Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
It's 5 to midnight, my Cinderella fantasy
is rushing away
I don't have any more glass slippers
or time left today
So many years, same old song to sing
Salt in all my tears, making my heart sting
It's all been wasted, every little thing
Wasted love
Rain, pain, sun, moon,
Grass, love, the sky at noon.

Poets often echo the most popular of themes,
Because these things are common it seems.
It's not bland to bleed what life delivers,
Onto paper, pen moving, ink flowing, a river.

It's especially beautiful when someone can write,
About these things in a captivating new light.
So don't shy away from popular themes,
In life, these things are common, it seems.
We are that small section on the beach lit by the night sky, just listening to the waves break at our toes.
My heart aches
for all who
are feeling the pain
who are in shock too--
I wish so much
there was something more
MY heart could do--
all I know to do is pray
and keep believing
in love and hope and light too...
Pamela Rae's poem, (http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1465329/paris-is-bleeding-as-are-we/) inspired me...sorry this is not better, but since Friday, all I've felt like doing is crying and wondering why?
 Nov 2015 Swathi eruvaram
Riya
Vex.
 Nov 2015 Swathi eruvaram
Riya
By now you would have noticed
The stains on my cheeks…
If you did happen to ask me
I would say,
“It wasn’t me, honestly.
It was the rain,
No really, I just yawned.
Me? Cry?
Why I would never.”

You probably would’ve also noticed,
The bruises scattered all over me.
If you asked,
You would know my standard reply.
“Oh, I fell.
Silly old me can’t even balance myself.
Oh these?
Don’t worry about it.
I’ll be fine.
Aren’t I always?”

If you listen really closely,
here’s what you won’t miss.
“These bruises came from his beat.
The tears…
From my own.
But don’t worry your pretty little head about me.
No one ever does.
Please just leave me alone.”
The table waited
For the father and mother
For the merry children
For a splendid dinner
Beside the fire
Where memories flickered
Of roast turkey
And hot cocoa
And a puppy emerging
In a bright parcel
Of red and green
The festive colors

The walls remember
Candle lit evenings
Where stories were told
Under warm blankets
The children would snicker
And laugh in glee
And excitement
As the mother kissed them
And the father said good night

The porch reminiscing
Bright summer days
Where the family
Played joyous games
And sang with the guitar

The yard misses
Seeing the children
In clean uniform
Marching off to school
And coming home
With tired smiles

And the rusty old car
Creaks his hinges
As he weeps
Remembering the father
Who polished and cleaned
During dusty days

And the curtains were weary
For they wanted to move
To let sunlight in
To recapture moments
When the family
Would chase each other
Around the house
Playing hide and seek
Shrieking and exclaiming
In happy voices

The old tree so ancient
Bent over the house
Missing when the son
Would climb his branches
And when in night
He watches them in silence
Camping under his leaves
Huddling each other
In warm plump arms
And when the tree
Peeks in the window
He would see the daughters
Gladly dressing up
For birthday parties

And the doghouse
The wooden old doghouse
Falling apart
Looks at the past
At a little puppy
Licking at his bone
And then coming out
With dozens of other puppies


And the dusty floorboards
Weak and brittle
Will creak at night
Remembering footsteps
Entering and leaving
The grandiose proud door
With a bronze doorknob

And a chandelier would clink
When the wind passes
Filling the house
With flashbacks
Of a new baby
Of graduations
And weddings
And then of noise
Noises of fun
And laughter
And giggles

They cannot remember
The blind day
When everyone vanished
Not a letter of goodbye
Not a wave of the hand
No words no memories
Nothing
Sadness and peace once again

They all sighed
As the sun vanished
In the edge of the neighborhood
They all wept
For the old wood
In the middle of everyone
Waiting for the family
The sad dining table
In ashes and burnt chairs
The table waited
Next page