Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Millie Aug 2019
In essence she wishes for everything she lost
She wants then even when there’s a better now
She’d trade prosperity for the comforts of an old life
III Mar 2019
the cool, mid-afternoon breeze
flowing through my bedroom window
turns my heart to honey and
my feet into flowers,
rooted where I stand, though
I'm still not sure if I'm grounded
with the revitalization of defrost
or buried in unforeseen melancholy.
anonymous Feb 2019
these winter days;

are no longer lilac

no longer tragically, beautiful

now just wrong

the sky, presently grey

mimicking our souls

will never shine again

not like it did before
This is a followup poem to lilac sky. I hope you enjoy it!
Jennifer DeLong Jan 2019
Seeing the day arise
Seeing the lonely looking sky
It's no wonder I'm feeling so blah
It's mornings like these ,
I just wanna sleep the day away
No emotions no feeling the drag
Then awake to a sunny day nah
life's not gonna play it my way
So here I go anyway
© Jennifer Delong 1/16/19
Ian Dec 2018
dreary days to be,
mortified of being me,
trying just to see
Dillon Driskill Nov 2018
Sometimes in life
It is a dreary day
And it seems
Like always you will be the hunters prey

But you must take that beating
and turn it into a meal worth eating

Sometimes you must put up with the storm
Because a desert comes from no rain
Where all life the sun had since slain
Rosalyn Urquhart Oct 2018
the high priestess sits still
on her throne  
her mottled hands beginning to sprout veins
Like the roots of an ageless tree
her eyes sinking low to the earth, lids heavy with sleep
the abstract temple, mismatched in quilted sheets and mangled ceramic fragments
encompassing her victims, the children brothers Romulus and Remus
who play under a drizzled chorus of shattered glass
and winter hesitates as she raises her roots to a flame of Hell
fuels the pyre with white snakeroot and , suckling from the Jack-in the pulpit
feeds the ashen embers once again
AD Letwixt Oct 2018
the river Eyn, between outstretched hands
flows to lands farther than
ear has heard or eyes have searched
and they say the land twists and shifts
at her end
'til one is sailing up again

She flows like drowsy eyes in midafternoon daze
languidly stretching back and forth before the haze
the foggy mists that sit atop her skin smooth surface
shade from daylight
her sailors sleeping to sail the moonlight

I stood atop my little ship
to see the faces of passers-by
who watch the ships from shoreside

On each face I looked so long
but always obscured was the evening sun
what tree or branch, or mist or shade
I cannot see what faces made

Dreary drowsy eyes begin to close
she will close them, Eyn
so I might sail the moonlight
midnight's rays of clear and blue
and bathe pensive in cerulean hue.
Brandon Conway Sep 2018

I visited the heavens today
all gods were absent
looked out the window
we were in the clouds

landed in Detroit
on a dreary day
why would it be any different?
this skeletal remain of a city

at least the bartender was great
but now I’m drunk wandering around
Detroit
hope I wake up in my hotel
Next page