You’re pale year-round,
though you have a new warmness beneath it.
With complete faith in the universe,
You are growing beautifully.
At night I have the same dream that eases my mind,
Where my sweating arms float above and my eyes don't look at what's behind.
My neck get moist and my mouth forms clear bubbles,
And, for once, I am able to look at the sky and not feel in trouble.
My hair sinks down and with it goes my head,
And although my vision blurs I do not feel a dread.
My nose gets an overwhelming smell of salt and a sense of becoming nauseous,
But the folds of my clothes ensures me that there's no need to be cautious.
My feet slowly swing back and forth and warmness engulfs me,
As my ears succumbs to the intoxication of where my final resting shall be.
When I am able to rest my eyes and feel the clearing of my soul, however,
My eyes wake up with the sun that warms me shall it never.
A poem about a depressed person that feels warmth only when they dissolve into their slumber. I started it last Friday and finished the last four lines today.
lately there is something off between us
i do not know what it is
nor do i want to have doubts
look at me again
not with the cold eyes
but with the eyes that says,
“it’s okay, i am here”.
embrace me with your warmness
and let me fall in deeper and deeper
kiss my skin until you remember
that my being belongs to you
and only you.
i want my love to reach your heart.
i hope my love reach your heart.
will it reach you?
i hope it reaches you.
The coldness without is covered with cloth, the coldness within can't be covered by cloth , yet if you see someone who is cold outside give him cloth but if they are cold within too give them warmness with your heart, give them kindness and melt their ice.
© 2015 AROODY
is an I value you note
Bear hug from me.
I just want to leave, leave my whole life behind.
Everyone I’ve ever known, hated and love.
Left behind without ever being there.
I want to chase the sun that lies just above the horizon.
The horizon that has always imprisoned me with a ****** life.
I’ve got nothing to show for it except writing these ****** poems about love and life.
The yellow sun is enough of a reason to make any man chase a dream fading from memory.
I want to grasp the sun and let it rest upon my ill woken palms.
I want the warmness of everything that has ever been in my hands.
Has anyone ever touched the sun?
The naturally sweetened honey sun?
— The End —