#lulaby - Hello Poetry

I first heard the lullaby in the womb. It has a pulse and rhythm. It was embedded in my tissue and cells. And when I was shot out, ****** and naked, the cord was cut. The journey began. At five years old, I remember closing my eyes, and lying down to go to sleep, it felt like I was being rocked. I wonder if the subconscious mind was remembering the rhythm of the womb. My Mom--pregnant with me walking upstairs--downstairs, elevators escalators movement pulse, the eternal lullaby of the womb. When I closed my eyes, it felt like I was being rocked. It felt like I was in a swing; back and forth. Easy, like a fragrant spring night. I feel and hear the pulse--the rhythm, the heart in everything. In footsteps--in the wind, in the ancient river, and in the mermaid's song. I feel it in the beating of the hummingbird's wings. I see it in Van Gogh's jagged sky, in the flight pattern of the wasp. There is a rhythm in death and birth. Oh my God, the rapture of the rhythm of love and joy--so sublime. The primal beat of a heartbreak--pain, like painting with blood. So real too lucid. Icarus, let's fly into the sun, drunk on ***** or cheap wine. We'll escape--liquid smooth, until our wings melt, and we fall back down, crash to the pulse the rhythm *** *** *** *** *** *** Sometimes, I wish I were a rock.

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Feb 29, 2020

Feb 29, 2020 at 4:36 PM UTC

thomas-w-case

The Womb's Lullaby

I first heard the lullaby in the womb. It has a pulse and rhythm. It was embedded in my tissue and cells. And when I was shot out, ****** and naked, the cord was cut. The journey began. At five years old, I remember closing my eyes, and lying down to go to sleep, it felt like I was being rocked. I wonder if the subconscious mind was remembering the rhythm of the womb. My Mom--pregnant with me walking upstairs--downstairs, elevators escalators movement pulse, the eternal lullaby of the womb. When I closed my eyes, it felt like I was being rocked. It felt like I was in a swing; back and forth. Easy, like a fragrant spring night. I feel and hear the pulse--the rhythm, the heart in everything. In footsteps--in the wind, in the ancient river, and in the mermaid's song. I feel it in the beating of the hummingbird's wings. I see it in Van Gogh's jagged sky, in the flight pattern of the wasp. There is a rhythm in death and birth. Oh my God, the rapture of the rhythm of love and joy--so sublime. The primal beat of a heartbreak--pain, like painting with blood. So real too lucid. Icarus, let's fly into the sun, drunk on ***** or cheap wine. We'll escape--liquid smooth, until our wings melt, and we fall back down, crash to the pulse the rhythm *** *** *** *** *** *** Sometimes, I wish I were a rock.

76

There's a ghost in my room That sings me to sleep Whispering in my ear A sweet symphony With a simple melody That has a heart mending remedy But the words that it sings I can't remember for the life of me The voice is familiar But can't put it to a face I remember something similar When my mind was in a better state All I can hope Is that it never leaves Because if it were to depart I don't know how I would sleep

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Feb 17, 2018

Feb 17, 2018 at 8:11 AM UTC

Bobcat

Haunting Lulaby.

There's a ghost in my room That sings me to sleep Whispering in my ear A sweet symphony With a simple melody That has a heart mending remedy But the words that it sings I can't remember for the life of me The voice is familiar But can't put it to a face I remember something similar When my mind was in a better state All I can hope Is that it never leaves Because if it were to depart I don't know how I would sleep

16

I am staring at the sky Waiting for the moon to pass by Gladly, I see Him right now But suddenly the clouds, trapped him down I can't even see any presence of my knight, Waiting for another night to see the moon shines so bright But even my mind tells me why, That he'll never come back or sing any Lulaby.

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May 15, 2015

May 15, 2015 at 9:54 PM UTC

berjie-mae-tanutan

Moon

I am staring at the sky Waiting for the moon to pass by Gladly, I see Him right now But suddenly the clouds, trapped him down I can't even see any presence of my knight, Waiting for another night to see the moon shines so bright But even my mind tells me why, That he'll never come back or sing any Lulaby.

8