The best way to not have your heart broken;
Is to act like you have none.
And he picked her over me,
Now I will always be second.

At this exact second
someone, somewhere
is so elated
they could burst
into dazzling fractals
of every colour
perceivable

Right now
a polar bear
lays it's wearily
weighted head down
on the ice
to never
get back up again

At the same time
a simple soul
is laying in bed
unable to sleep
restlessly but contentedly
writing a poem
curled up
in the small
of their partners back

This very minute
someone sent their
last goodbyes
tied to a loved one
on a burning pyre
sailing swiftly
into the horizon
along with
their own happiness

And at this hour
a whole person
lost a piece of themselves
so largely irreplaceable
that they couldn't
possibly ever
fill that empty hole
except with a
salty sea
of tears

As one sun sets
another one rises

As one dims and wobbles
throwing it's last
lowly tendrils
of dull grainy light,

Another sun is rising
strong and high
shining beams
so piercing,
shards of light
so blinding,
that you couldn't
hope to hide
from it's warm
content embrace

Right this second
someone bellows with laughter
while others weep and bleed

Every single event
imaginable
is happening
right now

So maybe this
second
minute
hour
day
will get better

KG

Cold and heat combine.
Temperatures are a gaze we lose our mind.
Currents of the ocean predict.
A pattern for me and you something we can not forget.

Weather is used as a weapon.
Not only by nature but second guessing.
How can this be, you would ask?
Something more you can give us, something we could grasp.

We are all in for a rude awakening.
Electricity is all that they would be faking.
Plants and animals cease to exist.
The kind of anger that makes me pound my fist.

This is the only weapon they can use.
To feed our guilt to fill this ruse.
Being human and united is the only way we can be.
In the future maybe then you will see.

Since the second we were born
We start dying
So it isn't life
It's death

it's funny
how quickly you can be discarded
when something better comes along.

deep down you know it's your fault,
but you decide to pity yourself.

you flip through their photos;
smiling faces gleam back at you.
"why wasn't i invited?"
that small and jealous child
that lives in my mind whines at me.

this child quickly becomes a glooming figure.
a figure of some black fog
that seeps through my veins
and swallows me whole.

this is the autobiography of a second choice.

the choice they forgot about.
the choice they see
when all the smoke is clear,
and one sad, sullen apparition awaits;
wanting to be chosen.

with my head down,
and my hopes high,
i walk with them.

Chicken Scratch,
chicken scratch,

   Scribbles, smashed against the page.

You are my Poem.

~Robert van Lingen