Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
as day progresses
the wind's tempo has grown more
by eve she'll blow well
Anabel Jun 2017
I’ve been running to the shore, to the sunset, to the sand
where my toes and the breeze compose a symphony in secret
it starts piano, almost pianissimo, no one has to know that we,
We share the talent, the gift of an emotional crescendo
that we all stamp our feelings on staffs and our hearts are in sync
in sync we are always we are always following the smooth tempo of
time and we’re just all harmonizing with the beach
with the muffled sopranos that flutter around someone who waltzes
with a guitar between their arms, in an alley filled with graffiti
in a salty atmosphere and fresh beans and rice
A little mambo here and there while strolling
down the piano tiles that make up the streets
a little mambo here and there, to keep us going
pianissimo, we must keep it pianissimo
so the world won’t know… yet… that we’re all an impromptu group
we are all interconnected, living under the same staff but different clefs
rarely sharing the beats of our cultures
rarely following canons
it always vibrates, the lingering nostalgia
buzzing, missing the old jazz and the shores, sunsets, and sands
that we shared in our old homes, away from here
We hope it makes sense that our lives are ran in decrescendo
but the connections within each other always form the same ensemble
percussion and wind, forming the shore we stand in front of
the orchestra itself becoming the sand slipping from our hands
and we form the sunset, the sunset that leads everyone here
we all know how we go back home.
this was for a contest but it didn't win anything so wtv
Vale Luna Jun 2017
There's a gentle metronome
Resting on my writing desk
Like a robotic lullaby
Humming me to rest
Tick-tick-tick
Through the night
Let my wrongs turn to rights
A dream that's a home

Tick; goes the metronome.

There's a fragile metronome
Posing on my wood bookshelf
The only sound in the room
Echoing all by itself
Tick-tick-tick
All day long
A sharp, melodic song
Cranking out a soothing tone

Tick tick; goes the metronome.

There's a cracked metronome
Sitting on my windowsill
Clocking in and out
The worst type of sleeping pill
Tick-tick-tick
Night and day
Hypnotizing it's prey
True tranquility stands alone

Tick tick tick; goes the metronome.

There's a defective metronome
Laying on my bedroom floor
It's sickening harmony
Rots me to my core
Tick-tick-tick
Losing power
I'm awake every hour
A heart weighed down by stone

Tick tick; goes the metronome.

There's a shattered metronome
Placed at the foot of my bed
A sound that’s lost its tempo
A heartbeat that's fled
Tick-tick-tick
In my brain
Repetition in vain
Break me til I'm nothing but bone

Tick.
Stops the metronome.
Poetic T Mar 2017
Randomness is a rhyme of loves vibration.
A singular beat is monotonous,
Stagnation of verses that repeat becoming
bad tempos.

Loves an unpredictable rhyme that changes
upon occasions, keeping the tempo swaying
like the randomness of a hearts echoed beat.
Scribbles99 Feb 2017
Our backs are barren
**** and cold,
and we'll hug warmly
in a sporadic breath.

Reflected boldly
on a royal sword;
a caress will freeze
drowned in coldness and blush.

Broken bits of a tempo
slowly find their way;
and we'll replay back the symphony
when we're in dismay.

Like puzzle pieces trapping
scrambled sand in an hourglass;
only meaningful when time
elapses through an atom of sand.

Those puzzle pieces
are scattered and raw
small, radiant words
and bleary, missing faces.

Typically vivid when
they're glued correctly to show
a painting of a hidden memory;
it's a noisy, deserted strand.

So whenever we fight
I'll willfully lose my psyche;
to replay back the moment
I embraced you in my sight.
Tear It Apart!
Dawn is to dusk
How i may be with my love
I doth not wait for her
Dare i say i move on?
I maybe going nowhere
But she moves much too fast
I may think to quicken my tempo
Where she will only crash
Randi G Dec 2014
i’d lay in the forest
all the time if
spiders didn’t find
their way into
my spine and
up from there
right to my brain
i swear, they’re
the ones driving
me insane.

*(r.e.)
Nickols May 2014
We all dance to the beat of a drum.
Our rhythm of life.
The sound, the pattern...
pounding within our chest.

We live,
we breath,


Spending our whole life,
looking for a certain cadence.
A beat to match our pulse.
It isn't until our hearts merge
that the pattern turns into a song.

A measure of first love,
the tempo of a kiss.
Flowing together in a musical harmony.

We dance,

Whistling together,
the sweet tune of ours.
A movement of passion,
the melody of marriage.

and we die

Changed forever,
as the song fades out.
Our souls made music together.
One, epic ballot.
To my loving husband.
© Victoria
Austin Heath Apr 2014
The actors are outside smoking
and discussing ideas they only know
through fiction. I’m not amused.
I’m in a band that’s falling apart with wit,
and some not-eclectic, or odd,
but still strange type of grace.
There’s a message on the table when I get home.
There’s a piece of me that wants to be jealous.
I’m desperate for an escape.
I’m desperate.

— The End —