#weathered
In the ocean of life, I'm caught up in the waves and they come crashing down on me every day Sometimes I can swim with it and stay above all of the negativity it's made of There are the days where I almost drown, everything in life is weighing me down I reach for my life line, reach for hope, but there's no one there at the end of the rope Weather beaten tired and torn I am caught up in life's storm
Jun 22, 2025
Jun 22, 2025 at 9:41 AM UTC
You smelled the roses
used them till Withered
and toss aside
for a new one
All you did was
temporary love.
You like new,
Young and
Shiny
But then again
You get bored
And opt
for a new one.
All you did was
temporary love.
You sing songs
Of love and
Praises
Yet you avoid
pain and Fear
of Risking it all
All you ever did was
Temporary love.
Nov 12, 2024
Nov 12, 2024 at 4:00 AM UTC
.
desert rock.
seemingly impervious to harshness.
but it too gets whipped and worn
by relentless winds that lash it
ever so slightly with subtle promises
laced with veiled threats.
again and again.
•••
desert rock.
lays still in absolute.
its body and face wrinkled
with lash-lines.
they tell only silent tales…
that all could see
but did not hear.
Jun 14, 2022
Jun 14, 2022 at 11:38 PM UTC
Who was it that decided that a knot should be so painful to untie?
Sometimes, a tie is loose,
It has no purpose,
It is old,
It decays!
So why do we hang on?
Why don’t we just allow the knot to be broken when its clearly no longer functional?
Its quite sad really. How a knot becomes so weathered when two ends just can’t let go.
Jan 23, 2019
Jan 23, 2019 at 11:57 PM UTC
And so the sea, she claimed three.
Taking the Mariner, Maiden, & unborn babe.
Together they shall live
in the cold currents.
Ne'er being separate
E'ermore.
For when the sea calls,
the heart must listen.
Giving itself wholly
to the cold and unforgiving tide.
And the sea she sang
a hymnal for thee
a hymnal for three.
Together in the harmony
of the cold
and unforgiving tide.
And the sea she sang
a hymnal for thee
a hymnal for three.
Jan 14, 2019
Jan 14, 2019 at 11:31 PM UTC
In the sudden moments
her heart sank
one-thousand leagues
into the sea of tears.
The yearning aching heart
beat violently in her chest.
Hands trembling
she reached
outward
for the oil lamp dimly lit.
The slow clapping of bare feet
against those aged cherry floors.
Her delicate hand
pushed open the finished oak door
that led to their sanctuary.
The door,
with all the worlds hope
&
despair behind it
opened.
She gathered her
ivory white slip
and made her way to the shore
The cold rush of the November tide
met her at waist height.
The weight of her despondent heart
would be enough to hold her down.
Waist
Shoulders
The top of her auburn hair.
Her footsteps
now but distant memories
of the sand.
Her body now one with the sea.
Jan 14, 2019
Jan 14, 2019 at 11:16 PM UTC
The fire in the belly of the mantle
lowly roars.
With it, the harmony of the beacon.
Though, as with all great scores, there must be an end.
When the last line of the melody is played
and the final note clings to the air
then decays.
As did the beacon so.
Drawing its last breath
and light slipping unto the dark.
With hurried steps
the Maiden makes her climb
Through the cherry staircase
onward and upward
the tower.
Falling, with all of the world's weight,
she weeps.
Her tears darkening the floorboards
like black ink on a yellow stained page
She could feel the call.
Jan 14, 2019
Jan 14, 2019 at 10:40 PM UTC
My dearest Olivia,
I write this letter with a heavy heart and yet, an even heavier hand. This vessel takes on water as I blot these old pages with ink. I hold your memory close as flame to a well-oiled wick. Cherishing our fondest moments spent together, and letting them keep me warm in this frigid cold.
The way your ivory slip would rest on your shoulders so delicately as we strolled through the fields of home. How the wind would gently pass through your deep flowing auburn hair, and how sweetly I would tuck the free-flowing strands behind your ears.
I desperately yearn to be back home by your side in the comfort of our chamber, with my hand interlaced with your hair, as the glorious yellow rays seep through our window and slowly fill the room with luminous light.
We shall be together soon, I fear not. And I shall wait to see your hurried steps on heavens golden shores. Weep not for me or for this loss. The sea is beckoning me home.
I hope this letter finds you. I love you,
-W.A.
Jan 14, 2019
Jan 14, 2019 at 10:07 PM UTC
The wind gently pushed through sails,
carrying the vessel further from shore.
Seas still with timid temper
this was the calm before the storm.
Oh the fabled calm
how many a weary sailor
sang its song.
The beauty before the gale and the fall.
Boards speak softly
as the ship sweetly
stirs.
Blue crests swell
raising & lowering
the vessel as if to rock her
to sleep.
Oh the fabled calm
how many a weary sailor
sang its song.
The beauty before the gale and the fall.
Jan 13, 2019
Jan 13, 2019 at 10:53 PM UTC
The whirring of the beacon
drummed low and steady
The light burning its way
through the night
That light,
oh how brightly it shone
For it stayed lit
to guide the mariner
home.
At night
&
during day
The maiden, oh how sweetly she'd
pray.
That beacon, fueled by love
contested the sun
and its brilliant shine.
For it stayed lit
to guide the mariner
home.
Jan 13, 2019
Jan 13, 2019 at 10:46 PM UTC
The low wind howled
against the creaking
&
moaning of ships.
Dark clouds blotted out
all hopeful rays of the sun.
Small drops of water blotted
chestnut colored planks
Fraying aged ropes wet with sea mist
tug and pull taught
as vessels heave up and down.
Sails shake tirelessly
in the careless throws
of the wind.
Her words, like sweet drops of wine,
fall softly from her saddened lips.
"Must you go?
Must you brave the angered seas?
Must you set out once more,
this final time?"
Though sweet was her voice,
her words filled with grief
held a gravity to them.
He did not wish to leave.
Seeing her tear stricken face
He softly ran his fingers
through her heavy auburn hair.
A final embrace
and a solemn goodbye
The Mariner kissed his wife.
Jan 9, 2019
Jan 9, 2019 at 11:24 PM UTC
The sweet solemn melody
swam through the dim-lit room.
His eyes pressed shut
swaying to and fro
in the rhythm of her hearts song.
The fire in the belly of the mantle
cracked and popped
its own lovestruck melody
warmly roaring.
The Maidens song spills
from finger & bow
dancing on air & swimming
in ears.
She watches as the final note
is pulled through the string
singing with its last dying breath
The Maidens song spills
from finger & bow
dancing on air & swimming
in ears.
Jan 9, 2019
Jan 9, 2019 at 11:07 PM UTC
Black sands awashed
by crystal waters
&
slate gray cliffs
adorn the countryside
Perched atop the highest bluff
our home ignites the way
for the lost
&
the weary.
I, The Mariner, know all too well
the change brought forth
by the ebb & flow
of the tide.
I've braved the seas
&
watched men die.
I've seen the beauty
of
starlight skies.
Beholden to none
other than my vessel and bride
I yearn to sail one last time
beneath the starlight skies.
Jan 9, 2019
Jan 9, 2019 at 10:57 PM UTC
You and I will crack one day
The smoothness will all go away
And as our hairs fade into grey
Will the love still stay?
We promise love until the dust
But so often forget the rust
Failing frequently to discuss
What happens if nothing happens to us
The porcelain will splinter and chip
Marking, for some, where the veil rips
But my love lasts more than just a stint
Of smooth skin on my fingertips
For if the twilight fades the blue
It replaces it with countless hues
And so will grow my love for you
In seeing, remem’bring what we’ve gone through
You and I will crack, no doubt
But my love will faithfully pour out
To endless bound, in copious amounts
A quenching water from an undying spout
Oct 17, 2018
Oct 17, 2018 at 10:09 AM UTC
My dusty mind is filled
with old memories,
lost amongst poems
I dribbled on to the window sill
one morning.
I got lost in the shuffle of time,
thoughts brought me
ink drippings from
the night before,
though I already ate
the leftovers and smeared
my poems all over the walls.
You may join me
for a Gothic meel,
just don't forget to bring
your open minds
so I don't have to knock
or ring the bell.
Welcome to my gloomy day,
where black is happy,
blue is true, and the roses
withered at your feet
though they smell lovely.
(slowly the poems crumbled
in my mouth) the ofter taste
was lovely, a bit of gloom was
left hanging from my lips.
Such taboos I display,
should I speak in ghostly whispers,
so the spirit's can hear me too?
Shshsh!
I am not finished with you yet.
Come back soon and I will write you
another Gothic poem.
For I am the weathered poet.
© 2018 By Amanda Shelton
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 1:35 AM UTC
Games played at train stations
As we all just slide by
Our weathered eyes
Begin to crack.
We’ve dried up.
Become husks
As we drown in lassitude
“To the End!” we cried!
Jun 28, 2018
Jun 28, 2018 at 3:15 AM UTC
sunken in couches at coffee shops
have been loved too much
by too many
cushions gone lumpy
legs that can no longer support weight
coffee stains that will never come out
though there’s been many that have loved it
there hasn’t been one that has loved it enough
Apr 29, 2018
Apr 29, 2018 at 4:53 PM UTC
Stand alone
scratching the spine
of my open book.
I alone
touch this book
manipulate the spine.
They warn of the bright outside
When I see only dark
Jul 12, 2017
Jul 12, 2017 at 1:38 AM UTC
Walk across the marshes
View from the distance
into the streets of London
The downtrodden man,
contrite and solemn,
with weathered shoes
and a weathered soul
Walk in his shoes,
View through his eyes
into the streets of desperation
The downtrodden man,
worn and hungry,
with no bread to eat
and no cent to his name
Walk beside him,
View of his world,
into the street of questions
The downtrodden man,
simple and depraved,
with not an answer
and no life to live
Walk to his grave,
View of his stone
into the streets of nothing
The downtrodden man,
asleep and alone,
with no one to care
and no one to see
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 5:48 PM UTC
The last raindrop that hangs onto a branch, a twig
"droplet
let go, or evaporate", which one is the thing,
filter
fall down into the ground or fall up into the air,
steamy but
water always finds the lowest point,
the water table quickly absorbs the fallen,
the sun so hot, sky lifts water up towards the heavens
in sheets
oh,... So looking forward to the last teardrop, eyes
too be
dry,
even for a little while.
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 10:52 PM UTC
I look at my hands sometimes
these old, battered appendages
this is how i see the world
this is how i feel
and they are weathered
scarred and hurt
but still they work
in pain and toil.
My hands are who i am
and they never will touch
you.
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 10:03 AM UTC