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June Montag May 2014
but all is not lost as
     the brightness returns and
     the dark is dispelled
          no more to sojourn
the tears can return from whence they came and
     the fists put back into their cage as
     the cameras finally roll away.
a touch an apology a kiss on the mouth
     the monster he promises will never get out
     but we all lnow that it will.
yet for now the sky's blue and
     the clouds have returned
     all's right with the heavens
     all's right with the world.
this is one of the few happy poems i will ever be capable of writing, simply because it was not my idea. i do not control the rain.
June Montag May 2014
tiny arrows Rain down as
     the heavens Scream their wrath
     and
     the cameras Flash incessantly to
     Capture abject misery.

the screams they slowly Die
     down Into the low moans
     and  
     the tears are Falling faster as
     fists Hit their mark.

red streaks
     across the sky.
just another mythological theory for the thunderstorm.
May 2014 · 4.7k
sitting
June Montag May 2014
people passing by and
cars driving past with
city wind in my hair and
cooler air as
the sun sets and
the world gets dimmer.
you could absorb the whole city from
     a sidewalk bench.
found on the back of a receipt from a month ago.
May 2014 · 1.5k
Daily Duel
June Montag May 2014
screamingloudly, shoutingcrazy
don't know why we do this daily;

backandforth the screaming match
when our ideas they just won't catch.

two bullheaded people clashing heads
until one of them storms off instead.

i mean well and you do too
but our ideas just won't go through.

banging heads against brick salls
our yelling echoing down the halls.

im on page two,
youre on page one;
all i know is this aint fun.  

screamingloudly, shoutingcrazy
i dont know why we do this daily.
the product of big projects.
May 2014 · 2.5k
Make Believe
June Montag May 2014
unscrupulous universe
     steeped in illusion and so
     electrifiedcrazy
with
infernal edges chafed
     against tinfoil stars
     bent and
     broken.
they make believe that they are beautiful.

unscrupulous people
     sharply disillusioned and so
     upandoutwild
with
rough edges filed smooth
     with makeup and glam
     but they're still
     bent and
     broken.
they make believe that they are beautiful.

understated words
     creating an illusion and so
     slipperysilverfleeting
with
dark corners coming
     alive under the
     pretense of fiction
     bent but not
     broken.
they know that they are beautiful.
we all make believe.

— The End —