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 Jun 2016 Torin
Melinda Barrett
I've done a lot of regrettable things in my short stint on earth but boy you take the cake
 Jun 2016 Torin
Kara Jean
His heart a setting desire
A holy man on fire
The ashes from his clothes hover overhead
Tarnished dry rain attached to eyelids
Blinding the ones admiring
He could've been loved
His demons were not friends
A lighter was no different
He screams in tortured relief
His body empty caressing the ground
A entity formed through headaches and torn garments
His need for her was never finished
 Jun 2016 Torin
Lora Lee
I am no rock
my heart
is not made
of tiny bits
of stone
it will not
be crushed
like a pile
of ground-up bone
it might be
washed upon
shores
like the most
miniscule of
treasures
found in sand,
unseen to
naked eye
yet so full of
iridescent magic
in a spectrum of colors
a secret world
unto its own
those almost
invisible shapes
jeweled corals
of earth
up from
sea  bottom
in foamy
rebirth
but I will take it
(yes, my heart,
in rawness
and thunder)
and hold it
and nurse it
before it goes under
I will rock it
and soothe it
before it calcifies
as the ocean
invites endless
salt from
my
eyes
 Jun 2016 Torin
ryn
Clover
 Jun 2016 Torin
ryn
Saw a single clover...
Peeking out from the crack in the wall.
All alone... With no other.
Shivering in the wind.
Still it braved the unknown.
Just to see...
What was shown.

Touched the single clover.
So much courage within something so small,
so green and frail.
Standing tall in the torrential gale.
So much I could take and learn from it.
I shall make it my daily inspiration.
I shall leave it be.
So that on my daily walk back,
it could say to me,
"I'm still here, you are too.
Let's keep on, keeping on,
till our days are through."


On my walk back today,
I have looked forward to see the clover I've learnt to adore.
Only to find that it had gone missing...
It just wasn't there anymore.
The crack was vacant...
I looked all around.
I finally looked down...
And there it was on the ground.
A twisted corpse of what once was...
The storm earlier had ripped it off its perch.
The winds had overcome and left it in the lurch.
Grounded and defenceless,
It quickly became the target of many footsteps
belonging to people too oblivious.

The clover is dead.
But it's still so green.
As I looked at it,
I imagined what it would have said,
"Keep on, keeping on.
You won't truly know...
You won't really learn...
And life won't show,
if you get too afraid of the storm.
And then you won't grow.
Stick your head out
and never be too scared...
To see and be a part of the wonders of the world
that the universe has infinitely shared."


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