Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
The more I gather, the lesser it seems
From the piles of vague memories
I collect, recollect, forget
It slowly ends with absolutely no regrets.
the key to our situation
is surreptitiously
concealed under the doormat
where anyone who wanted in
would look…
and so, my love,
I will pretend to be
surprised I found your
key if you will pretend to be
surprised when I come home..
So, the last word of the poem, Should it be "home" or "in" or "back"?
No one builds a life, we survive
for a time in that sea by
swimming through currents where
random pieces of flotsam and jetsam
keep us afloat for a time then sink,
or move on,
leaving us to swim again, looking for land
that does not exist in the form we seek.

For moments settle on islands until they
no longer sustain us or
the sea rises up and washes us out into the currents
swimming to survive,
but in the end we cannot.

The best we have of the sea are memories
of what we hoped for and the dreams
we dream when we sink below the waves to sleep.
 May 2016 PaintItGrey
Stephan
Sweet magnolia kisses
in the shadows of the day
Petals of desire
flowing soft upon the breeze

Scented of affection
in this magical display
Surrounded by your beauty
as we lay beneath the trees

Listening to a bluebird
so melodic is its sound
Harmonies of springtime
soaring skies of velvet blue

Lost within the moment
in this solitude we've found
Dreaming of forever
on a perfect day with you
Dancing in the wind, quite literally.
In the beginning, you danced in the rain,
Your fire doused by the weight of the world.
You spluttered and your glow was crushed.
The expectations of society held you down.
Your movements were feeble and your light was dying.

It began with a touch of innocence, that harmless naiveté that age withers away.
Such a fragile essence of youth is pounded by the harsh reality that is life. Broken.
This acidic reality consumes all; Innocence, hope and simple idealism.
Maturity is a merciless awakening to a ruthless existence.


She drowned you in standards of beauty and perfection.
Did you not realise we are all beautiful?


The moment stops, stands in turmoil
and caustic, sarcastic scepticism.
It builds, climbs and crashes around you.
You fall, die and are swept away.
Only a spark remains.


‘A will to shatter stars.’
Your mind snaps, is reformed and strengthened.
Apparently, “what doesn’t **** you makes you stronger.’


The darkness of your father’s death;
and the morbid beauty contained within that blood-stained image is glorious.
It drives you to new heights and drags you to more depraved depths.


Passion unblocked, and lo, it lies on lofty heights.
Luminous, boundless, binding.
Your smouldering coal bursts into flame anew.
A curious desire for life is born;
Its candle flickers alongside a raging inferno.


A rebirth ensues.
Complete eclipse of restriction cycles from new moon to full.
The lunar light darkens shade by shade, shadows lengthen and the sky descends.


Lightning arcs though strong clouds.
Pulsing energy razes the heavens in its purest form.
This is the ultimate representation of your freed mind.
This chaotic rolling mass of fury, built up over years of restrained frustration.

Inexorably intertwined, our threads on fates tapestry weave over and over.
A ghost of echoing sentiment remains, one that must be guided, lest it is forever lost.



Gently nurturing a recovering mind is a tedious process.
Great perseverance and patience are required to preserve both its sanity and your own.
‘Tis a far reaching and noble goal, yet one of the most arduous of all to pursue.


This explosion of your psyche and subsequent downfall leaves a dangerous dilemma.
A block, if you will. A redeeming light remains from your rapid release of consciousness.
The key, is in finding that light.
Unlocking this matrix of memory produces a spectacular result.
This web of twisting thoughts spins in the air.
Dancing in the wind, quite literally.
Next page