#bastion - Hello Poetry

A glib reminder she wasn't there in my case while hers was unmatched and rose with accords where she wasn't far ahead still fighting this law whether she'd winter strata with the eternal frost.

0

Feb 28, 2018

Feb 28, 2018 at 7:54 AM UTC

poetman

Winter Strata

A glib reminder she wasn't there in my case while hers was unmatched and rose with accords where she wasn't far ahead still fighting this law whether she'd winter strata with the eternal frost.

17

. He doesn't realise... The weight of his actions and words that pummel her to the ground. Beating her down for every time she rises up to undo his ropes with which she's bound. He doesn't see... Past the darkened lenses that she dons. She wears them, not to shield her pride that was wrongfully taken, but to protect him from the repercussions that would come with accusatory speculations. He doesn't know... Of the soaked pillow that accompanied her. The rivulets of tears... She had quietly shed without a whimper. He doesn't hear... The silent altercation between the treasure that beats in her chest and the thing that thinks in her head. The struggle that ensues when the mind tries to rescind what the heart had wholly given and carelessly said. He doesn't care... To think of the devastating waves that come. Only to erode the last bastion of hope she nurtures... This frail wall that she prays for nightly. Just so that it would hold up through another day's endeavour. He doesn't feel... The need for empathy. For he thinks that he's god with one devout follower. He commands her loyalty with his deluded testaments and his fists as sceptre. She doesn't live... To see future suns. For her day finally set when it all came down. The wall she had feebly held together with her life... Easily gave way when he came at her armed with a knife. .

0

Mar 12, 2016

Mar 12, 2016 at 9:52 AM UTC

ryn

Bastion

. He doesn't realise... The weight of his actions and words that pummel her to the ground. Beating her down for every time she rises up to undo his ropes with which she's bound. He doesn't see... Past the darkened lenses that she dons. She wears them, not to shield her pride that was wrongfully taken, but to protect him from the repercussions that would come with accusatory speculations. He doesn't know... Of the soaked pillow that accompanied her. The rivulets of tears... She had quietly shed without a whimper. He doesn't hear... The silent altercation between the treasure that beats in her chest and the thing that thinks in her head. The struggle that ensues when the mind tries to rescind what the heart had wholly given and carelessly said. He doesn't care... To think of the devastating waves that come. Only to erode the last bastion of hope she nurtures... This frail wall that she prays for nightly. Just so that it would hold up through another day's endeavour. He doesn't feel... The need for empathy. For he thinks that he's god with one devout follower. He commands her loyalty with his deluded testaments and his fists as sceptre. She doesn't live... To see future suns. For her day finally set when it all came down. The wall she had feebly held together with her life... Easily gave way when he came at her armed with a knife. .

32

I like to put my feet up on the wall and cross my legs over the tile it feels comfortable and smooth this is my bastion vast and wet and screaming for a release. but most often it's a quiet place a temple I've built to worship you in where words echo somberly invaders demand their boat back and ask if it floats it does

0

Aug 3, 2015

Aug 3, 2015 at 11:45 AM UTC

m-eastman

bastion

I like to put my feet up on the wall and cross my legs over the tile it feels comfortable and smooth this is my bastion vast and wet and screaming for a release. but most often it's a quiet place a temple I've built to worship you in where words echo somberly invaders demand their boat back and ask if it floats it does

14