Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Sophie Mar 24
midnight black arabian prince,
his neck, impressed by the wired
fence
holding him back forever
from the woman of his dreams.
        dark horse
they came for him in the evening
soft, dimming sunlight grazed his eyes
an endurance horse, for one hundred miles
they wanted him but
        he was lazy
his inclination was to stand still
to stroll slowly about a green pasture
forevermore
forevermore, his dream,
spent on his own name.

he fell in love with the mare
on the other side
of the wired fence
she teased him, an older woman,
awakened his rebel soul,
inspired to break out
of this arbitrary cage
his courage and his passion
only roused by love by desire
something a human would not understand
could not understand
not in the same way

he felt alone he felt trapped inside himself
so he tore down the fence,
cut his legs on the wires
just to be close to
       her
to brush his nose against her
sharpened spine, inhale the scent of
dust mixed with love mixed with
pheromones,
for only a moment
that could extend into
       forever
encapsulated in his memory
a snapshot: one piece
of chaotic bliss
amidst all that running
the flying floating cloud of dust
still chases him.

though he no longer runs in fear
no longer gallops away,
lazily trots, hooves dragging sand,
happy under his bold, italian rider
she doesn’t come around
often enough.
today he is young but
soon he will be aged by experience,
wherever they send him,
he has no real home,
only belongs to the night sky,
only matches the color of darkness,
i hope he remembers the way i tickled his lips and
fed him handfuls of dead grass.
he could be gone tomorrow because
animals do not choose their homes anymore.
pale sickness
you're white as a sheet

draining illness
your clammy white skin
rots

deathly light
the diseased white sun will bleach your bones
after the doves pick them clean

sickly white
your cracked teeth clatter out of your skull
dominos in a dead white jar


trembling hands the color of spoiling milk
carefully cradle an almost translucent infant
mother and child
both far too weak to feed

the only thing that grows here is decay
white mold thrives on your hoarded white bread
while outside the safety of the white picket fence
there is not a single soul who does not
recognize the white of an unburied skeleton
under a full moon
Revelations 6:8-And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to **** with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth.
Where Shelter Apr 2020
~for her~

I put up a 7 1/2 ft. chain linked fence to keep the ****** deer out
of the garden.

Secretly, I wonder, if I had the fence built
another half-a-foot higher,
could I’ve kept out the
no-longer-unimaginable disasters
life has seen
fit to shower upon me.


If I had it made solid,
instead of chain linked,
with barbs that nicked only me,
would have misery passed
me by, unable to peer inside,
my anonymity, being my personal
guardian and savior.


My garden’s yearly renewal,
comes by human effort,
but my wondering is unceasing,
it’s living ache, a perennial,
an evergreen hemlock,
that cannot be cut.


until such time, at last,
it chooses to cut me first,
and the garden retreats to its
aboriginal wild forest state, and
both our cycles are completed.
Michael R Burch Apr 2020
A True Story
by Michael R. Burch

for Jeremy Michael Burch

Jeremy hit the ball today
when he and I went out to play.
He hit it, oh, so far away,
a neighbor had to throw it back!

Jeremy hit the ball so hard
it flew into the neighbor’s yard
and caught the other kids off-guard;
they thought it was an air attack!

Jeremy hit the ball again,
above the sun, beyond the wind;
as we watched it soar and slowly spin ...
we gave high-fives for his awesome smack!

Keywords/Tags: baseball, hitting, backyard, child, children, childhood, kids, fence, neighbor, yard, play, air, home run, homer, high-fives
n jacob Nov 2019
What's best is what feels like home.

Stuck between two sides of the fence,
Like I wanna jump, but I can't.

Indecision has kept me here, posted.
Straddled between the heart and the head.
This picket fence appears to be the promises of good life.
But its just a stain of white deception, holding me...

Waiting...

Waiting to live.  

But I know what to do,
Choose the side that goes to my backyard.

Choose what feels like home.
My struggle with anxiety and indecision.
Jules Oct 2019
I'm on the boarder
Of losing my mind
What's with this guy?
Can you please choose a side?
Cuz I'm on the fence
With no more time
ogdiddynash Jul 2019
“still on the fence
about you being
a mortal man
or a God.”

well thanks for that,
and did I mention
it’s a fence style called
picket you put me on?

which I can attest,
makes me feel both
majestic & definitely humanistic,
cause a picket up one’s ****,
is proof still that this man,
unlike god,
has not lost his “touch”
so to speak...
Katie Feb 2019
They always say the grass is greener
On the other side.
I think they’re too scared to admit
That their own lawn
Is dead.
Shriveled brown grass, broken glass on the other side of that
Ugly white picket fence,
Holes wide enough for lies to pass through.

And to those who think their grass is, in fact,
Greener -
You forgot about that patch where your
Innocent little dog
Peed.
(You might want to fix that.)

Even the rich folks up in their mansions on the hills
Don’t have perfect grass.
They usually spray-paint it that color.

Maybe they’re afraid that
If someone saw
Their wilted lawn, suffocated under fumes and expectations,
We’d shatter their fragile porcelain saying -
And their reputation
Of being greener.
Haruharu Jan 2019
Two fences, seperating me from the outside world.
Barbed wire, sharp razorblades.

I have an hour to breathe fresh air.
To get a sense of reality, to feel alive.

Eyes closed, in my mind I'm almost free.
No locks. No guards. No uniforms.

A brief moment. Silence.

And there it is, the sound that has defined me for years.

Keys.
Next page