Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Apr 2011
THere is wHere it Happens.
THere is wHere it meets its maker, face to face, and then rips out the sink and sHatters.
An image of (G)god.
THere.                    Do you see now?                          No, you don't.Do you Hear it?


Of course not.                        These things can be forgiven.

Hallways, brittle lit   unwavering absence of ligHt   unfazed face of Hope.
                   unmarred reason of passion          unscarred wrists, scanning the walls

Do you...feel it now?                       Do you?       You do?            Then...
The only trutH is tHat you are full of lies.      

You do not see, you do not Hear, you try to listen but you cannot feel so let. me. kiss. you. So tHat you can taste your own sweet sorrow.

As you drove into me I was like the sun and you were like the moon, a firey ******* ball of fire versus a cold barren landscape, but the only thing close enougH to feel.

It stung like a needle.
It stung like a wHipcrack on a sunburn.
It stings like that first hit of cold water on an open wound.
It stings like when you suddenly realize a (G)god doesn't rule you       and
before you realize that             tHere is a reason        beyond tHat.

It's a little thing. And you're only going to notice it when it leaves, and makes everything so, very slightly
astray.

As you pulled away I was like desert and you were like twiligHt. A cold barren landscape versus a darkness tHat still sHows some false Hope of light. Our lips were like the Horizon.                They were.


You pulled away.      And planets died.           And people died.          
             And the place where my feelings once existed became a vacuum.
Every day I carried worlds on my shoulders. And the sky opened up like an old wound. And if you were the sky, I was the desert below it.  

And there was nothing in this desert.


And there was nothing.


And then I knew,                                     that it didn't matter if I lived or died.
                              But you were dead.
And no amount of remembering can change the world I'm in right now.


So I will make a new one.



Consisting of...




                                                       ­                                                     ...only memories






and that is fine.
Orion Schwalm
Written by
Orion Schwalm  26/Nevada City, CA
(26/Nevada City, CA)   
941
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems