Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
I swim endless in despair
So that I do not drown in it.
I breathe only to breathe.

I am suspended in sunlight with no warmth.
I am surrounded by notes that make no melody.
I fumble, falter, fail.

Heavy as a raindrop whose cold
Penetrates deeply into loneliness
Is the air, the light, the lingering.

I forget too much.
I remember too much.
I am too much, and not enough.

A shallow pool is that in which we swim
A void wants only to be filled.
Misery takes us all.
Heavy handed, for certain. But not fresh.
A programmed robot;
Designed to be loved by all,
Never to love at all.
I feel so mean.

Quite the contrast huh.
So many places
that I wanted to see.
I traced new paths on the maps,
softly, with my hands.

Certain journeys were never taken.
I will keep them in my memory.

I looked for the lost keys,
and I saved the never-bought tickets
in small boxes of my heart.

I smile at the happier people
through colored glasses,
held to my eyes.

This is my eternity closed into moments.

Walking alone by the Tiber’s side,
I entered the antiquarian bookstore,
finding synchronic sentences,
small insights,
and I came back with relief.

To my home—to myself.
Without excuses,
without doubts,
without fears.

Writing my song of the world
that flows through me.
The old reality transformed
into a new technological skin.

Now, when I open my window,
I breathe the scent of jasmine.
The rain after the storm is so calming.

I see my solitude chosen,
my friend,
my tender companion.

Being with her,
I am present
with all my senses.

Now,
the one who remains.
The only one.
I was contemplating the interlude of breathing
the tease of the jasmine perfume
a wind without insight was resting in the hammock
a solitude round like the moon
the song of birds was inviting a blue exuberance  when
I had this dream... I dreamt streets flooded by blood
they seemed so real, like the amnesia of mercy
the intensity of red an amplifier for pain
violence this enclave of the soul hidden in plain sight
we watch wars on tv in the stillness of sofas
newborn tears claim the redemption of dawn
but we turn our back to the questions of time
no body line of thought but raw nerves,
blind tongues: as if our body is a world full of nothing
sometimes I have nowhere to hide from this feeling:
my blood is his/her/their blood
We talk about the
past like it's a
movie we
watched together.
You liked the
cinematography.
I didn't care for the
cruelty of the
protagonist.

We disagree on the
theme, and every
scene holds different
aspects of
symbolism for us.
I'm not sure I want
there to be a sequel,
despite the good
acting.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gn9IAYo0wZE
Here is a link to my YouTube channel, where I read poetry from my latest book, Sleep Always Calls.  It's available on Amazon.  My two other books are also available.  Seedy Town Blues and It's Just a Hop, Skip, and a Jump to the Madhouse.
Crying victim as they’re supporting mass victimization.
Time to tune in to another station.
A higher frequency,
a balanced beam..
Only a fool takes one for the team.

Stress is energy being ****** away, another parasitical entity being fed..
Stop listening to the voices in your head..
Road rage is an early death.
Traveler Tim
What if the world didn’t need to be saved and there was no world wide drama nor end of days…
We would still need to **** our food, rip it from its nature, cook it in our stew!
Traveler Tim
When Bob Dylan wrote,
Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me
I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to
Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me
In the jingle jangle mornin' I'll come followin' you.
If he'd had a mobile phone back then,
Most likely not noted the tambourine man,
Never mind following him.
Next page