Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
YYC May 7
at 4 am,
the world's asleep.
with only the sound of the flickering street lights,
the crickets that chirp at night,
and the occasional sound of tires rolling,
across the highway,
to serve as a reminder that dead silence does not exist.
the sound of the heavy sighs of truck drivers,
crossing miles upon miles of lonely roads,
the smell of the disgusting, overpriced coffee of tired business leaders,
bought the minute they get off their red eye flight.
still;
nothing can change,
the beauty that's there and remains;
at 4 am,
the world's a beautiful sight.


                                                  -YYC
it's beautiful until you can't wake up the next morning...
Laura Apr 17
we talked until
there were no words
to say.
but not in
a bad way
just in calm silence.
since there were
things that I
couldn't put into words
and doors that you
couldn't open for me
just yet.
Skaidrum Mar 8
——————
i.
a dragon's claw;
merely leftovers of the moon
from last night's revolution,
and he beseeched a god long absent:
"how'd you forget my name in the grave
last week?"


ii.
i break bones like i break bread,
and hell recoils at the rare mention of me;
"—we're using blood for watercolors baby—"
'cause sometimes,
i don't think they understand
my heart.

iii.
god took the world to the doctor,
and asked for a cure he couldn't afford;
for the sun has already set in the palms
of my hands, o' father...
and there can only be so many
bones knitted together in this womb.

iv.
recall that,
reality only reveals itself when it feels
like making a fool out of someone;
and i don't know what stage of grief
i'm in—
or if I'm even in one
at all.

v.
i drink tea with ghosts
every other tuesday,
trying to make sense of it all;
because at some point,
—i'll stop eating bullets for
people's whose eyes
pull triggers.

vi.
mama always did raise me to be a sword,
and i killed when she told me to.
because, you see—
the fragile things die
in the cold, and what i find interesting
is that i've remained;
and ultimately?
it's a beautiful thing.

vii.
and when will i learn?
that mercy is false hope amongst all else, darling,
but enough already;
this poem's got universes full
of emotional baggage.

viii.
you said
you're a dreamer?
great, get in line kid,
you'll get a chance to change the ******* world,
just take a number
—like the rest of us;
but, then again...
"the world has always been ready
to receive you, hasn't it?
"
amen to that,
amen indeed.

© Copywrite Skaidrum
Maria Etre Feb 4
When was the last time
you called to show
your
emotions?
Eileen Black Jan 27
Do you not see
Anything
Lovely about yourself after all this time i have been trying to
Love you? after all the words i’ve said or ways i’ve shown?
After
So many looks and smiles and hugs and compliments and confessions and talks and night drive? you don’t see?



I love you.
(The number of words in each line coincides with the numerical value of the capital letter.)
A Sad Alex Nov 2018
I miss our talks so much
Back in the days when we talked
For my days began with your "Good Morning!"
And a smile was drawn on my face with a "Hello!"

But now there is silence
That screams at my ears and pierces my heart
As I lose myself in sadness
And this neverending blackness
For my days ended with your "Good night!"

And to this day I don´t know why you left
Did I made a mistake?
Was I rude in anyway?
Or maybe something more sinister
That I just became boring...
Yet that... I couldn´t handle the pain
Because mistake have amends
And I could change my ways
But I can´t alter myself
What you see is what you get
I´m just a man
Who tried his best, to keep by his side
But my best didn´t cut it
Still you left...

And its strange kind of pain
It doesn´t hurt but it´s there
It´s a hole, a maw, a space
Filled with emptiness
That has your shape
I miss you
I don´t know what more to say
Please return or at least talk to me again
Any word would do for my will to revive
Any word, any word at all
Any word, except ...goodbye"
She talks

She talks, she talks

All listen, no one has an object

I sit far away and amaze

She talks, no one has an object

Why? I ask my self

I try to be near

I try to approach

When I reach

I find what I find?

I can't ever tell

She is very brilliant

Her smart is not smart

Like every that

Woman may talk

She talks and I look

What does she say?

What does she tell?

I forget everything

Except that face

And I still see her in front

Of my eyes and in the inner heart

Still in my ears ,she talks
love is the traveller between hearts.
mysa Sep 2018
legs sprawled out across the patchwork sofa,
he spoke.
"listen
if you're really feeling these things
and they hurt enough to make you act
like this
then, man, they're not stupid things to feel."
he didn't break eye contact,
just looked at me as i laid on the floor
holding back words
and holding back tears.
oh boy oh boy are things Not Good right now
Udit Vashishth Sep 2018
When she breathes it sounds like a soothing flute.
Her hiccups, yawns & even burps add the rhythm.
When she laughs, it's like the whole orchestra is playing a symphony.


I have stopped listening to songs nowadays.
Her voice feels like music to my ears.
My morning prayer and my good night's lullaby.
And on the top of that when she sings, I can't stop my heart from bursting outside my chest.
Next page