#catacomb - Hello Poetry

Life's biggest illusion is the freedom we're shown Cause there's only so far you are able to roam It never occurred to me that it was strange to be in this place alone At first, While trying to escape I wore my finger tips to the bone But now, I've got it so bad that I call this catacomb home No land line phone, No WiFi hotspot zone Cut off from the outside inside this prison of skull and bone ©2024

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Jun 28, 2024

Jun 28, 2024 at 5:58 PM UTC

bettsjc187

~•§•~ The Catacomb I Call Home ~•§•~

Life's biggest illusion is the freedom we're shown Cause there's only so far you are able to roam It never occurred to me that it was strange to be in this place alone At first, While trying to escape I wore my finger tips to the bone But now, I've got it so bad that I call this catacomb home No land line phone, No WiFi hotspot zone Cut off from the outside inside this prison of skull and bone ©2024

11

I perused through the catacombs gliding my fingers along your innumerate spines, picked you up where you blossomed in my palm and breathed archaic mysteries into my face. I felt myself trembling as I dared enter the hallowed corridors, opening doors and peeking inside in hopes to catch a semblance of your touch, your taste, your voice. A fingerprint, a coffee stain, clues and the origins of bricolage that left me breathless and teary-eyed as the weight of this sacred place bore itself entirely upon me. A part of your soul encased within each one of your treasures: I heard your stereo in a jazz history, heard you ponder within Dostoyevsky, saw your wry smile and charm within Fleming, and your humor within Vaudeville-- and as I perused onward, and the archetype bore itself naked in a holy privilege, I closed myself within that impalpable bubble and wept at the gates of Eden. As I removed my hands from your ribcage, and withdrew the breath from your nostrils, walking away with your words and fragments of your soul I soon realized-- You Are What You Read.

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Oct 13, 2016

Oct 13, 2016 at 12:40 AM UTC

jarjarrhine

Catacombs

I perused through the catacombs gliding my fingers along your innumerate spines, picked you up where you blossomed in my palm and breathed archaic mysteries into my face. I felt myself trembling as I dared enter the hallowed corridors, opening doors and peeking inside in hopes to catch a semblance of your touch, your taste, your voice. A fingerprint, a coffee stain, clues and the origins of bricolage that left me breathless and teary-eyed as the weight of this sacred place bore itself entirely upon me. A part of your soul encased within each one of your treasures: I heard your stereo in a jazz history, heard you ponder within Dostoyevsky, saw your wry smile and charm within Fleming, and your humor within Vaudeville-- and as I perused onward, and the archetype bore itself naked in a holy privilege, I closed myself within that impalpable bubble and wept at the gates of Eden. As I removed my hands from your ribcage, and withdrew the breath from your nostrils, walking away with your words and fragments of your soul I soon realized-- You Are What You Read.

32

Some empty spaces never fill up You could never keep me You could never keep up And I could feel it heating up A rhythm of bad luck. I always speak in metaphors So keep your ear to the floor And when the door finally closed I left you in your graveyard Were the graves of our memories decompose. A ghost. A lost boy looking for home. I'll leave you in your catacomb, I just know how you get off on feeling alone.

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Jun 9, 2015

Jun 9, 2015 at 4:35 AM UTC

stephkamey

Untitled

Some empty spaces never fill up You could never keep me You could never keep up And I could feel it heating up A rhythm of bad luck. I always speak in metaphors So keep your ear to the floor And when the door finally closed I left you in your graveyard Were the graves of our memories decompose. A ghost. A lost boy looking for home. I'll leave you in your catacomb, I just know how you get off on feeling alone.

10