#fallingdown - Hello Poetry

silence is a telling voice gentle hearts do hear with hush of bated breath, as season’s end, inner tides grow low longing eyes whisper in wordless tears the passing of love grown cold raindrops taste like wistful tears, without the ache when your sky comes falling down ... wild is the wind

0

Oct 11, 2016

Oct 11, 2016 at 10:24 AM UTC

wildisthewind

when you’re sky comes falling down

silence is a telling voice gentle hearts do hear with hush of bated breath, as season’s end, inner tides grow low longing eyes whisper in wordless tears the passing of love grown cold raindrops taste like wistful tears, without the ache when your sky comes falling down ... wild is the wind

14

you are my house you are just like all the other houses you are unstable you may fall apart slowly then all at once when I least expect it if I don't leave you will cave in on me sooner or later and if you don't I will be isolating myself from the world, waiting for the unknown and listening to false promises.

0

Nov 6, 2014

Nov 6, 2014 at 12:21 PM UTC

princess-savvy

house

you are my house you are just like all the other houses you are unstable you may fall apart slowly then all at once when I least expect it if I don't leave you will cave in on me sooner or later and if you don't I will be isolating myself from the world, waiting for the unknown and listening to false promises.

16

Yesterday she was nowhere to be found In the earth or under the earth. Suddenly she is all here - a bright soon Of a tomorrow in earnest and potluck joy, embers and pyres, iris and the merriment of ochre. A star groomed by outer space - spilling wet ash And fissured out by the tailored saw of the wood. Now something is stirring in the smolder. We call it a girl. Still wowed. She has no idea where she is. Her eyes, chalcedony stones, explore ripening doomsday and an ivory moon rock. Is this the world? It confuses her. It is a great numbness. She pulls herself together, rousing to the new weight of things And to that maternal figure nuzzling her, and to her down burrow. She rests From the first infinite shock of light, the empty laze Of the curious and their curious questions - What has happened? What am I? Her ears keep on inquiring, blissfully. But her legs are impatient, Mending from so long nothingnesses Her tiny hands are restless with ideas, they start to try a few out, Swaying this way and that, Grasping for balance, learning fast - And she's suddenly upright And stretching - a giant hand Strokes her from top to toe Perfecting her outline, as she tightens The knot of herself. Now she comes to - Bold, beautiful - Argentina Over the weird world. Her nose crimson and magnetic, draws her, consciously sounding, A petite yaff, aimed towards her mother. And the world is warm And gentle and softens her daze. Touch by touch Everything fits her together. Soon she'll almost be a woman. She wants to be a Woman, Pretending each day more and more Woman Till she's the perfect Woman. The immortal Woman Will surge through her, weightless, unbound, a twirling flame Beneath silver gusts, It will coil her eyeballs and her heels In a single outlaw fright - like the awe Between mortar and firework. And curve her neck, like a crocodile emerging from the placid pond Among lilies, And fling the new moons over her shimmery banner, All the full moons and the dark moons. Booming, ineffable delight.

0

Apr 26, 2014

Apr 26, 2014 at 4:59 AM UTC

martin-narrod

Nueva Beba

Yesterday she was nowhere to be found In the earth or under the earth. Suddenly she is all here - a bright soon Of a tomorrow in earnest and potluck joy, embers and pyres, iris and the merriment of ochre. A star groomed by outer space - spilling wet ash And fissured out by the tailored saw of the wood. Now something is stirring in the smolder. We call it a girl. Still wowed. She has no idea where she is. Her eyes, chalcedony stones, explore ripening doomsday and an ivory moon rock. Is this the world? It confuses her. It is a great numbness. She pulls herself together, rousing to the new weight of things And to that maternal figure nuzzling her, and to her down burrow. She rests From the first infinite shock of light, the empty laze Of the curious and their curious questions - What has happened? What am I? Her ears keep on inquiring, blissfully. But her legs are impatient, Mending from so long nothingnesses Her tiny hands are restless with ideas, they start to try a few out, Swaying this way and that, Grasping for balance, learning fast - And she's suddenly upright And stretching - a giant hand Strokes her from top to toe Perfecting her outline, as she tightens The knot of herself. Now she comes to - Bold, beautiful - Argentina Over the weird world. Her nose crimson and magnetic, draws her, consciously sounding, A petite yaff, aimed towards her mother. And the world is warm And gentle and softens her daze. Touch by touch Everything fits her together. Soon she'll almost be a woman. She wants to be a Woman, Pretending each day more and more Woman Till she's the perfect Woman. The immortal Woman Will surge through her, weightless, unbound, a twirling flame Beneath silver gusts, It will coil her eyeballs and her heels In a single outlaw fright - like the awe Between mortar and firework. And curve her neck, like a crocodile emerging from the placid pond Among lilies, And fling the new moons over her shimmery banner, All the full moons and the dark moons. Booming, ineffable delight.

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