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an onslaught of blustery wind blew
across the rocky cove
where the hull of a cargo ship lay
was caught in the turbulence of the rough sea
as it sailed to the port town of Dalmont
strong gales lashed the deck
and broke the rigging
such disaster befell the crew
all perished on that moonless night
with ferocity the elements
did conspire against
the ship and its hapless occupants
no news of where the ship finally rested
came to light until nineteen thirty five
a coastal surveying team
spotted the wreck a mile out to sea
the ghostly skeletal hull
sat askew on a rock ledge
in a small dinghy
they rowed
toward the shore
to make inquiry of the ship's remains
the only object they found
was the navigator's
The poem is of my imagination. It was written some nine years ago.
Amanda Kay Burke Nov 2020
I hear the inner critic shout loudly in my head
It is here and cloaked in violent shades of red
Hating my heart with all I can muster
Even my demons are faint and lackluster
If nothing can change life but me
Save me from the tragedy I will be
Because at this rate I'll probably be dead by the time I hit 40
kim Sep 2020
it's funny
how i build these walls around my heart:
strong, resistant, resilient;
they protect it from the sharp edges of slipped words from your tongue,
they shield my heart from the harshness of spitfire.
and yet

they. always. break

even after how many times i rebuild these tall walls,
even after adding multitudes of obsidian,
it always breaks under your words

and i'm growing tired

the once overflowing energy in my veins are slowly diminishing,
the nerves building this wall around my heart are slowly losing their light

and there will come a day
where i don't have the energy to rebuild these defenses,
where my heart will lay beating but vulnerable

and there will be a day where your words hit just the right spot,
and then there i will be,
slowly bleeding out, color draining from me as i find it harder and harder to get up

but today will not be that day,
i will continue to build these defenses,
only letting those worthy to enter,
my heart will still beat and it will beat strong

today, your words will simply bounce off these obsidian walls and fall to their demise
im okay now, just needed to let it out
Nylee Aug 2020
a million pieces
  it is how my dreams have become
little by little
  every little break a little
multiply and increase

By next month
  I'd be counting the billionth one
the reality is too real
  I see nothing ticks my list
and I am slowly learning to accept
  I am getting there

Now the darkness took over
  The dreams I see in the night
My back of eyelids
  grant me the solace
From the daily torture of day ones

Sometimes I see a face
  who know how to sew those pieces
it is better I stay clear
  These broken pieces would make a beautiful mosaic
  But any tear ahead will be the sudden death,
I'd be too distorted for any new wreck.
luciana Jun 2020
every time I try to escape you
I start to feel empty to my very core
I'd rather hold on then say adieu
because either way I was a wreck before
adam olofantur Mar 2020
loving without pinking up
around your neck, feeling
cold blue — am i bleeding?
or is it you — just coming back?

— i am kidding, cause i'm sinking
waiting for the cause to wreck
Hamies Mar 2020
if you would look close,
you would see the agony kept inside my chest
and dead butterflies killed by myself ages ago
you'd see the unspoken thoughts
repetitively playing like music in my ears
no one can hear
you'd recognize my shadows dancing on papers of unwritten poetry
kept inside my treasure of hope
you'd understand the scribbled words written on the walls of my heart secretly wanting to be noticed just by someone who looks close enough

but if you decide to look closer,
you'd see the pain running through my veins demanding be felt in every inch of my body
you'd see the little girl that lives inside me
still trying to be let free
you'd see the hatred trying to be restrained by the idea of destiny & that tomorrow will be better
and the whisper in the back of my head always telling me that it is not good enough yet
but after all,
you'd still think it's pathetically miserable
what a wreck i actually am
you'd never think i'm worth reading
never worth looking closer
and you'd put me next to all the unfulfilled stories remaining in the shelf of yours
and always kept in mind that some day
you may rummage in your old books
and find me again
i am sorry
My throat closes

Every single time

When I want to speak or let myself be heard, I close

I let others speak for me. In whistling tunes I found through the Tube or stories as told by those who live them

I find it is not my time to speak.

For only when I am utmost alone can I even utter a single sigh and still it displeases me of its occurrence

Perhaps voiceless to allow others the space they might need to be themselves. So why am I upset of it

Meek and meager
Never there when you need her
Your silence is louder than a train wreck.
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