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2.1k · Jun 2017
Tired Eyes
Sean Holshouser Jun 2017
Tired eyes close, as youthful eyes open wider than ever,
Taking in the bright world, with its beauty and wonder,
Every step a new experience, every breath a new purpose,
With blinding light and naivety.

Living, loving,
Thinking, learning.

Beginning to speak with precision and tact,
Letting a voice carry through the fog,
Color splits the misty world,
As love envelops every sense.

As it comes, however,
The light darkens.

Disenchanted with glory,
Spitting out the lost dreams of comic book heroes and video games,
Quenching the cold, dying embers of childhood,
That cry to the world to ***** them out.

Losing hope, going numb,
Feeling nothing.

Waking up... shedding fear, being reborn,
Spreading the wings of a new life,
Seeing a different light, a new fire,
Brighter than the old.

The colors of the world change,
The glistening light fades into a tired contentment.

Watching the world through calm, weary eyes,
Wiser now, witnessing the passing time with the gaze of long life,
A creaking smile, as the light shines more profoundly than ever,
Tired eyes close, as youthful eyes open wider than ever.

Pain fades to dust, and dust to dust,
As all else shines with indescribable beauty.

Fearing not of death, but of yearning for that which has passed,
And for that which was missed.
1.4k · May 2017
Feel Anything
Sean Holshouser May 2017
You smile,
But your lips have a quiver,
You laugh,
But there's a graininess to it,
As if you're about to choke.

The blue ocean laps across your feet,
But you see only the black of the night,
Your toes curl around the cool sand,
But the sand feels hot to you,
Burning, scalding with deafening heat.

You've wished upon a million stars,
But see them only as dim dots in the sky,
You give so much love to the world,
But don't know yourself what love is,
As if you've learned only selflessness.

Calm your senses,
Feel the wind upon your face,
Without feeling the heavy, dusty layer
Of nothing, permeating your senses,
With the sharp chill of a falling icicle.

Feel something,
Feel anything.
838 · Apr 2017
Left to Right
Sean Holshouser Apr 2017
She sits,
Her pencil quietly pacing along the page,
Left to right; left to right,
Pacing through her work with the consistent monotony of a swinging pendulum,
Left to right; left to right.

Her mind wanders,
Flying with the color and speed of a kite curving through the air,
Left to right; left to right,
Vividly weaving through carnivals, old romance movies and young ladies dancing,
Left to right; left to right.

She sits alone,
Her mind quietly vacationing off to a calmer place, her body sways,
Left to right; left to right,
Feeling lonely there, thinking of the oak trees outside of her window, swinging,
Left to right; left to right.

Her eyes are the color of the trees,
They twinkle and flash with the rush of the circus, and the old movies,
And the beautiful music playing its melancholic, nostalgic tune,

She is the young lady dancing, dancing through her life with love in her heart,
And even when she feels lonely, or sad, or afraid,
She needs nothing more than to remember the world's unending, growing love for her.

As she continues her work, she hums to herself,
Her mind painting pictures of indescribable beauty, matched only by that of her own,
And if she listens closely enough, she hears the whole world humming back to her, gently, across her heart,

Left to right; left to right.
468 · Apr 2017
Dreamers
Sean Holshouser Apr 2017
The wind cuts like a knife across the sky,
Twisting and swirling like the peeling
Drawn off of a freshly grown cucumber.

Air splitting the cool frame of daylight with a
Shocking smoothness, grazing the grass like a
Dressing on the morning dew,
Breaking silence at the dawn.

You and I've been here before,
Casting shadows on the floor.

Saw your smile splashed on your face,
And all of my fears disappear from my mind into the cold,
Clammy hands of some other man's nervous disposition.

Hearts unlocked, emotions talking with the
Soft pluck of a harp and the sound of a thousand trumpets,
Intertwined like silken strings; spirits warm, like the playful
Morning dewdrops that the crisp wind dances and hums its wistful tune over.

Finding solace in our eyes, singing our bright melody,
We are dreamers at heart, but you are my beautiful reality.
446 · May 2018
Daydream
Sean Holshouser May 2018
I look at you,
and I see someone
who has lived and experienced so much,
Both good and bad,
And has come out stronger for it.

I see someone who is beautiful
on the inside and outside.
I see eyes with endless stories
and a smile with silent tales to tell.

I see you. And that's what matters the most.

Sleep, and dream about tomorrow,
For tomorrow will come quickly.
I'll be holding you in my mind;
I'll be there whether you see me or not.

In the foam of coffee, or the soft touch of wind,
In the comfort of couches,
In soft lights or floorboards;
I'm there with you.
418 · May 2017
This is Deep Art
Sean Holshouser May 2017
Smooth blackness covers the abyss,
Hiding the colorless, nondescript mess beneath,
Standing sturdy, muffled when hit,
Resting in a neglected corner of society.

Sitting where the wind doesn't blow,
A white veil spread, shielding the chaos inside,
Standing against the curved wall,
Nowhere to go.

Running in an endless circle,
Sealed tight, mute, soundless,
Trapping darkness,
Blocking the light.

If you've learned anything from this,
It's that anything can be deep as long as it's poetic,
I wrote this about a trashcan.
E D G Y.
Small disclaimer: I love this website and all of the poets in it. This is just in good fun. :P
304 · Mar 2019
Progress
Sean Holshouser Mar 2019
When life itself seems hard to win,
When day’s deep dawn seems sure to slow,
We welcome comfort, as we know,
We don’t progress, a cardinal sin.

While we may struggle to move on,
Our minds must strive for our desires.
Assure the sparks will ne’er expire,
Act on the chance, before it’s gone.

Although, we must not push our luck,
As far as to where it runs out.
The ones who have the highest clout,
Oft work right ‘round their getting stuck.

Progress, comes at cost, however,
To those who are too vigilant,
A worse life to them, the world grants,
And to those who are not so clever.

Fast change may seem appealing now,
But wait, the world must be better,
Than to fall in bonds of fetters,
As we take to a sinful vow.

Good or bad, across the wide range,
The result is always the same,
“Good” and “bad” are simply two names,
Of the ups and downs of the change.

— The End —