Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
You used to kiss my scars, used to cherish my broken pieces.

You promised to always be there.. to always listen.

Somehow it's changing..

"Honey" is now replaced by my name.

Your voice sounds cold on the phone, "low battery" you said.

I can't deny it, my gut is screaming.

I am losing him.

Left alone,
the way he said my name still echoes in my head.

When did your promises turn fake?
My palms in my pockets jingle
the keys to my cave as I make
my way to wherever I’m going.
My legs propel me, and my feet
dodge cast-off gum and dog dung.

And on my head rests a fishbowl.

An extra load on my skull,
but I don’t mind. I rather
like this bowl. It gives me
a barrier, and though thin,
the glass has yet to crack.

I hear my voice resound,
bouncing around the tiny
space, and I smell my breath,
minty fresh and foggy, and
through the fog the world and
its creatures are phantoms.

When I’m addressed, it’s like
floating in frigid freshwater
as they call for me from
the sheet of ice above.
They suspect I’ve lost
my soul in the fishbowl,
yet as year after year
goes by, I feel just fine.

I am an astronaut taking
a space walk, drifting around
and watching the universe
unfold under a sheet of glass.

And when I close my eyes,
I am in a womb, or a coffin,
and I often can’t tell the
difference, nor find much
of a reason to tell.

by Aleksander Mielnikow
If you want to hear me read this poem aloud, check out my Instagram @alekthepoet !
Grey Apr 23
"I love you," I whisper into the void,
but the only response is my echo.
of velvet
night upon
the moon
river, she
felt the
of her
her fingers
upon the
water, the
fairy with dark
eyes as bright
as stars
and a heart
purer than
the first
the voice
of her song
glides through
the clear
and high
into the
wind, letting
the leaves
dance to
her melody,
ethereal is
her barefoot
step through
the mist
forest, her
the fawn
and the
in peace
they lived,
until, a
by the soft,
honey breath
of her symphony,
in harmony
they were,
the strums
of his lute
shared with
her voice,
until time
had passed
for the mortal
traveler, and
he left the
forest, the
animals were
by his leaving,
the fairy flew
to the branch
they sat upon
the celestials,
and found a
strand of
silver blonde
hair, it a memory
of her lover,
she returned
to the animals
and had hidden
it within the
earth, which
slept until
the golden
light came
upon there,
and, with
the sun
and the
tears from
her heart, it
was born,
the flower of
Jenish Apr 19
Let me
O love, to love
With my heart, throng with love
When life, sketching shades of sundown
Kiss me..
Once more sit side by side my bed
With tears, I'll clean my eyes
And trace echoes,
Let me
Raz Jorden Jun 2019
You knock at my mind
And I won’t let you enter
You circle my silhouette
Slip in through the shadow
behind the heart chakra
Is that where you hide
Where I find the chains of you
And so I had this key
You remember it
Ah, you still have it
Swept under bridges,
You store it
Kept quiet until later
When it’s all over
And time doesn’t matter
When nothing else matters
That is where we exist
Forever entangled,
In the mess of our intentions
Never re-entering
Only remembering
Secretly within
the echoes of our mind
Lonely and waiting for admittance
Raz Jorden Apr 16
I gave you my wings but you let me fly
Wishing wells forever echo our sound
With painted feathers of lost memory
I sweep silent my old bones from the ground
Bhill Apr 13
the answers are not ready to be heard
questions from the ancients are still spinning
twisting, turning, swirling and churning
drifting in and out of the minds that maintain the stamina
having substantial durability throughout timeless echos
stories, of the stories, passed on with no conclusions
the answers are not ready to be heard
not yet

Brian Hill - 2020 # 104
Wait for the answers...
Next page