Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Dec 2017 rose
everlasting cherry
this skin and under
to the electric wind’s
seventh spectrum

to aerating icicle
lagtights of dust
clinging below
dichrotic glass
in thaw, like

blood flooding
arms gone numb
braced for cave
of ceiling

now gifted full
with rush of needles
reminding live
and it’s OK to

breathe
this

as the cube
evaporates
it sparks

cutes me all
electro

with flickering green
between silhouetted ribs
I walk this field
All turned to ash
The fire will never yield
So I turn and I ask
“How did this forest
Once beautiful and strong
Become so dark?”
It just all seemed wrong
There was none to answer
My question was fate
It cried to wind
Still not answered to date
So I strolled on in the ash
Walking through the burning
All in worse state than trash
As I walked I began to weep
No longer able to stand
All the pain that I saw
I fell with my head in hand
And I wept and I cried
At seeing all this beauty
And imaging how it died
I couldn’t imagine
Anything good coming from this
So I cried and I wished
That it would just burn me up too
Then maybe I wouldn’t have to see
And I could just be
It would all be well
If I never had to tell
And I never had to see
All the ash
And blatant misery
But from my sobbing I paused
When I looked up
And to my surprise I saw
A young flower
A daisy
All yellow and golden
I was suddenly cold then
As chills ran down me
And I could no longer weep
I stood up
I began to leap
For in the ash
And through the flame
Had produced such beauty of fame
Something so amazing
And elegant
My mind now fervently spent
I saw that through it all
There was still good
And there was more than just the ash
I was talking to a friend about seeing the good in the world despite the pain and anyway that conversation inspired this so there.
 Dec 2017 rose
Richard Grahn
i see you
in the snowflakes
dancing
We had a light snow-shower today. One of the flakes landed in my mouth, a tiny, chilly inspiration pill.
 Dec 2017 rose
Rj
3:07 PM
 Dec 2017 rose
Rj
The temperature hastily drops
Wind blowing, rain streaming
I woke up late this morning
The sky's been plastered

I walk meagerly to class
This day will be the shortest.
 Dec 2017 rose
Lindsey Ann Pearl
The library smells
like ginger and coffee
and books that haven't seen the light of day since they were published

the sour scent of unopened pages
and the bittersweet commercialized coffee
diffuse throughout the building,

procrastination,
this is the smell of procrastination.

the air is swirling,
whipped along by the passers-by
its cool embrace is welcoming
gently blowing through me, onwards

cooling my mind as i brace
for the swell of tests and
tests and
tests

The coffee scent relinquishes,
as well as the task at hand,
and my dorm is calling me
 Dec 2017 rose
mel
be still
 Dec 2017 rose
mel
c l o u d s
tell the best stories
of allowing transition
free of condition
if only we could
be still long
enough to
l i s t e n
It’s that time of year
Or so they all say
But I’m holding back a tear
I can’t go a single day

Without this weight over me
It’s all darkness and pain
The lights are bright I see
But it’s all dull in this pouring rain

In my head are monsters and demons
In my thoughts is the pain of past mistakes
All these bright lights will start to break

The beauty that you all see now
Isn’t going to last
These lights and laughter
It will soon be past

And then again
Will reign in the world
All the darkness and sin.
Christmas time used to be magical and fun to me. Now it all just seems so shallow and void.
Next page