Consoling the Sky - Hello Poetry

Dec 2016

julia

sometimes, i think of death.
sometimes, i think of what it would be like.
i lie on my back and stare at the stars
wondering what would happen if gravity turned off and i fell into the sky.
fell into something endless,
something much bigger than i am.
i wonder if that's what it feels like to die.
sometimes,
i wonder.

#sad #depression #death #stars #sky #deep

Dec 2016

Elizabeth Squires

Christmas Dreams

this but a nightmare tale
for the adopted child
he'd not been treated with
a meekness so mild

raised by parents
who were sick of mind disposition
they abused him
without having any contrition

the boy utilized by deviant grown men
for ****** gratification
there was no human decency
in this fornication

their child's photos
shown to online perverts
who'd drool at the sight
of these lewd adverts

as a mere babe the lad
was groomed for paedophiles
of his parent's wickedness
they'd be placed on criminal files

no Christmas Dreams
only a lasting memory of buggery
the child was deprived
of innocence in his infancy

A poem based on a true story.
Copy and paste the link below to your browser.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xufh8XysHJ4

#dreams #christmas #online #perverts #paedophiles

Dec 2016

wordvango

sadness is addictive

I weep among the willows
feel among the daffodils
her death taken
early at her hand
So I went out and planted ten
pansies in honor
of her memory
took a Marigold in my hand
and crumpled it up.
Looked to the west where
sunshine set
above the blue skies
above this mess of
hearty wondering and hearted long pain
with soil as our ultimate reward
and only thought,
this soil brings us beauty
but pain so deep
her roots dig into our veins
drive us insane.
If only the soil had lips
where I might kiss
all her memories.

Dec 2016

A W Bullen

Valkyrian

A Husk of Thule brew..

A Fjord born tang of Fenrir cold
To yawn the must of comet tails
In rings, around the naked oak.

That broke the spineless whims
Of reed, that set the Heron folk to flight
From scrivened rims of frosted pools.

To run in footless constellations
About the broads of bitter miles
And, there to spill the coffered frays
of Autumn’s final standing.