Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Slipping, always slipping into the night
I thought I had captured the sun
But in my hands I held the reflection
 Apr 2014 Nick Strong
Ana Sofia
you sleep alone tonight
the round circles of your arms which normally hold me
closed - for the season
winter has reached this bed

your broad back faces me
a barrier I cannot breach
the muscular companion to that of your guarded heart.
you say,
it is your only heart

you whimper, like a child
a weak protest
I know that what clouds your thoughts in sleep is saturated
the depthless blue of lonliness and pain. you'll never tell.
I want to comfort you, smooth away the dark wrinkles that plague your sleep...
my touch is not welcome consolation

you sleep alone tonight.
the problem with
being a poet in love,
is that you savour
& trust each word your lover has
without  question.

we are simply in love
with bare literature,
spoken from the lips of someone we hold
in higher regard
than ourselves sometimes.

when you love a poet
each word you utter,
should be a piece of artwork

each sentence,
a highly thought out structure of awe and beauty to leave us seeping
in the warmth of your voice
caressing such fine words

so when deciding that you love someone,
who writes or reads
fill their souls with beauty, memories & truth especially,
for a poet's heart breaks at ease.
thoughts.
Sweet whispers, unlock me
Set free my dark misery
   Sweep paths full of mystery
For truth is a devil.*

It's not a rush you feel, it's fear
A darkness prevailing, soon to be near
This kind of madness, will claim you for years
And all I can say is, "Take cover, my dear"

It's not unknown, you've heard the calling
A seductive moaning befalling
Begging for directions, pleading
That you take place leading

A soft greeting so fleeting
That you've been intrigued
But I sense that this meeting
Will leave you fatigued

And the kind of horrors you shall view
Shall leave you believing
Red has only one hue
That of life leaving

And those villains knew
They've become you
Once again, a warriors poem. Start: regrets of a warrior. Stories told to him of war. The glories of killing with guns, asked of him. Curiosity before the ****. The overwhelming sensation of ******. The horror of no return when you see life leave a killer's eyes and enter your own.
 Mar 2014 Nick Strong
Sociopath
You push me and pull me.
When you aren't here.
The past will control me.
At the wheel that I steer.

You loved me quite deeply.
But, you are no longer here.
For everything I've said;
For everything I've done.
But I'm not sorry,
For any of it.
The only thing I'm sorry for,
Is that I didn't speak
My mind *sooner
Next page