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1.0k · Apr 2013
Silent Sundays on A Saturday
Ossa Putrescere Apr 2013
I'm the silent metaphor
from sunny, Sunday afternoons
after calling each one of your friends, and
laughing about how you're going to die today

Oh how the flowers are giggling in dragging days
Yes, I'm going to die today

The things a blank canvas does to my mind
is something even books will not confide
with these things drawing into my head
there are ways to die
but not without a silent metaphor
to take your place
but not today.

Oh the silent Sundays on a Saturday
759 · Mar 2013
One Little Birdy
Ossa Putrescere Mar 2013
One little birdy
lifts scarlet to spring’s roses and its final tired flowers,
stretching across the silent solemn night gently
with both hands reaching forward,
grappling upwards.

One little birdy,
arms stretched wide
gathering deep blue seas falling out the sky.

One little birdy,
arms stretched far out too wide
drowns in hopes of the ocean greeting a goodbye.

One little birdy stuck in a cage

One little birdy
with widespread wings

sitting alone.
Dreaming of wind.
756 · Apr 2013
There's Nothing on TV
Ossa Putrescere Apr 2013
in the hum of the tv, in a place as if it could be our company
there is a silent emptiness in a paled light,
a vacancy found only in a stark dead man hanging on the rope
that he could once hold onto so tightly

where the hum of the tv is bluntly buzzing,
no words really filtering;
in a silence with blurry contrasting

Things that fill the empty space
are white lines shaded in
slow and
heavy

darkness.

my tiredness seems to sleep
in heavy breaths that cannot sooth me
breaths that keep the tv turning.

the sun could rise so easily,
but it's too tired from watching too much tv
755 · Mar 2013
The boy who kissed the moon
Ossa Putrescere Mar 2013
The boy brought his rocket ship and his soft pursed lips,
pressing his gentle words into the eyes, to brighten the night,
the eyes of stars.

It now shines, gleaming, but not with such loud impulsion so that the sun comes to hear;
only in a gentle glow, that mimics the boy's lively, beautiful, flow

sending a beacon to path the boy through every star and every galaxy
the path so clear,

but the boy long gone


It finds itself to shine to a slight glow
refusing to show its silent desires
of the gentle cheek of that boy

But still holding, its now, ghastly shade of path
a last hope
a final word through breath;

finally it shines no more
containing its last words
wanting to wait or hope no more
All of the world seemed to scream
except for the boy who forgot to dream.
709 · Apr 2013
Old friend
Ossa Putrescere Apr 2013
oh what a beautiful friend
death then seemed to be

as the stars cannot shine for my eyes
as the night cannot shield daylight

as sleep could not take everything away

as day never refuses to exile night in dismay
as the sun could not help the wilted flower,

as the child holds its moans from its mother
as the mother takes the broken flower,
and cradles it gently across her palm,
hymning
he loves me,
he loves me not,

death loves me,
loves me not;

loves me,
loves me not,

loves me,
loves me n-
492 · May 2013
Winds to Beat
Ossa Putrescere May 2013
I think I may get better
I remind myself as I should.
as I should remind myself of those who would cry the oceans to sleep
and those who whisper to the wind the heaviest burdens to let them burn free
and flying seagulls that can not reach the
aching shore.
Ossa Putrescere May 2013
There is a flower that stands atop of my grave
that sits patiently for water
every Saturday
I inform to you that you remove it;
and its silent melody
before I decompose
into something more beautiful
than the dirt I've grown to be
400 · Apr 2013
Linger
Ossa Putrescere Apr 2013
a figure,
a person,
a beautiful creature stands;
towering over you with a delighted, but distraught grin tipped at the ends of each cheek he holds
something more valuable carved in his hands in great attempt for discreet
but he is behind you, always
you turn only to feel his presence lingering for a tiring, taunting second
a pained, dried inhale
a relieved, steady exhale
but the breath is not returned as yours
maybe you can ask him to linger in your tender air
and stay, slowly swaying against his breath,
but you could let him fly instead;
instead of brushing through broken, braided ties of your hair
384 · Jun 2013
Untitled
Ossa Putrescere Jun 2013
obscured by the now dreary slow melancholy
I had not noticed the lighting day of the bare outside

the outside

oh I how I ache and mourn in its wake
374 · Apr 2013
Sunken Breeze
Ossa Putrescere Apr 2013
She was like the wind;
the only way she could have been seen
was by looking at the way she affected gentle things
Ossa Putrescere Jun 2013
The silence is tight and creeping in
it is thick with a permanent taste
it's perpetually there on infinite levels of volume

Death dances along its borders
death echoes along,
chanting the vibration
over and over
it is there
stuck in white space forever
it's the open, unread letter

it's the absolute absence
left when the summer subsides
when the sun knows
it's leaving it's flowers out to die
331 · Mar 2013
Is it really floating?
Ossa Putrescere Mar 2013
floating                           floating                           floating

thinking about
d
    r
          o
                 w
             n
     i
g

but not moving one   i n c h.
331 · Jun 2013
Garden for the Children
Ossa Putrescere Jun 2013
upon the edge of my mind
on the view of the void,
flowers will flourish
to the simplest joy

Where faeries can dance
to the silk of their voice
But forget the things
children will wish for
276 · May 2013
A story of A tragedy:
Ossa Putrescere Apr 2013
stay afloat
                                          try to
            Just--
                                          no matter
                                                          ­                                             how easy it appears
                   to

                                  ­     *
Sink.

— The End —