Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
511 · Jul 15
Scotland
Kvothe Jul 15
A light
is struck
in highland heights,
and the vista
***** in
whispy smoke.
Tire-track clouds
distort, tickled
by the fleet
embrace of
such a
fickle vapour.
I pollute
clean air,
and lungs,
with my crime.
But
at the cusp
of mountain
and mist
I contemplate
home,
and how
I do not
miss it.
Not a bit.
My tongue
and senses sear,
and I,
at least,
am unclouded.
On smoking a cigarette up a mountain
452 · May 2014
Query
Kvothe May 2014
Do shepherds count sheep
to sleep a soft wooly sleep?
Or do they count cars?
Kvothe Apr 2020
A simple spectre wrecks the calm.

O' Sleep, his absence bids the morn.

His dreams he seems to scatter far,

yet leaves my bedroom door ajar.

Although I grip, he slips my palm,

and so I greet the ruthless dawn.

O' Sleep, I'll leap at where you are,

because I've counted every star.
429 · Apr 2020
Writer's Block
Kvothe Apr 2020
Putting pixel to page,
he types.

Tap.
Tap.
Tap.

Fingers flurry away,
he swipes.

Zap.
Zap.
Zap.

Showing symptoms of age
he writes.

Crap.
Crap.
Crap.
Hello, I'm (maybe) back. Easing in.
304 · May 2014
How I sleep at night
254 · Apr 2020
Lunar
Kvothe Apr 2020
I do not mean to flatter, when
I say you are the moon.

Your existence lies so distant,
Yet in my sight you loom.

A tide I am to your expanse,
you push and pull my heart.

Though years it's been since we did speak,
your smile tears me apart.

A sun you've found, to orbit now,
perhaps it's for the best.

Some lips, I hope, will eclipse yours,
till then my soul won't rest.

— The End —