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 May 12 Sally A Bayan
Onoma
Her profile dared
the precipice of
the ages, with the
most vulnerable
contemplation.
One could see a
rain of saintly
hands touching her
shoulders.
As if to ask: are you
okay..?
~
Restless traveler
sit still,
and look pretty
under the apple tree

the interconnection,
your milligram smile,
best in motion,
you run with honey

you pond and stream,
rivers in your mouth,
the deep taste of survival,
so few will remain, after
the pollinator

with dizzy spells in flight,
a promise flits away
from your swear jar,
you and your wings
mean more to me
than milestones
of osmosis

But is it me
you'll really miss?

~
My Mom bought me a ring
It says "Just Breathe"
I look at it and I can hear her voice
Reminding me to breathe
The midnight breeze escorts your pace,
Grace in motion, my soul’s quiet praise.
Might I dare to ask, if true,
Who is the maiden with mohawk hue?
I cannot bear to meet her gaze,
The fairest face that steals the haze.
I’m in a contest I can’t win
Or even come in second.
My bird has flown from the streetlight arm
And taken promise with it.

Another lands and then departs
To mock my hopeful prayers
The sky teems with symbolic fowl
But I can’t suss their meaning.

A big one flew straight over me
But I can’t read its message.
Was it promising good health
Or telling me it’s sorry

That I’ll only get just what I have
To get me through tomorrow
And if I am not strong enough
The game will then be over.

Why are birds the messengers
In answer to my pleas
They send me signals I can’t read
And I walk on in darkness.
ljm
I've fixated on birds as messengers from....God?
I am incapable of writing
So don't try to convince me that  
I possess countless poetic ideas.

Because at the end of the day,  
I see only failures in every attempt.  
And I'm not about to lie by saying that  
each setback helps me along.

Because no matter what,  
                        I feel trapped in a cycle of mediocrity.                        
And I am in no position to believe that  
true inspiration dwells within me.

For even in my darkest musings,  
Am I as uninspired as my doubts proclaim?
Backwards poems are so fun to write! They take away my writer's block!
Maybe it’s nothing
Always has been
But whatever it is
I’d do it again
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