#hatetags
We watch, report
Write it out
Then contort
Watchers, poets, writers, scribes
Feel too much
Wrenching, inside
Its our job, not to sleep at night
To think too much
About life's plight
One watcher, will be drawn to another
All akin,
Sisters, brothers, lovers
It's what we are
In ancient times
They called us,
"The Scribes"
Old souls,
We everyone bare
It's a hard business
Not at all fair
But it's our job, chosen or not
To see, to feel,
To "watch" every plot
Our thoughts, can drown us
Or perhaps, heal
But with every action
More is revealed
For we are the "watchers"
With purpose, we live
And with our words written, spoken
'Tis life, we all give
Feb 24, 2017
Feb 24, 2017 at 9:56 PM UTC
No similes
No metaphors
No allegories
No alliteration
No irony
No paradox
No rhythm, and no rhyme
No more stanzas
No more verses
Only
truth:
I miss you.
2 8 . 0 7 . 1 4
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 7:13 PM UTC
I’m on a train
People keep sleeping
Tossing their heads
Closing their eyes
It’s peculiar, truly
People's stories;
Countries with damp skies and damp, sweet, tickling rain;
Mountains and an elderly man with an umbrella,
wandering around the station
What are you looking for?
I remember my computer-generated wifi-password by heart
I have been travelling, running, up an down this country
the past months
Looking for safety
The ground below me was collapsing
The last time I was here I was travelling in the
opposite direction
Not from you – leaving you behind
To you
Only by duty am I forced to leave
I would have screamed out
"Don't say it, please"
What do I know?
I'm just a writer on a train
Clinging to people like magnets
All those clichés are over
Just as quickly as they happened
I think I knew
I think I should have known
Insomnia affecting my friends on facebook's chat
Logging on; signing off
Do you sleep safely now?
We are like inevitable frictions
Turned on; shut off
Close; far away
Warm, intertwining with my sweating feet; cold as blocks of ice
Close by force – far away in our minds
I go away in my own world as you consolidate your own troubles
I am a never-ending train of guilt, self-hatred and self-sacrifice
Stupid, trusting, kind but hostile of nature
Water running down the windows in a pattern of coincidences; ice in my mind
Fire in the hole!
Always a fire, they tell me
Is there a fire in you,
or just ashes?
You are a builder, afraid to stack too high
Trembling when I fall
But just reaching out to run away
So, now I stand here
No train;
No stations;
But there’s still life
But there’s still me
There’s still time and wars to be fought
That train will never stop
The sun also rises
Ice blocks too, must one day, melt
The water rises
We drown.
6.06.14
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 9:41 PM UTC