Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
izi Jul 2020
My greatest enemy,
Silence. My most wonderful dream,
Silence.

Silence that hangs like a thread,
Silky, soft, bound to break.

Silence that wraps around you,
A warm blanket of comforting.

Silence that wakes you,
Awash in that moonlight glow.

Silence that defines you,
Fiber, soul, essence, and heart.

Silence that you wish would just,
Stop being so deafening.

Silence that suffocates,
Then lets you breathe.

Silence that opens a window,
More than your eyes ever could.

Silence that makes me afraid,
Lifts you up on angel-like wings.

Silence that is too short, too long,
Too silence-y.

Silence, that doesn't sound like a word,
Until you hear it.

Silence that sits there,
Waiting, wondering, thinking.

Silence in the darkness,
The most comfortable moments,
And the scariest.

I've never learned how to be silent,
In the proper way,
Until I met you.

You, who uses silence,
You, who knows silence,
You, who is silence.

I can't say I know you,
But I know silence,
Around you,
Lying together,
Arms tangled.
Smiling in
Silence.
Carlo C Gomez Jul 2020
Distance
Coddled me into believing
Each step forward was the same,
Measure for measure.

Detachment
Led me to reason
Every unguarded move was safe,
So new, so pure.

Then all at once,
So Thirty Years' War,
Out the window
I was thrown.
Ruheen Jul 2020
Don't let the bed bugs bite...
Even though they're crawling
All over you.

Don't let the raindrops win...
Even though they're
Surrounding you.

Don't let the windows shine...
Even though they can
Always see you.

Don't let the bed bugs bite...
Because even when you're
Holding your pillow tight...

They still come and snuggle up by your side.
...figure it out. I'm going to sleep
ebh Jun 2020
most days, when the sun is high and the sky is clear and the wind is slow,
i like to leave my window open for my cats, long-haired and elegant beings as they are.
they tend to visit for longer if the window is ajar, allowing sunlight to peek in and wind to sneak its tendrils in,
and there is little wonder why that is.
their eyes linger on birds the most, and i know that if they had their way they would be velvety hunters like their ancestors were
but my parents are birdwatchers (and i am sensitive) so they must be content with simply watching from my screened window,
dreaming of the fierce predators they could be, if only.
When I look through the window, I see
Free bird in the sky.
I wish this could be the destiny of my.
No matter what happiness I get here inside.
The urge in me to go out never die...
not everyone can be a free bird but everyone desires to...
r Jun 2020
I think of your eyes,
dark orbs, darting around the room to find my familiar face .
I think of your spirit,
childish owl, it sails and it sinks, but keeps on swimming.

too often for my own good,
I think of your sheets:
dark and dusty, your face pale and clear.

The window open, horns blare as the city hums,
to the mismatched chords of your black bass.

I think of you, and her
in those dark dusty sheets,
as you serenade a love so pure.
Tiger Ayres Jun 2020
What's out the window?

Is it stars in the night?
The rain in the black?
Thudding through the night

What's out this window?

Is it sun in the day?
The clouds in the blue?
Drifting away

What's out my window?

Is it storms in the sea?
The lightning in the grey?
Blinding me

I know what's out my window

It's a field of green
Where the sun rises high
And the poppies sing

Where the only me is me
And there's no-one here but you
Where the life of anyone is real and true
Window
Tony Tweedy Jun 2020
Many are the droplets that bead upon the windows pane.
As I look beyond the misted glass at the slowly falling rain.

Low hung wisps of white race upon the grey-est sky.
And puddles form with unheard splash before captivated eye.

The ground is damp and made sodden by the ever steady flow.
And so to now runs a stream that follows where kerb bids it to go.

Leaves upon trees seem now burdened by drops so hard to bear.
Made to shed their cargo by the motions of puff of dampened air.

A distant roll of thunder to accompany the patter on roofs tin.
A symphony by nature heard, whilst warm and dry within.

I look on as melancholy witness through drizzles on the glass.
Melancholy not through rain, but rather, from knowing it will pass.
I enjoy a good rain
Next page