Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Breath blows a tree’s leaf
Into the stream below it—
One more reminder
That seasons bring scarcity—
But still the water flows.
A preliminary poem to test out my New Year's resolution to write one poem every day in 2025.
lately i've been scared
worried the darkness will last
but i hope i'm wrong

i feel powerless
so backed into a corner
but i hope i'm wrong

i feel judging eyes
like i'm not just projecting
but i hope i'm wrong

i think i see it
they wince when my mouth opens
but i hope i'm wrong

i feel unwanted
it's unlucky to know me
but i hope i'm wrong

unhelpful and shamed
no one is glad i'm here, right?
i just hope i'm wrong

only by working—
my body, my only strength
my hands hold children
but my mind is too broken
prove to me i'm wrong

Inefficient love
Subpar communication
Almost good enough
Almost worth listening to
If you say nothing
You confirm it with silence
But if you argue
Please bring some more evidence
I'm trying to hope
That this self-talk's distorted
I'm sorry my pain
Is underreported
If nobody cared
Then surely I'd be alone
And not surrounded
By those who want to love me—
But I don't know how
To feel the love that they show.
I shrink back, I hide,
Because it hurts me sometimes.
These are all my thoughts
They feel so true in my mind.
But I really hope I'm wrong.
It comes from nowhere
It's the faint, burning prickle
Springs behind your eyes
Bidding you stop and wonder
Why your breath caught in your throat.
Listen: believe me,
If I knew how to rise up
And overcome them
You would see the shadows crawl
Out of discomfort
For the light bursting, flying,
Exploding forth and
Breaking free of the old bonds
On my now unfettered soul.
A choka version of the 6-syllabic poem I wrote in May 2014.
"Breaking"
Believe me, if I could
You'd see the shadows crawl
Out of discomfort for
The light bursting, flying,
Breaking free of the bonds
On my unfettered soul.
#sixlines #sixsyllables
raphæl Jan 2020
if death's an exit
it explains the red carpet
on the bathroom floor
credits written without ink
paper slipped under the door
Colm Jan 2020
Bright fire turns to ashe
Sunlight turns to dark of night
And night to mourning
For it's loss of another
Moonlit loverboys embrace
57577 - How sweet
raphæl Mar 2019
gasping through my ear
warm bare hands slither beneath
sneaking through tight skin
i steer waves you shut those eyes
leave the realm where lust is sin
raphæl Mar 2019
for months, the kind son
looked over her living corpse
to prolong her breath
but tonight he stepped outside
to waste his with cigarettes
The ironies of life and death;
of love and despair
Next page