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Laura Slaathaug Apr 2018
--
It was cold when I died--
The ground hard where I was lain
The garments wrapping
my head and body  
were meant to be my last--
the night silent
and there was nothing
and nothing else.

The dead do not have hope.
The dead have nothing
but a tomb.
And this tomb was meant
for me.

The living have stories.
The dead have endings.
But even endings have endings,
and the biggest trick I fell for
was that mine was done.

Because there was
not nothing.
The heavy air became light.
And the ground thudded with
heavy movement;
then it was still.
And there was nothing once more.

And then my eyes opened.
The wrappings were pulled
from my face,
and light hit my eyes.

And I rose again
on my 2 feet,
and walked toward
the open stone door
that You had
rolled open
for me.
Happy Easter!
Tash Mckay Apr 2018
It was night as I woke to a choking to my throat
To a squeezing to my ribs
Binding my body
Binding my feet
Restricted
Can not move
Struggle for air
A being hanging
With a stare
It did not care
I take a mouth full of air
I'm scared
Then it jumps to attack
I'm fighting on my back
An evil is apon me
I fight for my soul
The darkness to take me
It crushing the air out of me
I prey
I prey
Please leed me to light
As I fight this dark night.
I wake with a scream
A nightmare
A bad dream.
I had a recurring nightmare of being crushed to death bye a black darkness this is it x me writing about is my therapy . Thank god I don't have this nightmare no more x
Tash Mckay Apr 2018
I've hit a wall
200 hundred miles per hour
Smash
Thrash
Car fu##ing crash
I've hit a wall
It's so ******* tall
On and on it towers over me
Smash
Crash
This wall makes me feel so small
It's so tall
I'm so small
I hate my fu##ing walls x
I'm so hard to reach sometimes I get told .I think im simple x  I'm frustrated at myself at this point in time some think got to give ***
Cné Apr 2018

The Muse of Whimsy has arrived.  
I really feel the need
To take a break from poignant
and my impish humor feed.

A silly prank's in order
so I'll leave some noggin bear
By filling up their shampoo bottle
with a cup of hair removal "Nair".

I'll put a rubber hot dog
in some hungry knot head's bun.
Watching his expression
should be worth a lot of fun.

Humiliation is a blast
when dignity is lost.
If someone's feelings are the price.
well then it's worth the cost.

Somebody always loses
if your heart is made of stone
Laughter is contagious
but leave well enough alone.

Compassion is the brakes you use
when things get out of hand.
Laugh, but pass the laughter on
then most people will understand.

As you can guess, I’m not much of a prankster. I had 2 olderbrothers and it never seemed fun to be the **** end of a prank. Lol
Jenny Gordon Mar 2018
Ya, weeds.



(sonnet #MMMMMMCMLXXXI)


Now April dogs our sunny minutes, pale
Blue skies with nary cloud to mar that sense
As orange 'non splashes buildings in defense
Of rosy sunset just where dinner's bail,
The biscuits cut ere that eye cease t'avail,
And curtains drawn while steamy soup fr'intents
Give us cause to reflect, black night what'd fence
Dessert as we talk oer the future's tale.
I roll the first words 'cross my tongue as't stir
'Fore butter gives flour cause to be anew
Sheer dough, that haunting sense light rouses fer
Auld memries of lost days what winks unto
My soul, though's but March first.  Is it sae poor
To feel it in our bones likeas twould woo?

01Mar18e
This is cheerier than what I've been inking lately, plagued with blue thanks to the sunny suggestion of April, sewing restoring me to the memories I'd been avoiding--Mum gone and me a stranger in this world sans a home.  Haha, laugh at me.
Téa Rhyno Feb 2018
My days lately
have been sad, and dark and grey
I hope to find better, brighter days
maybe in the month of May

April hasn't come yet
but I'm prepared for oncoming showers
maybe all the clouds I see over my head
are just trying to water my flowers

The flowers that were frozen over
in the harsh month of December
the ones I've buried deep, deep down
the ones I can't remember

I know that the day will come
when all my flowers can finally bloom
I hope that time comes to me soon
but if not in May, then maybe June
Jenny Gordon Feb 2018
"...and Death to me subscribes--"



(sonnet #MMMMMMCMXX)


How fragile light draws shadows up to fence
Our passage to and fro, ne groundhog's scale
Of is't author'ty? as blue heavns avail
Long naked boughs where last Fall leaves' brown sense
Half shivers or just waits in dead suspense.
This eye of April whose bulbs know th'exhale
Is but a whisper of frore breath own bail
And, buried, shift now to the hours' intents.
If I had inked how gloaming 'gan to stir
As rosy blushes warmed the vacant blue
'Lone on the West ah, what?  I could not, fer
All that, yet wondered as I sifted through
The flour and leavning if dawn would be poor
Or sans a blot as lo, tis for that cue.

02Feb18a
Talk about long-lasting fuel, la, that particular sonnet sure inks my pen sometimes, or what is it?
Jenny Gordon Feb 2018
Or?



(sonnet #MMMMMMCMXVII)


O! How these clear blue heavns urge on the frail
Hope flowrs are just in tow, as April thence
With darling violets in the wings!  Clouds hence
Low on the golden hours' far edge, mists veil
My window pane as if to show ne bail
Exists, though how I feel it 'non fr'intents
Now in my very bones, my blood with sense
Enow to rouse a fever in betrayl.
You wish.  Yet what is't culls my soul as twere
From aught lit corner, like erst wont to do?
Yes, wherefore does the sunny vista stir
Sich dreams?  For lo's but Groundhog Day a few
Hours hence, nor shall his shadow make in poor
'Scuse any diff'rence.  Ah, what does now woo?

01Feb18a
And here I thought I'd outgrown that fevered yearning for Spring.
Jenny Gordon Feb 2018
Magnolia can correct me, I guess.


(sonnet #MMMMMMCMV)


Thin snow fir's lacy shadows cozen, frail
Nor but a vestige, waits as how from hence
The eaves drip like some faucet, April's scents
In tow whileas this warmer light'd avail,
Blue heavns expansive, wind's a soft exhale
And fragile though a caller breath, suspense
Is as a child in nurs'ry school fr'intents,
My soul half wanting to skip through the vale.
O yes, the moors are frozen still in tour,
Mud wakened to **** at our feet and do
Linoleum in childish strains.  None stir
Dead leaves' thick carpet to lift smiles unto
These gracious skies: no daffodils yet, fer
All I kin feel it in my bones.  What'd woo?

25Jan18a
Ah, how by now I've forgotten all that...
Jenny Gordon Jan 2018
January's thaw was ever wont to deceive even the lacklustre souls with visions of sugarplums was that?



(sonnet #MMMMMMDCCCLXXVII)


How blue dusk fringes that wee chance t'avail
Myself of scribbling...ere we dine.  Spring hence,
Despite frore winds' most cruel breath, tiptoes thence
Within these longer hours of light.  Though frail
Perhaps in guise, yet O! in keen betrayl
Nor with aught joy, my very soul can sense
Its eye as if upon these wastes, til whence
Is only whether next month shall wax pale.
Yes, will ole Febry yield to April fer
All that?  I feel it in my bones anew,
Half shivring to acknowledge what, as't stir?
Ah, wherefore do I shrink from May, and rue
The hope of daffodils and violets, poor
As all my ecstasies therein?  Who knew?

12Jan18b
Shall we say it's fun racing the clock when you've only 10 minutes?
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