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Carsyn Smith Aug 2015
Hush yourself to the foreignly familiar sound
you've known your entire life --
it's the sound of nothing,
                                             the sound of blackness.
Close your eyes,
but it's no different from when you leave them
staring into the voided eternity.

The thin hairs coating your arms
like sleeves of chain mail stand attention
as the strange chill sweeps over your body.
Darting eyes like two blue dragonflies
locked in a twisted duet
search the space just out of reach as if
looking longer or quicker may catch something
     off guard.

Breath deep.
                        Deeper.
Take in the familiar scent of you
in the frail cocoon you've wrapped yourself in.
Struggle against it,
                                   fall into it,
entomb yourself as a way to fight
the sudden dryness of your tongue and lips.
Lap them again as your mind wonders
to a place of blue skies and bluer seas...
                                                                       and then snap back.
Something has broken the foreignly familiar sound of night
and it seems to be breathing down your neck,
shooting waves of panic and
                                                   adrenaline deep into your bones.
Prompt: the experience of being in darkness

It's becoming rather difficult for me to write lately. I'm not sure why, maybe stress? Either way, I'm trying to break this block, but every day is harder than the last. I'm terrified of the day when I won't have the will to lift a pen anymore.
Carsyn Smith Aug 2015
Hourglass cage holding me like a love,
Hold me closer, tell me of forever.
Sing to me of time, not my lack thereof,
Just lie to me with soft lips so clever.
The sands sub sole sink as the skies expand,
Stretching higher and higher as I shrink.
People are slipping through my open hands.
My tears are now sands that run when I blink --
They replenish but cannot save the past
Slipping away like my grip on the glass.
Each grain like a timer I can't outlast,
I place all my faith in falling morass.
     Grasping memories, hands, hourglass walls,
     I hang above the darkness like a doll...
          'til I simply fall.
The end is nearing, but so is the beginning.

CESmith
Carsyn Smith Aug 2015
My grandpa always told me
“being a war veteran is scary.”
You sign up for a life of piles of
empty bullet shells and hollow bodies,
both equally as tall as the other.
A flip of a coin decides whether
you’ll kiss the ground one more time,
or be buried beneath it.

Every man and woman who
has ever faced evil is a hero,
regardless if their heart beats or sleeps.

Don’t tell me you’ll set a table
for a man who’ll never come
but not give five dollars to
the man on the corner with a sign reading
“war veteran. Help. PTSD. HELP.”
Don’t you dare look at
a marble block and cry,
but look at a homeless hero
in utter disgust.

Where has humanity gone?
Where are we now
that we shun the survivors
and immortalize the dead?

We don’t need another big shiny rock
to carve the number of good people lost:
We need hospitals, psychiatrists, therapists,
real people to help real heroes...
not cookie cutter doctors
paid by a government too worried
about being the world’s #1
nuclear weapons producer.

If I ran for president, I’d win with the slogan
“**** our future, I have a big gun.”
After thought note: I would never suggest that the people lost in war are worthless or not worthy of your respect. I'm simply upset at the neglect towards homeless war veterans who were in the exact same place as the fallen, but fate declared the bullet missed them. My grandpa is a veteran and I respect him above all others, but he was blessed with financial strength when he returned home whereas some heroes are not.

I'm beginning to develop my own opinions on things. I hope HelloPoetry is ready because I won't be silenced.
No title yet

~CESmith
Carsyn Smith Aug 2015
I'm going to start walking backwards now: I'm pretty sure I'm facing the wrong way. I can't keep looking into the past and expecting to arrive at the future.
  Aug 2015 Carsyn Smith
Kareena
I pinned my hair in curls tonight
It took an hour or two
But when I wake and undo my work
I'm not dolled up for you

Because the blush on my cheeks
Is not made of powder
The pigment on my skin
Is composed of anger
And contempt for you
Where there used to be love
Is a constant fight
My heart is an open space
An area that I'm not sure
That I want you to occupy
Anymore

You pushed me past my pushing point,
I won't ever let you through
So now don't you see? Reality?
I'm dressed for me, not you.
Carsyn Smith Jul 2015
I was drowning in holy water to get to you,
Praying to a man I couldn't accept for you,
Burning in the next pew to get close to you.
You sewed your hands for your God
And tried so hard to lace that red thread through my flesh.
Faith is a mighty tree you blighted with Doubt.
Belief is the sunshine you shadowed in Fear.
But, oh my God, you are my creature of temptation
And I'd forget it all if you would too...
But your hands and sewn together
And my mirrored palms are still healing from your needle.
I loved a Christian and watched who I was crumble into dust. The world could be so much more if people kept an open mind and an open heart.
Carsyn Smith Jul 2015
My love for you is like the sunset through the tree line:
It shifts, shakes, blights at times and flourishes at others.
One thing is clear every time the day ends and
Those deep red rays touch the crown of my bowed head.
The trees do not move.
They are a constant I rely on far more than I’d admit.
The only way I could get rid of the trees
Would be if I cut them down…
I don’t have the heart to do that.
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