Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Astral Mar 2020
Golden locks,
Like keys on a string,
With eyes of grey,
Like a calm, cloudy day.
Yet they shine like you,
Like their own hue.
One not defined by color,
By mind or soul,
But by you.
A gift it is to see that light,
And to feel it shine like rays just right.
The porcelain
wind of the
moon lifts
it’s wings
of mine
to see
the clouds,
deserts and
dreams of
reality as
one, the
endless
stories of
the green
and golden
fields of
painted
starlight,
the breath
of unspoken
songs in the
conversation
of eyes, too
aerial to be
held, as the
rising, gentle
wind through
the leaves,
and the hair
of lovers in
discovery
of forests
touched
with mist,
rising above
the mountains,
falling as the
song of rain,
they are
rain dancers
who see poetry
as all, and all
is water
Andrew Rueter Feb 2020
—After Sum 41

Through your social distortion of extortion at the
most absurd proportions, I realize I need a doctor
not a proctor for when I test the helicopter you said
you’d never offer to a lowly pauper. You could say it’s my
bad I even tried that so now I cry-laugh in the lilacs while my mom
throws bombs through satcoms to lighten the weather. I should’ve
known better and left the head sever nether that continuously had
me tethered to the emotionally unfettered. I really need to find an
honest man before I enforce a plan of a 1000th trimester abortion.
                                                                                              bortion
                                                                                         bortion
                                                                                     bortion  
                                                                                bortion
                                                                            bortion
                                                                        bortion
                                                                    bortion
                                                                bortion
                                                            bortion
                                                        bortion
                                                    bortion
After all the fat lips you gave me I
realized I’m a matchstick baby and don’t
need your rabies to save me. I don’t think I want
to live in your lair with your despair share stares turning to
a bitter taste once I start to face the human waste
falling on my head when I fall in your bed instead of my
king sized comforter singing trumpeter of a simple time—
childhood confined, morality defined by design until I become
the demons as you free them for freedom until they’re just another
lover to call my brother. The hits to my lips caused a casualty
of me casually even though I was never alive actually. Of
all the fists fighting me, it’s you I’d like to remove from society.
Devil Atticman Feb 2020
One hundred men gather to decide their king.

They bring their minds and gold together;
They weave a crown of rope with gilded string,
Then, quietly, it lay before them in the grass

The first man moves to seize the rope,
"See your king with rope in grasp!"
Another comes and yanks it back, "I brought more gold than you!"

Another comes, and another still, 'till every man has seized the rope,
Until it wrapped around the throat of someone in the feud.
"Hold! We've gone too far," said the man whose throat was caught.

The rabble of the hundred men ended as it came,
And each the golden rope held firm; one-hundred men had pulled the knots.
The man who brought the most gold said to the one who seized it first,

"I'd rather you, the first to take the rope, be king!"

The first to lift it said back,
"And I that it were any of you!"
Thoughts on kingdoms and leadership, translated in fun old-timey parable-speak :)
Dani Feb 2020
I found myself in a field
The grass was spun from silk
Bowing beneath my every step
Kissing my ankles as I went by

I found myself in a field
Over looking the beautiful blue sea
Now painted with the colors of gold and pink
As the sun shined over me

I found myself in a golden light
The fading hour of the sun
Everything it touched was given the gift of beauty
Filled with its fading warmth that clung to me
As the sun slowly sunk into the night

I found myself in a grove
The trees of a forest surrounding me
I looked up at the sky to see the infinite stars
And heard someone asking me
"How can you make constellations in this mess?"

"It's connecting the dots you see."
My finger raised to the sky
Each star that graced my finger tips trailed with me
Painting the many pictures I saw up above

I fell asleep in a forest grove
Awoken by the soft golden sun
"I don't want to have to go."
From the fields and forests

My soul is rested
Here in the fields and forest
But rest is temporary
As are these dreams.
Just a dream I had
Asominate Jan 2020
The quietness prevails.
I'm trapped in, but want out of this jail.
Emotions or illusions?
Assumption or conclusion?
I am trying to focus;
My sanity, it doesn't hold up.
Remember what they told us:
Shut up, silence is golden
The divine disease that we call love...
It's been a while. Happy new year, whatever that means.
Audrey Dec 2019
He's doing better now
number one
my first time

He sent me an email
because I saved his life

He's sober and holy
all set
all the time

He said he will pray for me
His prey, not mine.

He hopes I'm well
I'm good
I'm golden

He forgot he did the damage
I'm healing, he's broken

He thinks I meant to save him
tell mother
tell God

I only wanted space from him
let me go, get lost

His email said "hey"
as the title
as the heading

I wanted to curse him
I'm trying
I'm forgetting.
Eloisa Dec 2019
After lengthy days of torment and grief
Braving the cold, remained the last leaf
Feeling the slightest breeze
She slowly danced with grace and ease
Like a ballerina driven by the sound of her heartbeat
She made her final dance
And with her gorgeous golden autumn wings
She’s now ready for winter’s frigid embrace
Undead Nomad Nov 2019
Golden essence shifts through my fingers, spilling on the ground, shifting over my feet.

A gentle breeze passes through, the sands become its body, emulating its spirit and casting its shadow.

The glittering glow sings to the sun a melody pleasing to the eyes.
Next page