#narrated
After one, three, or even ten years,
Oh time, take my pain and fears,
But grant me a man who dries my tears,
To stand beside me,sharing all my cheers.
He'll be the one I proudly tell my daughter,
"Though times were tough, love didn't falter,
And blessed me with your father ever after,
A love so strong, it could never alter."
Dec 26, 2024
Dec 26, 2024 at 3:33 AM UTC
Everything rots, doesn’t it?
Watch with me, dear reader
This petal falls from the rose
Your body starts to decompose
Another petal falls
Maggots burrow into your brain
A Panther tears open your chest
All of your organs are devoured hastily
Not to be put to waste
A third petal is blown by the wind
Your skin starts to peel
revealing marvelously white bone
a small sprout grows up through
the ribs and shows itself to the sun
The fifth and sixth petals fall together
The rain brings forth a flood
washing away the dirt and leaves
only your skeleton left behind
A curious dog takes your femur as
the seventh petal falls
You are rudely moved from
the forest floor to a dark room
They give you a name
The eighth petal falls
They put you in a box
The sun no longer shines on the sprout
and it too wilts
cries of people
surround you as you are then
dropped into your grave
The rose decomposes,
just like you.
The box doesn't last long
And your bones finally
are given a rest
As they crumble into dust
Dear reader, you see,
Everyone rots.
Sep 26, 2024
Sep 26, 2024 at 11:49 AM UTC
You are a poem that can't be written by my hand, only narrated to this world by your walk, your laugh, that wonderful smile, the starshine in your eyes, the river in your hair...my eyes could read you forever...
Sep 26, 2019
Sep 26, 2019 at 3:00 PM UTC
You will read this poem, and as you read it you'll wonder why is that the first line of this, how bizarre and unintriguing.
You will feel the emotions I felt as I put these words into motion.
You won't care.
It'll touch you for a slight second and take you back with a rush of nostalgia.
You will forget this.
My words full of feeling and most likely eloquence will fade your mind like a dying butterfly,
that just flew by,
right before your eyes.
(You weren't aware of the fact it was dying, of course.)
I should say these are all ghost words, with demons attached to them; for the things that inspired these thoughts are impacted
memories
formed by travelling people who attached themselves to little pieces of my mind.
I thought as I wrote this,
my soul is staining the paper,
for it often feels as though it is bleeding and I would say every writer feels this way.
I would hope so.
A sinking boat, over boarded with water.
A flooded river, full of life, not knowing how to deal with all of it's responsibility.
A loud room, around a small human with a sensory overload.
Each word is a brick on top of a flower.
This is as heavy as this silly poem will get.
Mar 23, 2016
Mar 23, 2016 at 4:01 PM UTC