Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Poetic T Apr 17
I wasn't the one, you weren't alone,
You were just in need of a friend.
But I was there when you needed
someone to listen, I wasn't your
friend but unbiased ears never
            tell you false lies..

I'll tell you what you don't want to hear.

I'm car when you crossed the road,
         hit and run on your road
of potholed truths that others
                                         filled in.


I wasn't a friend, you weren't alone,
you were just in need of a voice.
But I was there when you needed
someone's truth. I wasn't your
friend we'd only just met.
      
I'll tell you what you don't want to hear.

I'm the car when you crossed the road,
         hit and run on your tarmac
of potholed truths that others
                                         filled in.
With false gratitude cos they charged
you for the air they filled you with.

I was a friend, new off the press no secrets
    no lies to hold back. filling you with
the honesty you had missed.
           Not your bestie, just a new face
in your reflection with no need to be

                              two faced....
certifiednutcase Dec 2017
Hot hard heartless tarmac
How do you feel?
I hear the sound of screeching tires and footsteps
Does it hurt you?
I'm envious, you
Get to stare at the blue cloudy skies all day and
see little black birds
flaunt their free will.
How is the view?
You are so constant,
Always black and
sometimes grey but
never white.
You never seem to let
anything determine your
worth.
Could you just please
teach me how too?
16/01/17
Stanley Wilkin Jul 2017
the road gathers itself like a drained old woman,
hunched over rags, beneath the gloomy crag,
sintering as it nears the beach,
worn out through time, impoverished
it has become reflective in the chittering half-light.
Eviscerated by the pawing waves,
contradictory cracks like entrails, hanging out
crushed into solitude , it redefines its continuous retreat.
In the reductive shade
it circumvents the cove, its tarmac withered,
a battered host to foreign weeds.

Sunrise chides the posturing sky, the sulking universal remnants
vanishing in the fenestrated glare. In the near distance, air unravels,
the moving storm exhaling slips of cloud
rapidly swarming like furious flecks of phlegm-sneezed out in perpetuity
between heat and cold.  
The road lies entombed beneath a scree, tumbledown stones and dust.
Ramblers and cars have sought and found
an alternative route. The moistened rubble creaks
as liquid gathers in its shifting heart, crawling out in rivulets-the rain
descending like spit,
emolliating the countryside, shifting dollops of fetid mud,
enveloping like a furious aneurysm.

Sea and land entrenched in conflict,
a war of attrition always won by seas, unleashing energy
of mindful apocalypse in the manner of a gentle sigh.
The gaping abscess of scarred promontories tottering
like feverish drunks. The mouthed obscenities of carnivorous
birds radiates throughout the cove pinpointing local
drownings encrusted with salt. Sea upon sea impose themselves
enviously on rampant shorelines feasting on sand and rock. Never ending!
Plunging ever forward like a barren plough, receding, only to
re-site its casual fury-implosion upon explosion.

The road in its sullen retreat
stumbles through narrow valleys speckled
with gloom; trees with yellow flowers
blooming in crinkled shadows,
deer leaping through high-standing grass, mincing
between tall thin trees. Loping down
into the cities, it becomes a tousled high street full
of immigrants, all yearning for the sea.
Audrey Maday Nov 2016
I could have spent hours on that tarmac,
Waiting for planes, and adventure, and you.
God, I waited for you.
Now all I want to do is fly away.
Äŧül Jun 2015
Alone I stand to wait for my better part,
On the black tarmac road through the greens.

Even if I stood away from this work of art,
On my part independently I am beautiful & cute.

In my dream last night I saw my inamorata,
She was coming hopping on the tarmac road.
A spontaneous poem for a picture of a deer I saw on Facebook.

My HP Poem #885
©Atul Kaushal

— The End —