Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Roland Aug 9
And that night he wept for the child he once was,
the memories he lost,
the careless smile he used to have,
happiness unacknowledged.

Standing atop the cliff, with a raging storm behind, the sea below waiting to claim him,
his fears, realized infront of him,
stripped off his mask, the husk was all there was,
and yet a part of him still clinged to it,
to the sadness that drove him there,
the glimpse of that child he so hopelessly mourned.

It frightened him, to lay bare for everyone to see,
for himself to see, their cold gaze, judging.
Was this the price to pay?

He could see thorugh the storm the brittle yellow fields he came from, inviting, calling to him from a dream like state,
to put on the mask is to live a lie.

And as he stood there, a resolution crept through his skull,
"The Rains will fall on the brittle fields and give way to the green of spring, and so must you change and grow, for there are things that break us, but only to make us whole again".
Nigdaw Jul 4
This year clothes me like an old coat
Worn at the elbows, with saggy shoulders
A smell that suggests more wears than washes,
***** tissues and receipts filling pockets
A tear in the lining from a drunken fall,
A tear of pain from an emotional fool
Wiped on a sleeve to preserve my masculinity.

I need to shed this year like a skin
As a spider, a lobster, a snake in the sun
To outgrow and move on from restrictive tissue,
Embrace the world as new again,
Fool myself on New Year’s Eve
I emerge like the butterfly from its cocoon
Reveal my flamboyant new wings,
To kid myself I am reborn.
I shall try to be as brave as my fear
and not let go of the things I hold dear.
i sold my soul for redemption
to sign this pain away
the devil however forgot to mention
that all the guilt would stay.
George Apr 18
He was a stranger.
He had my father's high forehead.
A nose occupying his face with confidence.
Fingers twitched in a certain way when he was uncertain.
There is a misguided vogue in the idea of purgatory.
Romanticised, as a rich tourist might after visiting a poor slum.
My conversation with this stranger,
met more to me than it ever will for him,
because of the unresolved,
which shall always and forever be.
Jacob Thomas Apr 13
Unconditional Confusion

The days are short,
but it’s alright.
The pool is warm,
violets, red and blue.
      The sky is filled
      with
      haze.

I float away the
hours -- minutes rise
to the western wind.
My eyes are puffy
       from the chlorine
       I
       Soak in.

I close my eyes to see
a black tarmac road,
endless through a
dusty field, sun scorched
       and itchy, my
       skin hot
       and red.

Slipping down under
to soften the irritation
I drop a cinder anchor
to remain in place;
       time remains
       one smiling
       face alone in
       that silent abyss.
Atomika Apr 13
As the moon shines through the summer hue
Maybe it's time to forget about you
The breeze may burn through my thoughts
The moment of truth has been finally sought

The happy moments of our time has ended
Even if I do my best, it won't be mended
The reason is out and the jury is clear
I am out of your life and I must steer.

You'll be happy by another person's side
And with the rules of the universe, I abide
As our melody and beat has ceased
As my love and dedication must desist

Time for me to cut our ties
Even if it's sad, I must lie
Lie to myself, lie to my belief
I couldn't maintain the promise I keep.

Will the sky turn blue for you
Can I say the same thing about me too
I don't know, as the moon shines through my face
With words been said, it's time to close the case
You'll be happy with him, as I will be happy for you.
As the moon shines through the summer hue.
The time to say farewell to the young free rose
md-writer Apr 1
Colors cascaded around
her smile, laughing like the
first blooms of spring bearing up
under the last ***** blush
of winter's kiss.

I laughed with the colors. Red and
orange and the softest sunset pink - blue
like diamonds from the sky, and green
as thick and billowed as the freshest
prairie wave.

She danced in my heart like a
fairy more happy and pure than
childhood itself.
No sorrow overwhelmed that vision,
though it tainted the edges on every side.
The more I looked the more I could
see their angry boiling, creeping
like the wrinkled edge of a wildfire
dying to infect and purge the light.
But she shone.
Framed by that dark storm
on every side, and scarfed
with a cascade of colors more
brilliant than I knew how to
imagine.

The wheels of her chair spun,
the trembling of her hands flung
a million stars aloft at every quiver.
In the wrinkles of her face
I saw the individual moments of a hundred years
condense,
and a tear fell off her chin
as she looked at me and whispered,
"Look within."

"I am," I said,
and cried myself, the thin
and watery tears of age, long toil,
and unrelenting joy.
Her time had come and
mine had not and yet the
silence of our breathing was
enough to still this final
terrible, beautiful, terrifying storm.

I took her hand and squeezed it
gently, laid it down
on her lap and
whispered in her ear that
hung down low with time,
"Look down on me, when you
are gone.
I follow close behind."
April 1
Worry
Pounds like rain;
I force myself
To remember
That stormclouds
Are thick with rage
Just before they break
And calm returns to the earth
As the storm recedes,
As it will in me
Next page