Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Words came out like a half miles of unheard words to the English language. The real reason she was so unheard of was because like her she was such a rare sight. But she's not the kind of art presented in some studio. She's the kind of art thats scribbled on side of buses, train carts, and on top of buildings because she was all I wanted to present to the world the true raw beauty of her. As if she wasn't already wanted for stealing my heart she was wanted for being scribbled upon the walls. It soon she would disappear as if she never existed until she bcame scribbled with cans upon the walls of the city thousand times more in many forms.
Written to the girl who loves art so much she became it.
Sarah Boon Apr 2017
Departing umbrellas, we hope the ride was hell!
Please enjoy the rain you're ready for
that is going to wash the crevices of your ribs.

Flocks of crows sitting in a concrete abyss
with itchy stubble
and broken toes
I lost their feathers in the eye of the storm,
as angels wept snow over blue mountains

You must declare danger before you shout war
as weapons are lustful for your children
a forbidden affair has started
between the innocence and the bullets,

And lust, in the form of broken eye contact,
Shifting thighs,
Warming cheeks,

One hand
on your shoulder
Melanie Kate Nov 2010
Moments like these racing through me:
Looking out the bus window,
stacks of lights
in square, blinded blocks of cement.
Golden trees
turning brown and barren.
But moments like these,
I'm miles away, I'm someplace else.

Moments like these passing me by:
As I wonder through streets,
alleyways wafting in dark sewerage;
Seafood bistros glaring at me.
My hips sway, my feet sink
into exotic sand, sunshine warm.
Floating effortlessly along the dead concrete,
opening my tiny door; this nutshell abode.

And I can’t breathe here
without moments like these.
They are the broken pieces
of my longing heart.
Slowly keeping me together
in these moments’ reality.

Moments like these, slipping, speeding away:
Like endless traffic in angry madness,
in cities that awaken in darkening hours.
The tranquil silence in my heart
guides me to your faces.
One by one I dream for each;
For all the things we want, the good things we need;
For happiness, love, success.
Each thought embedded, embroidered
into moments like these:
Sitting on a bed, millions of miles away,
a cold, rainy day –
A heart beating for moments not these.

(c) Mel D.  Ltd. 2010
(C) MKD 2010

— The End —