#dreary
In the shadows of the canvas, stories intertwine,
Life's colors fade like whispers, lost in time.
Yet I stand here, heart weary but still awake,
Guarding the lives I’ve saved for my own sake.
No more ghosts in my journal, the ink runs dry.
I’ll let the silence speak, it’s time to say goodbye.
Where have the wolves gone, where's the moon’s soft glow?
Enchanted paths vanish, like mist in the snow.
The beauty once painted, now faded and blue,
Is it time to awaken, or bid my adieu?
As I wander through gardens where memories decay,
The echoes of laughter seem to slowly sway.
Among the lifeless blooms, I search for the light,
But all that I find is the cloak of night.
My voice once a melody, now just a sigh.
The final chapter beckons, it's time to comply.
The play is done, I take my bow with solemn grace,
As the curtain falls softly to end my time in this place.
Feb 9, 2025
Feb 9, 2025 at 3:11 AM UTC
Sometime acceptance is key to forget about what took the heart's hold.
May of fold, for everything in front of you that you behold.
Cherish what still may accumulate from this cursed concept of time.
Rehearse this mere delusion as it just another illusion illustrated between bonds you may not be fond of, but it will be fine.
Push through and don't miscue.
Remember the solace in the heart but don't take forgranted it's expression.
As it very much may so be your lesson.
Times ran deary, release the fury that no longer serves you.
Don't let the tension of nerves breaththrough.
Rest in a new awake, and don't forsake a new day's break. -marty.
Dec 24, 2021
Dec 24, 2021 at 12:31 PM UTC
Longing for the land of my lineage
I am dying here, in Beggar Country
Here, where fools act the wise
Pseudo Intellectualism steadily on the rise
Where the disease celebritism has took hold
Forced out the tried and true for the shiny yet old
Where the idiom
The more things that change, the more remains the same
Is unquestionably fact
I long for Ireland
I long to go back
Give me land that's green
And rolling countryside
Give me tide to rival hell's fury
And people that mean well, amid gales so dreary
I miss fog
Like that kicked up by the mire
Give me land that's hungry
Give me people that's tired
Aug 23, 2021
Aug 23, 2021 at 1:53 AM UTC
The wizened old man told me -
sustain the weary with a word
for many a one has none
to bring love and light
into the blight of their dreary days.
I asked which word
and through a wan smile
he said - you figure it out.
Feb 8, 2021
Feb 8, 2021 at 1:33 PM UTC
A dreary time of year.
It's cold
and colorless,
a monochromatic
void.
I can't see the stars.
The 14th is coming.
Ugh.
Reminding me of all
that I desperately want
but cannot have.
A perfect happy ending.
Feb 6, 2021
Feb 6, 2021 at 11:25 AM UTC
Is that danger in the distance?
Or do my eyes deceive?
****
Like dark clouds
gathering above mountains.
Like how the young see their futures.
(Though it's not like the world hasn't been ending
this entire time.
In billions of years the sun will explode.
In hundreds, our planet will be just dust and stone,
and the bones of industry.
And at my rate
I'll self-destruct by sixty years of age.
But) what is this thing that sticks and stings
and irks
like a mirage?
Not the flavor of fingers dipped in deliciousness.
Not the freshness of a newborn babe.
Not the scent of flowers.
Not feet in a hot bath.
Not fumbling a lovers face,
frolicking through foxglove fields,
flitting a fiery frevo,
finishing first.
No,
none of that.
It's not a thing,
but a feeling.
Fear
Fear
Fear
And it sticks and stings
and irks,
like a mirage.
-
by Aleksander Mielnikow | Alek the Poet
Nov 19, 2020
Nov 19, 2020 at 4:42 AM UTC
Have you forecasted a glimpse into tomorrow's
Embarrassment and read the paper
Only to have the headlines say it is going to rain
That's how my life is like without the dough
Without the rainbows, petrichor
It is an endless flood of melancholic pain
**** it's winter
Nov 18, 2020
Nov 18, 2020 at 3:10 PM UTC
She looked outside
where it was
gray and dreary
cloudy and
about to rain
what a fitting day
for a girl
who was lost
in her own storm
and couldn't find her way
Oct 19, 2020
Oct 19, 2020 at 6:57 PM UTC
God, what did I do to deserve such a
lonely and hallow existence,
trudging along such a dreary path
with a soul so heavy and beaten
that it is too hard to love?
Why am I so hard to love?
Oct 12, 2020
Oct 12, 2020 at 10:30 AM UTC
You are my pain killer
I've enjoyed every moment
Intoxicated by your effect
Now, I'm suffering.
Sep 25, 2020
Sep 25, 2020 at 2:48 AM UTC
Time is but a nagging measurement
Kinetic forces, inertia unleashed
Every birthday now forth
One year closer to entropy
Deformity of my spirituality
Preserve my heart in wine
The calamity of my existence
Chaotically divine
My charity dreary
My energy empathy drains
As I share your agony
To ease your suffering
I seek refuge
Alone in the wilderness
Drawing faces on the moon
Deities behind the clouds
Here wayward creature
Are solemnly set a fowl
.....
Sep 24, 2020
Sep 24, 2020 at 8:27 AM UTC
the sky hangs low
with a dark shroud
as the wind picks up
and blows light away
as the ground shifts
and the trees shake
when rain holds its breath
before they fall down
in this dreary day
we walk in whispers
rushing inside and away
from the misty chill
Sep 7, 2020
Sep 7, 2020 at 12:59 PM UTC
Standing upon a terminal of the Pacific,
I am as calm as the waves.
As the sun falls
The colors gradient and gasp an infinite breadth
Of nothingness between the bowing photons.
I am dreary and blue,
Blue as lapis,
Listening to the waves that make no sounds--
But the sifting sands on the edge of the earth.
There is haze on this day,
And the light asks me to see it differently
Than all the days before
It calls to me, an empty voice, saying to me
That it carries the birds
And the winds
And the gulls
And the sins
Of my friends and brothers who live amongst the hills
And dine amongst the trees
And cry together between their sheets
Of metal and mold
Plastic and cold,
The earth gives me a shiver upon my skin.
In this everything,
I am lost.
In this moment,
I am skin.
On the border of the horizon that cuts
The oceans and the air
Ships without sails fight the gales and win,
Coming to rest in their deliverance.
Sep 23, 2019
Sep 23, 2019 at 2:55 PM UTC
the cool, mid-afternoon breeze
flowing through my bedroom window
turns my heart to honey and
my feet into flowers,
rooted where I stand, though
I'm still not sure if I'm grounded
with the revitalization of defrost
or buried in unforeseen melancholy.
Mar 14, 2019
Mar 14, 2019 at 1:36 PM UTC
these winter days;
are no longer lilac
no longer tragically, beautiful
now just wrong
the sky, presently grey
mimicking our souls
will never shine again
not like it did before
Feb 22, 2019
Feb 22, 2019 at 9:29 PM UTC
Seeing the day arise
Seeing the lonely looking sky
It's no wonder I'm feeling so blah
It's mornings like these ,
I just wanna sleep the day away
No emotions no feeling the drag
Then awake to a sunny day nah
life's not gonna play it my way
So here I go anyway
© Jennifer Delong 1/16/19
Jan 18, 2019
Jan 18, 2019 at 1:02 PM UTC
dreary days to be,
mortified of being me,
trying just to see
Dec 17, 2018
Dec 17, 2018 at 7:03 PM UTC
Sometimes in life
It is a dreary day
And it seems
Like always you will be the hunters prey
But you must take that beating
and turn it into a meal worth eating
Sometimes you must put up with the storm
Because a desert comes from no rain
Where all life the sun had since slain
Nov 15, 2018
Nov 15, 2018 at 8:38 PM UTC
the high priestess sits still
on her throne
her mottled hands beginning to sprout veins
Like the roots of an ageless tree
her eyes sinking low to the earth, lids heavy with sleep
the abstract temple, mismatched in quilted sheets and mangled ceramic fragments
encompassing her victims, the children brothers Romulus and Remus
who play under a drizzled chorus of shattered glass
and winter hesitates as she raises her roots to a flame of Hell
fuels the pyre with white snakeroot and , suckling from the Jack-in the pulpit
feeds the ashen embers once again
Oct 24, 2018
Oct 24, 2018 at 6:48 PM UTC
the river Eyn, between outstretched hands
flows to lands farther than
ear has heard or eyes have searched
and they say the land twists and shifts
at her end
'til one is sailing up again
She flows like drowsy eyes in midafternoon daze
languidly stretching back and forth before the haze
the foggy mists that sit atop her skin smooth surface
shade from daylight
her sailors sleeping to sail the moonlight
I stood atop my little ship
to see the faces of passers-by
who watch the ships from shoreside
On each face I looked so long
but always obscured was the evening sun
what tree or branch, or mist or shade
I cannot see what faces made
Dreary drowsy eyes begin to close
she will close them, Eyn
so I might sail the moonlight
midnight's rays of clear and blue
and bathe pensive in cerulean hue.
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 10:01 PM UTC
#
I visited the heavens today
all gods were absent
looked out the window
we were in the clouds
landed in Detroit
on a dreary day
why would it be any different?
this skeletal remain of a city
at least the bartender was great
but now I’m drunk wandering around
Detroit
hope I wake up in my hotel
#
Sep 24, 2018
Sep 24, 2018 at 11:17 PM UTC
She contemplated waking up before the rain
In the hopes of feeling something--
Something other than dreary dreadful dread.
Maybe that sounds childish
And maybe, just maybe, that's okay.
May 19, 2018
May 19, 2018 at 10:08 PM UTC