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Cate Aug 2015
Tombstones marked with years gone by. A personal, though nearly inconsequential timeline that has filed by and left a full life and a hollow body in its wake. The give and take, the motions that propel us into the future one moment at a time until quite suddenly and certainly too soon the track runs out and we all crash into the black. We will be commemorated in the most carefully worded manner so as not to insult our memory, making our lives much more tidy in death than they could ever been seen while we were still about walking. The others left will cry for us and mourn our impressionable personalities and the impending lack thereof. But to passersby, in life we were just a few gestures and a face. In death, we are a Slab of rock and two dates. The question is what shall be done with what very well could be hoarded into an ever-widening stockpile of unused moments, never considering the irretrievable vault into which we place them until it finally swings shut and closes us in  along with them. That is, until we reach this unmovable and unchanging space, disintegrating and replaced by new voices, new notions, and new life. Will you fight? Or will you lie down out of practice and in wait for the steadily encroaching date we all must face.
C.e.M August 10, 2015
Alexandria Hope Jul 2015
This haze about me is permeating, it dances in and out of the ebbing waves. Not completely black, though the smokey wisps and shades of black lend the water enough to be so.
Boats rest docked, ever on the schedule of the tides, marked by the men waded out to them. Foot soldiers in shimmering, soft grey suits the color of dove, up to their knees soaked. There is a hooded figure on the dock, not a woman nor a man. They carry a long rowing oar like a staff and stand always upright, vigilant. Without bones to weary or skin to age, only a porcelain mask to face when the time comes.
It isn’t expensive to take the ferry here, not terribly, in any case.
Unlike so many fishing wharfs I’ve seen before, there is no unpleasant odor. It smells of wet wood and lilies, which is curious. There are flowers about, dying roses are continually pushed up to the beach, but those I cannot smell. The lilies I cannot see.
In the water there are small paper boats with a candle each, burning easy in the windless air. The men in the water dodge the wayward boats that have drifted too far, but none of them seem to fear catching fire.
My feet are bare on the hard packed clay beach, I could easily walk in among them, and I wonder if I should go out to help.
Through the distance and dark I can see they carry a heavy box upon their shoulders, it dips dangerously to one side as one man slips.
The hooded figure does not turn as they slip their burden into a waiting boat.

I want to go with it, to see what’s waiting beyond.
Just as if my thoughts are read, I hear a small voice beside me and startle.
They must not see me here, or I will surely be in danger. Only the hooded figure may know me, should I choose to pay.

“You cannot go,” speaks the voice. It is a young girl, russet hair pulled up in a ponytail, though much of it is soaked and sticking. There is a **** upon the side of her head, but that is to be expected.

My mouth twists at the corner in a down turn, my first instinct to rebuke her. My but I am curious, however. “Why don’t you?” I counter, not turning. Never turning.
You must not face those you meet at the docks, nor at crossroads.

She nods appropriately, also staring out at the men as they work the ropes securing the boat to the dock.

“I cannot wake, neither can I depart. I am waiting in the interim.” She broached, a little wistfully. Then with a further turn towards conversation, asks, “what do you suppose they are? Do you suppose they were once-”

“No,” I interject. “No I don’t suppose.” And she smartly shuts her mouth.

If I face her, I’ll know. I’ll look into her eyes and see the water rising and hear her screams and feel the burn of hospital lights. I cannot allow her to see me.

“You cannot go, you cannot wake. You cannot stay.” I wondered aloud. “Have you not the cost to pay?” At this, she almost turns. I slide my gaze further away before I hear her again.

“You are old, you’ve forgotten the true weight of the price.”

The boat is freed and its guide alights it soundlessly. The men turn back towards us to fetch their next charge as I unknowingly hold my breath.
This time the box is much smaller, light enough for one of them to hold in his arms. The other three form a procession up to another waiting boat.

I’ve been too caught up in watching to notice the terror on the girl’s face. There is not much assurance in this place, but here we are.
She doesn’t make any notion that she can hear me as I voice myself, albeit shallowly.

“It isn’t yours.” But it might be, for all I know. For when I finally turn my head at the silence,

She is gone.
Sailor man, will you be with me?
Hear my song I sing just for thee.
Be my brave pirate and forget the thrashing waves.
Come with me and love me in the deep.
Jenny Jul 2015
A grey time to be alive
Clouds in. A glance within in the air
Birds. Mocking! Mocking birds mocking!!
We always trying to translate our actions in an unparalleled dimension
So are the sillhouettes of the waves of our pain
A deep trance we live in when we make human beings our priority
A. Grey time to be alive!
But I don't wana die.
Charcoal skies,prudent. Ceremonies of an. Explicit remedy
Caught in the disaster of the soul searcher!
I found myself
Lost myself built myself and just went. Astray!
A grey time to be alive!
So much so with the waves of my brains cells and concrete junction of memories I wish I never had
I still wonder and think of those days
A grey time to be alive.
Now see the picture I've painted In ur head and think of this Grey time!
A grey time to be alive.
All work
And no play
Makes me a dull boy
Maybe then
Ill take this blade
And run it across your thigh
Up up up
Across that throat
Let the blood drain
From that pretty little face
On now that would not be dull
Kale Jun 2015
Should I be what
People want me to be?
The judgmental eyes
Loom over my shoulders.
And the whispers sends the
hairs flying on my neck.
I want to be different
But its so easy to be misguided
so easy to follow the trend
But the trend will never stop
Someone from being dead.
Glottonous May 2015
Now as you stand in armor chivalrous
And win by arms this castle all for us,

It feels as though I’ve kissed your lips before
And lost you to some other timeless war.

So when red peril spawns itself anew,
I know you’ll save me like you always do.

Our future vows wrap me in memory,
Embraced by souls and your eyes seamlessly.

Though still our fires flash and turn to shade,
And from our hearts eternity will fade,

Our ashes skim the pool of everywhen
To build the stars until we love again.
A love poem.
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