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Soma that seeps
like little creeks
off the edge
a tongue outstretched
wilted flower beds
that pretty head
arid to wetlands
He had green fingers,
My heart was an arid patch,
Tenderly he planted love seeds in it.
He watered it with care,
Nurtured it with patience,
Tended the delicate shoots,
Sang duets with the fragile leaves,
Until my heart blossomed into a beautiful garden of heavenly, colourful love buds,
Which bloomed and diffused an exotic fragrance of love and happiness.
Salmabanu Hatim Sep 2018
I may be in a crowd,
With my friends and family,
But without you my love
I am lonely.
You have taken over my thoughts and my heart,
Without you my tears have dried,
My lips are parched,
My heart beats have slowed,
I am in a trance.
If you truly love me,
Come back, my love,
Bring greenery to my arid life.
Pagan Paul Jan 2018
And I stumble on across the barren land,
the mist, like a shroud, about me swirls,
chipped flint rocks assault my bare feet,
an endless quarry of slate grey, my world.

So the curtain of sadness and submission falls,
covering my mind with an opaque funeral drape,
the hazy images of the isolated and desolate,
forming the features of depressions landscape.

Vaguely felt, the invasion of another waits,
blind and innocent in a palace of real fear,
set free to roam in a strange arid topography,
desperate times pause for vision to be clear.

A stark scene viewed through teardrops frozen,
by ice winds of piercing calamity and despair,
of a place exclusive to the disaffected and lonely,
the last retreat for an exhausted mind to repair.

And this is my world where the haunted party,
leave me be with my cold mists and grey stone,
the frozen tear for a souvenir means everything,
my special gift, the feeling of being utterly alone.

© Pagan Paul (24/01/18)
Some people slip into a black hole when depression strikes but this poem is where I go when it affects me badly.
I'm OK, just writing about it whilst I can.
Phil B Oct 2015
From sands I arise,
to the faded skies over,
these hardened eyes,
and overexposure.

The bone-dry plains,
and arid weather,
have crackled my skin.
this sun-baked nether.

Drain on morale,
and eroder of soul,
nothing left now,
so I dig my last hole.

the yellow-white sea,
it stretches on.
it thirsts for me.
I am--long gone.
Wren Djinn Rain Sep 2015
Two souls beside, tied to a rock
inside arid wasteland
both wanting for
something or other and as the sky
drawing dark tells signs
wanting no more than to ignore
the coming storm, sidle
around in eager circles

Red, washing anger
down in rain
a divine cycle
dividing faith
from absolution's
true face
What do you look like, life?
To transcribe is my intent
but it's hard to begin to find when I'm
your invention, indentured

— The End —