Its neither here nor there.
Always watching.
Seemingly waiting.
But more off to the side.
Like a sibling forced into pickup duty.
Three minutes go by.
And the inevitable call is made.
Anger and impatience swell with every unanswered ring.
No one asked to be apart of this incessant dance.
The beat is always off.
Even the tune is becoming bothersome.
What prize is there for those that acomplish indifference.
When the winner is dragging their feet to the podium.
No one is willing to listen.
Any exchange at this point brings nothing but fire.
A molotov with no fuel.
For in the end.
It all just hangs their in the precious balance.
Like the suit thats a little to big to wear in the corner of the closet.
Sitting there.
Collecting days.
Until the night comes.
Just to be overlooked.

Overcast and gloom
Completely colorless
In utter helplessness
Suffocated in clouds of black
Nights I lay restless
Days I feel reckless
I wish I could go back
To when smiles were genuine
To when yellows and pinks
Supressed blues and greys
An internal storm is stirring
From darkness and dolour
Cheers to the day I see colour

A restitution
in statutory
there a
transitory program
swift to
encircle firm
when ridicule
compel a
moratorium where
Russia still
a democratic
likelihood in
arms race
soon retire
for Holy
Land again.

In hidden garden under moonlight glow, lilies gleam
Along the path of one who lingers lonely there
Emotions and thoughts; manifestation of passion’s death and dream
Shadowy glimmer of dark mist; what has and will be; beware

This apparition, in solemn presence, its own eyes lit with raging storm
Self loathing transfixed; desolate and grim, but for passion and sorrow
Thoughts waging tireless war upon emotions that will not conform
Hope springs anew a tiny flicker just the same, on the morrow

With loathing, bitter sweet the struggle arises, fought with no reserve
New seeking to bury old, to forget; imparting tears and faux strength
Thoughts seek to command emotions that will not serve
This conflict fueled with pain, sorrow, joy and hope to what length

Coming forth, they come, gaunt and ghastly sad and painted
They come, deep dark crimson wrecks of despair and betrayals grime
Faces seared with hatred fresh, haunting eyes, with vision tainted
See them, awash in red, labelled with date and time

Each night in dream or nightmare’s fitful embrace; lost love, hope, joy
They join, forming that one, but a shadow of self, for remembrance
Time and again loved and labored, they played with emotions like a toy
Tossed aside when interest lost, slaughtered anew, with indifference

~Wes Noneya

I'm not feeling very poetic
I look at my work, and I loathe it
It's missing something
It always is

grey skies sing hymnals of the morning arisen
the faint sounds of the crows caw, within the limbs of the pine titan

each drop of the rain elixir, painting across the window pane
washing away the yesterday full of dread and sorrow

if only the skies could open and take me away, from the world of chaos i am chained to

my flesh is tearing away from my bones, and my mind is telling me my heart chambers

can’t keep yearning anymore, and the grey skies are the background static