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Looming over me menacingly
Vividly vicious
The truth
In it's painful honesty
Plain to see
The truth of a looming prophecy
the truth was so menacing
Bad Luck Feb 2013
The rain keeps falling
As dry as a drought.

                       “ Rain drops heavier than water,
                           When it’s laden with doubt.

He said,
                       “ The ground simply can’t hold it
                                     … So it must go without.

               ” You’ve never known water to stain,
                  But you’ve never felt this kind of rain.
                  It’s thicker than your skin.
                  It stains your clothes and what’s within.
                  It sounds like hammers as it pounds -
                 And yet, the ground won’t let it in.

          So it flows like a river that only gets bigger;
          It runs like a force that knows no remorse.
                     Despite endless efforts to stop it -
                     It still runs like a faucet…
                                        With nowhere to drain. "

But if the ground holds no plants, is the water so vital?
Is the rain’s sole purpose this lifeless recital?
The ground stays so strong.
It holds fast, like pure stone
But can one stay so long when one’s so alone?
When one is forced to move,
               Will the ground or the rain?
And when the first one has gone,
               Will the other remain?

For now, they coexist,
Each facing a challenge it can’t resist -
Both unstoppable and immovable,
                              They hopelessly persist.
As complements, they combine
                        With the product of a flood.
But the water that’s collecting
                        Has the consistency of blood.

There’s a heart behind this water.
It pulses, instead of flowing.
So you turn to the only man you know,
             for parting words with danger growing.
And he says, as you leave:

               “ I wish you luck where you are going.
                   My son, you’ve only seen the rain . . .
                    . . . The winds are not yet blowing
"Bad Luck: In a Wakeful Contradiction" is now available on Amazon in paperback!

Gabriel burnS Jun 2017
Deceivingly aquamarine sky
Oversees the madness of summers
Whose days are closing in
But this time your astral projection
Conquers the atmosphere
And my lungs join the prayer of ribs
Asking for
"Please turn this grasp into a caress
Soothing the burns
That I may have the chance
To become remedy"
Wrote this fairly recently as part of a collab. Here's my original part, unedited.
Colm Mar 2017
I am thunder
I am lightning
I am a length of the Willow whip in the wind
Ever cracking in the air and striking
That’s how I like to live
When I’m on point
And on the edge
No one can withstand the imminence
The ultimate outcome
When I assume this stance
Ask anyone of my dominance
And they’ll assure you of such prominence
Because when I unchained myself
The thunder rolls
And the strike looms
Michael Ryan Mar 2015
Paddling through images on my phone--
they are the only life boat in sight
a little floating canoe in the middle of a mighty ocean.
The tide is turning, trying to advert some ugly storm that's rising up;
debris fills the whirl pool as it slowly tempts to drag my anchor in.

Smudges appear on the glowing screen of my preoccupation,
as the teary drops blotch out the imagery I cling onto.
Only gaining more wind as it descends to sink this dinky ship.

Cascades of waves streamline their way through my finger tips,
settling into the motion, the shambles of the scooter rip away from me
Trembling as the mind wanders from surface to drowning.

Face down in a public space,
without any buoy to hold onto
These rampant waves will water-board the mind.

The campaign to survive, sunk with final life boat
As the perfect storm was able,
to fatally take my breath away.
People that are dealing with things always tend to distract themselves from dealing with those things.  So they build and build and then one day they become the thing to end what life those people ever had.
SM Feb 2014
No longer
do I find joy
in the faces I see every day
and the voices I hear
around me
Looming clouds
have altered my vision
and now
nothing here is my own
and I do not live here
and I am not of this town
Perhaps all I had
was never mine to begin with
and now
I am lost
in a sea of doubt

— The End —