Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
ANH Sep 26
I walk another broken path, across a collection of burning fragments of orange and brick red, towering above my seemingly insignificant head down a pathway of forgotten futures to foretell.

Each tender leaf just falls. A crisp, whispering wind numbs my face, which would be all too great if it doesn't start to turn to a skeleton freeze and harden to a crystal clear.

Turn back time-- to a more pleasant day.
A day with no wailing cyclones of color circling around me,
No almost-black bark barred trees stretching its arms above my head,
No crunching sweet beneath my feet,
No musty fog to lose myself and forget,
No thundering storm cloud lingering not too far behind to finally come down upon me and sneer as I soak,
No looming forest to navigate through this seemingly endless broken path as I keep moving on.

But it can't be done. There's no going back.

I come across a clearing within and lay my head on the damp, wood soaked, earth-scented soil and look up. Look up into the ever-gray eyes of the sky, hiding its greatest secret--the infinite cosmos of possibly.

Oh, what worlds could there be?

Worlds of echoing majesty and light. Worlds that could cut the mold of ordinary life. Worlds where one doesn't need to navigate on their broken paths but where you can fly high above all else till they're insignificant to your gleaming sky-dried eyes.

But no.

In the forest is where I am. Does that really matter though? This is my fantastical world, here, so I should make the best of it.

I must go on. I step up again and continue in the journey. My journey. I walk to the sound of a trickling, icy, stream. I step over knotted root to knotted root. I almost glide on a mirage of gold and crimson.

As twilight whispers into the wind, I take a look around this endless wood of possibility and march forward on my broken path.
This is old homework from 2-3 years ago. I figured why not share it.
It could be
Like this

You may think
He/She is following you
He/She may be chasing
His/Her dream

And you are in
As simple as that
Genre: Observational
Theme: You must know that || Crossroads
I was afraid and lost and broken. So I was standing by the road.
I wasn't sure where is my legs should go.
I wasn't sure where is my mind was lost.
I was so full of broken pieces.
I was so full of sorrow and distress.
I wasn't see it by myself and even can't confess this fact that I was broken.
My heart said straight, my lengs was moveless.
My head was shaking yes, in second no, in other yes.
And doubts, and doubts, and doubts.
More doubts, and turns and roads. And raises up and down, descent. More stress, protest, confess. Distress, progress, inference.
Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.
Take a break. Breath in.
No more stress.
Fayez Sep 13
I walk,
A thick brush
Paints my way

I cross,
An inked bridge
My feet black

I stop,
The black brush
Paints a crossroad

I sit,
days pass by
As I ponder

I decide,
A blackened path
Walking on ink

I wait,
The brush draws
More diverging paths

I reach,
Holding the brush
Snapping in half

I look,
My body covered
In black ink

I walk,
My body blackened
My path white
A person and the brush that paints their path. An ode to fate, destiny, and the premise things happening for a reason.
Sometimes breaking the brush will make us lost and 'blackened', but atleast we will be free
SWebster Aug 3
I’m feeling pretty low,
Just feel adrift and stuck and don’t know which choice to make.
So I make no choice essentially,
the coward’s choice.
Looking at the thin strip of red-
barely visible, already fading-
I feel proud?? As though I have been resisting for so long, such an age and I finally managed it. I achieved a mark.
Albeit only a sliver, a skin scratch, one without blood
It gives me hope that there can be more
(A return to the past)
And maybe something deeper, one which will drip.
Something I’ve just written, a letter to myself.
Surely, though our story is to be found amongst the rooms and walls and shelves  within the library of Babel...

Each letter perfectly paired to the next, and every space in its rightful place.
Periods and commas punctuating every moment exactly as they should.

...That room has yet to be illuminated, The walls therein unseen, It’s shelves have been left unenumerated.
And the book is yet unnamed...

Lost is the certainty,
the written account,
existing within the infinite possibilities of algorithmic and mathematical clout.

...Leaving us to marvel and worry only armed with faith and good reason, through all of life’s seasons and its many unmeasurable miserable doubts.
Kinda at a crossroads with relationships and work... I found a website called the library of Babel where a guy basically came up with a way to get every possible combination of the 26 letters in the English language, plus periods, commas and space. Making it possible to find a perfect written account of your birth/life/death and everything in between... if you just knew the location within its infinite volumes of seemingly endless babble.
Johnny walker Jul 25
I feel at the crossroads of my life finally reached this point In time but It taken such a long journey through life to get where I
four ways In life I could go
but to where at the moment I don't know questions still ask myself
long and hard I'll have think
for life's Is so very different now I'm on my own honestly to where I don't know or perhaps I just stay where I am a comfort zone of
am thinking
of broken ankles
in the middle of
your moving days
an invite to help
out, just a few days
(on the chesterfield),
to help unpack, a happy
slave for awhile, and i
remember the old adage
that if you help a woman
move if you're not a
couple, then you
never will be, but
that isn't what
i'm scared of here;
i remember the last
time i helped a friend
move, and we joked
about that very
thing, and after
the u-haul was
packed with the
last of her things
us both dripping in
sweat on a hot summer
day (the power already
turned off, no a/c), and
she whispered something
a little bit ***** in my ear,

i need a change of *******

what?!? do?!? i?!? say?!?
from the sweat?

no... from you

and before i knew it we
had ripped off each others
shorts, and my hungry mouth
between her thighs, then me
tossing her up against a
washroom sink, and
i remember the nice
cooling breeze of her
mouth close to my ear
whispering the sweetest
nothings i can't remember,
and i found ecstasy between
her legs even as i knew how
that story was for sure
going to end, and i have
that same feeling, i hate
this and i love this, and
i want you, and i don't,
and i feel my control over
my nice & tidy little universe
slipping so fast, so quickly away
and i'm suddenly a coward,
and i'm suddenly too brave,
and i feel like i am on rails
like my life is getting
away from me, and
i thought i wanted
something that i don't
anymore, because i
know that's not what
you arrived for, not
yet, no, not ever, i'm
not sure, but my heart
is pounding thinking
about tomorrow night,
and i'm lying here unable
to sleep as i'm wondering
if my resolve can be as strong
as my intentions, and i don't
know what is desirable and
what is not, and what role
i'm meant to play, and i'm
feeling like the night
before a big final
exam, a feeling i'd
forgotten about, even
if so very well-studied,
that nervous trepidation,
wanting to somehow
have a time machine to
jump into, to skip ahead,
not by a lot, just a week
or two, because i don't
know what i want, but
i feel what's coming,
the gravity of it,
the power of
attraction, over-riding
common sense, and my
very best judgement, but
i can't stop it, or can i? have
i grown up as much as i think
i have over the last 3 years, licking
my wounds, alone in the cave of
my own heart, have i learned
what i should have, or is it
a lesson i'm doomed to
repeat, for better or
for worse, when i don't
even know what i want
and what i don't right now
and i better get to sleep;
tomorrow is a big day,
either way, they'll be
a price to pay, and
i wish it were friday
morning right now, i
wish life wasn't so very
real again all of a sudden,
i'm not sure if i left my
vast cave too early, and
i can think of a million
reasons not to stay over
and how i could help
out the next two days
but still drive that long
drive home at the end
of the day, but i don't
want to, i want to be
there, just to be in your
presence does things to
me that i'd forgotten i
could feel, and i can't
resist that call even
when i know 100%
this will somehow
end in tears, and
those aren't just fears
but premonitions, or
maybe a promise of
self-fulling prophecy
and i'm not afraid to
suffer, i'm a ******* pro,
i just don't know what my
brokenness might do to
you, and i still feel like
everything i touch is
destined to turn into
grain dust and tears
like some kind of reverse
midas syndrome, and are
these the myths i write for
myself before anything
has even happened, or do
i just know myself much too
much, much too well, much
too me, wanting too much of
Mumford and Sons - Picture You
Sometimes life just pushes you through doors you never even noticed. Doors possessing a different keyhole than the one you have on your person. It was never locked; it stood there resolutely ignoring your breath while you ignore its oak.

You knock on it now.

You have trouble making a rhythm. Your nerves forget that doors could be opened from the outside. You stand there waiting for something to turn the ****, ignoring the fact that you are a man and you have hands and you alone have the strength to open it.

You knock some more.

Sometimes, the door is wrong. You figure out how to open it and you’re greeted by the nightfall. You put your hands in front of you and try to feel the wind. There are no gales in September. The room is a workshop and you are a doctor.

You take two steps backwards.

Life mocks you by throwing you by the same door again, some time after you forgot about the second one. You pushed it by muscle memory and was greeted by the sun. There is a bluebird perched on a willow. It sings for you, doctor. The song is for September.

The workshop at last.
it was a weird hiatus.
Next page