Endless roads with shattered glasses,
they bur into an aching feet,
looking for some soft green grasses,
or anywhere to take a seat,

Travel on in distant darkness,
looking for a tiny light,
blinded by the endless starkness,
as you go off into the night,

Submit,
to NOTHING.

Cherie Nolan © 2016

Sand slips through the cracks in my hands
As a struggle to keep it close.
It always finds a way to go,
No matter how tight I hold.
My grip must be weak,
Or maybe it’s betraying me.
Because a better part of me knows
The sand will always slip away.

Don’t fall for me,
simply because
I will turn your kisses into similes
kissing you is like watching a sunset; slow, and beautiful.

Don’t tell me you love me,
simply because
your words will form metaphors in my mouth
you are a thunderstorm my heart is not ready for.

Don’t fall for me,
simply because
I am selfish,
every breath you take, every word you speak
I will find a way to turn that into a composition of letters and sounds
for my own purpose.

Don’t try to be with me,
simply because
I will try to trap you with my words
every space in my broken sentences will be filled with thoughts of you.

Stay with me,
I’ll turn your existence into a poem
stay with me,
I’ll engrave your name into my verses
stay with me,
stay with me,
stay with me,

so I don’t have to turn my heartache into a poem of sorrow once again.

I have not felt at ease with the world in a while,
but that has changed,
simply because
you are my world now
everything I do,
I do for you.

So this is a warning;
don’t fall for me,
simply because
I am a thief who is good with words,
*I will steal your love
and turn it into stories of malignancy and almosts.

A tiny little flame births a regal forest fire,
The remotest nooks of her mind now a grand pyre.
Her very being set ablaze with an inspiration so great,
She grabs a pencil before the sly flames can attenuate.

Each word a drop; from her hand runs a river thence,
Fills the parchment before her; a happy turbulence.
Only water can quench fire, the stanzas doth flow.
Untamed ripples dancing as her eyes begin to glow.

Before she knows it, she's the most unyielding General.
Her army of sixteen before her merciless wrath grovel.
Soldier out, soldier in; every line proportionate.
This wordy patriot did it with rhyme and reason, yet.

And now, at yet another christening she's a Father.
An air of certitude prevails, as she sprinkles holy water.
Content with her myriad roles, she smiles exhaustedly,
"Oh, you write poems?" Not at all; she lives poetry.

Around and around the bees fly,
above the colorful flowers.
You'll never know when they'll try,
To gain what's rightfully ours.

A little bug sneaks past the window
Completely unseen and completely unheard.
A bug so small can barely be detected,
a bug so tiny it will never be noticed.

But the bug lands on a flower,
which was previously undisturbed.
A beautiful flower it is -
Colours brilliant and bright.

The flower seems unharmed,
facing towards the shining sun.
Little does it know,
it's own death has begun.

The small bug leaves -
Flies away with the blink of an eye.
The Flower faces down now,
Pretending not to cry.