as-merry-as-the-day-is-long: Poems

1.2k · Aug 2013

as-merry-as-the-day-is-long Aug 2013

Fluorescent lights spark false day into night.
Organized turmoil all people know.
Against sleep, city continues its fight.
In busy streets, yellow cabs overflow.
A haven of nature sprouts in its core.
Lighthearted picnics on green hill's high crest.
A spot of respite for the rich and poor.
Golden days of love and summer's best.
Metallic blocks stretched from ground to heaven.
Tears and memories stretch to those above.
Glowing waterfalls cry, "Nine-eleven."
All pieces replaced are pieces of love.
Here, the city never succumbs to sleep.
My love for it, down in my heart, runs deep.

A sonnet dedicated to the wonder that is New York City.

879 · Aug 2013

Summertime Sadness

as-merry-as-the-day-is-long Aug 2013

Summertime Sadness

That Sunday night feeling.
Heart-constricting.
Stomach-sinking.
Suffocating and drowning
in desperate dread.
Threads of composure unravel
as I remember
the approaching deadline
of that feared word:
school.
Adieu freedom.
Adieu long-stretched sun soaked days,
and lazy leisure.
Adieu summer.

808 · Dec 2013

An Explosion of Memories

as-merry-as-the-day-is-long Dec 2013

An Explosion of Memories

Old photos,
frozen
dripping with nostalgia.
Memories
gilded with gold
from the passage of time.
Moments
romanticized in afterthought,
idealized until unrivaled with the present.
Unreachable.
Unrepeatable.
She remembered,
recollected,
reminisced,
overcome with homesickness for times
filed away in her memory.
She felt her heart
bubbling up,
constricting her throat,
and she quietly
swallowed her spirit
back down
before it
could snake up higher
and mount a pulse of pressure
behind her blurry eyes.
It tasted like
cotton candy dripping with twinkling sugar,
like the smoky air of a campfire,
like blown out birthday candles and dripping wax.
A shattering explosion of memories in her mouth,
leaving her with
drained wishes.

704 · Sep 2013

Tears

as-merry-as-the-day-is-long Sep 2013

Tears

Glittery train tracks of escaping melancholy,
exploring the curves of cheeks.
Skin taut from wilted stripes of salty emotion.
A mounting pressure.
Eyes straining against the wave of tension.
The world slowly receding into blurry shapes.
An ache,
like a hundred hammers battering the temple of your mind.
A blooming tint of pale rose surround the eyes
with glistening, dark eyelashes.
Shaky, scraping breaths,
uncontrollable sharp intakes of air into suddenly shallow, shrunken, insufficient lungs.
And that renewing cleansing, like an unusual baptism.
A curious sense of catharsis.

— The End —