

Early dawn yet arrived,
Silhouette shadows swoosh-swoop.

A storm is coming just you wait,
A mournful reason to remember today.

Tention snap, crackle, and sizzle,
Boiling over results harsh fizzle.
----
Quick run flee fly

Hit past mile and mile-faster full dial!
No game swoosh swash we lost them a while.

Flutter flourish leaves form the figure,
Death has come this holiday season.
Check back in for part 2
TheKindling Jul 2021
Label me as you please:

Virgo.
Hufflepuff.
ENFP.
Liberal.
Democrat.

All of these are wrong.
I’m actually just
Broken.
TheKindling Oct 2019
Just give me one Spark,

Then watch as I
burn


》  T  《  ¤  》  K 《
I may be new here, I may not have many viewers. Soon I will burn. Soon I will throw my light.
TheKindling Mar 2020
Contained

Myself a mime,
Pushing the boundaries of my world.

An extrovert trapped,
In an introverted nightmare.

Escape me O Lord,
From this bitter place.

Free me my white washed walls.

Walk among rows of the sick and the dying

Find each of us in a corner

Silenced screaming sanity unhinged

Scrambling symptomatic soliloquy,

End this madness. Or end me.
TheKindling Apr 2020
One plus one makes two,

One me. One you.

Two plus two makes four,

Two lovers. One *****.

Never again count me in,
When you cheat at cards, neither win.

You cut me deep, you sliced so thin.

You provoked, Seven deadly sins.

Six feet under.

No where to run.

Five more minutes.
BeFour I come.

Three quarters cocked, my two barreled gun.

One thing in mine,

Zero regret.
Not a real event. Just a poem :)
TheKindling Oct 2019
A poet is a bird with clipped wings,
Plummeting from the sky.

One who's dying words are not calculated,
Not woven,
Not cultivated
Rhymed
Rhythemed
Repeated
Recorded.

The words are pure.
Simple
Sound
Sung
Then silent.

They are only meant for the wind to hear.

That way the wind can
Whisper
Watch
Whistle
Warble

What if the winds rattling
Window pain

Is actually your loved ones
Last lullaby?

What if the weeping of the wind
Fosters fear former forgotten?
TheKindling Oct 2019
This autumn season
For fall scented candles
Give depression a reason
To prove a counterexample

For fall scented candles
Remind us of winter
To prove a counterexample
How people wither

Remind us of winter
Seasonal depression's returns
How people wither
With personal concerns

Seasonal depression returns
To prepare for a storm
With personal concerns
Leaving little warm.

Give depression a reason
To prepare for a storm
Leaving little warm
This autumn season.
Pantoum about fall and seasonal depression. I'm not sure if the last stanza leaves the reader with the idea that depression is going to be fought in the storm, I hope so because I wanted to end this on an uplifting note. Please let me know what you think.
TheKindling Oct 2019
A painting is passion mixed in
Acrillic Plastic pasted upon paper.

Photographs focus found
Phenomena in plates of particular potions.

Poetry pleads rhythmic prose
Picked per perfection

Yet none of this can describe you.

A relaxing river runs a
Rivalry to you.

A surreal sunset's similarity is a
Strong contender.

Fall's festive fervor holds a
Flame to compete,

Yet all run short of describing you.

You are the shore of a beach,
The gentle capped waves lapping at your feet.

You are the kiss of sunrise peaking over the mountains promising a new day

You are the first cool breeze on a warm autumn day.

You are the smell of fall foliage and
Fresh apple pies in the oven.

There is no one way to describe you,
Just a thousand things.

Almost as beautiful as you.
For a girl who will never read this. Recovering from a girl who could read this.
TheKindling Dec 2019
The wind whispered

wake up

Unto the song birds.

The song birds sing

wake up

To the city

The city clashes to it's people  

Wake Up

Miserable the people get up.

But at least the trees are happy.
I dunno, hope you like it
TheKindling Jul 2021
Evening jokes and candle dinners,
Potted flowers hammock hours.

I miss walks along the beach,
Holding hands and making plans.

I even miss arguments and hurt feelings,
Working things out, and relearning what love is all about.

I don’t miss you. This is true.
For you were wicked and cruel.

I don’t miss ***, or getting your text,
As each word manipulation, each night of passion a hoax.

I would rather like to live again,
And make plans and joke and spoil and spend,
I would rather cuddle and my life to end,

To never need love again,
Because I would rather live laugh live beside you,
My friend.
A poem she will never read.

I love you.

— The End —