Mar 2015
It was pitch black when I lost myself
in the arms of the one
who held the earth by it's core.
Leaving a trace of seashells and flowers,
I followed him to polluted water
and barren wasteland.
I held him while he cried hurricanes and moved mountains
for his friend whom was violated
by the hands of the human.
I held him while he stirred the tides
and tried. Tried to understand the hollow crevices
upon his heart,
the taint taunting the surface.
I cried as I felt him slipping from my grasp;
I felt his absense when spring and summer never came.
And when my nights got darker and my days shorter,
the Earth,
the Earth got sicker.
In a fever of 18,000 degrees,
I lost him.
in the arms of the one
who held the earth by it's core.
Leaving a trace of seashells and flowers,
I followed him to polluted water
and barren wasteland.
I held him while he cried hurricanes and moved mountains
for his friend whom was violated
by the hands of the human.
I held him while he stirred the tides
and tried. Tried to understand the hollow crevices
upon his heart,
the taint taunting the surface.
I cried as I felt him slipping from my grasp;
I felt his absense when spring and summer never came.
And when my nights got darker and my days shorter,
the Earth,
the Earth got sicker.
In a fever of 18,000 degrees,
I lost him.
I always seem to take long breaks from writing, but whenever I grab a notebook/pen and create I always wonder why I ever stopped. I wrote this last night. It took me awhile to decide what exactly I was trying to say but that's the beauty of poetry: there is no wrong answer. So, interpret it as you please. Here's a little hint though: this isn't your typical "love" poem.
