Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Gabrielle Apr 20
She drew arrows on paper
Thin lines and angles
Head to hand, table to elbow
A neat triangle
Tori Schall Jan 30
There is a delicate innocence
in a young season.
One where they are just beginning
untainted by the coming days and the rush
of all the things that must change.
Unburdened by the falling leaves, or the growth of flowers
or the fall of snow on a winter evening.

But as the seasons age, they lose that innocence.
Leaves no longer bear the vibrant colors of Autumn.
Spring no longer grows such beautiful flowers,
whose petals are so soft
like silk, or a lover's touch.
Winter brings forth harsh blizzards and ice that forces
everyone into hiding
as they wait out just one of many winter storms.
Summer brings forth days too hot to do anything,
drought and sunburn, heatstroke and general uncomfortableness.

As the seasons die, they give birth to the next season,
innocence born anew in a never-ending cycle
of naivety, then suffering, then the long waited for relief.
A season never stays, and you cannot follow it.
But at the same time, you know
that it will always come back to you in the end.

Seasons are much like humans, no?
We are born so delicate, full of an untainted fragility
that people swoon over
wanting for that innocence to never fade.
But as we grow, that innocence turns to
bitterness, greed, anxiety, and the wish
for the next season to come along and save them from this
the boring, monotonous day that never ends.
And as we grow even older, acceptance rolls around
and we begin to regret the things we never did in life.
But for some of us, the season ends far too soon.
and unlike the seasons, we can never come back.
Lake Sep 2019
i need to find some strength
to get through today
cause the more that i wait
i might make a mistake

cause everything happens for a reason
and flowers never bloom out of season
it never goes according to plan
with my feet still stuck in the sand

it's all just target practice
i miss and miss till i got it
i never really aimed correctly
but once in awhile i get lucky

most of the time i'm tired
of all these shots i've fired
and i don't have what's required
and the date has now expired
Little Green Jun 2019
I enter my own bubble
It lets me see the world with love
Spread my wings like a white dove
And soar above the seas

We make our own reality
Perhaps I am naïve
But, I love our world
With an untainted purity

I am a little green
liakey May 2019
Alone at last
Convince myself it’s all I’ve ever wanted so that time will more easily pass

Haven’t thought for weeks
My face remains dry
Forgot what it was like to not drown every night

Then there’s the light,
Exposing reality and reawakening my fright

Just want to escape
Run away and be free forever more

Want to be alone forever,
Isolated from all
Their blades won’t pierce my skin
Nor will they rip apart my heart, I’ll spend my life waiting for his sacred call

Wish it would come soon
Life has become a burden, my shoulders can no longer ensue
Show me another way
Guide me away from where I lie broke, helpless, and empty, screaming on the floor

I know your plan is greater
Please help me to see
That you truly want the best for me and this is all apart of your vision, guide me to be free
Silver May 2019
the steam of the shower holds your face
like a pillow.

pushing out the smog, clutter in your head
billowing around you and thawing out
the raw thoughts that you try to freeze over.

the endless patter of hot rain that
cleanses, but also
hurts
in that it's one of the only
honest sounds you'll ever hear
(outside of love.)

the moment you step out into the humid, mediated
atmosphere of a cooling room
the water dripping off your arms,
your hair,
your face,
making you anew.

but as everyone does, you wipe the mirror clear
to see your face, and know that despite life,
it's still you.

it changes you, yet proves your you-ness more than anything else.
Perdue Poems Apr 2019
I sit beneath the willow
As all my thoughts run free
Skipping through the meadow
Of true tranquility

I sit beneath the willow
As winds begin to blow
I feel the stumble of my thoughts
Into the valley's low

I sit beneath the willow
As rains begin to pour
I hear the gurgle of my thoughts
Till thoughts I think no more

A cloudy sky is all I see
A mind of dull torpidity
I sit beneath the willow
I sit beneath the willow
Madeline Harper Aug 2018
These feral thoughts lay scattered
And lay waste to an endangered mind
It seems thorns only mattered
When they were blooming and I was blind

As I’ve seen, dreams are a virtue
While reality is a cross-
The former nails the good and true
While the latter is a mere loss

These virtuous thorns plague me
When I go lay the cross to rest
While these thorns pillage kindly
And seek a curse to heal the blessed

If dreams are ash, then a soul is fire
Onward still! We will burn before the dark
As thoughts are a haze and minds are liars
Yet, burning thorns always carry a spark.
I’m trying to practice writing while I’m back in school, please let me know your thoughts!
Next page