Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
If time stood
still?

I would push it forward.

No need to be stuck here longer than intended.

Let the young live.

Let time move quickly and ****** us all like the homicidal maniac it is.

I don't ever want time to stop.

As I move slower, I want it to move faster.

I threw all of my broken watches and clocks away.

Ah yes, that sweet sound....

Tick tock
I look around me and it looks like the world is melting.
Stars are breaking away from the sky and falling.
The clouds are grey and cry never ending tears, or so it seems.
The moon is rarely even whole, just a fraction of itself.
The sun even runs away from me after a little while.
The angry river's horizon swallow the day and bring yet more darkness.
Boats disappear upon those waters with nary a beacon heard.
Trees are ravaged by hurricane'd winds as they weep and wilt.
Roses and their bouquet are trampled and their thorns are all that's left behind.
Strangers walking under the street lights are just that, 'stranger' to me everyday.
What is this place?
What is this tortured existence?
I want to run away from it but I can't because,
this place is everywhere.
It's even in my dreams, my nightmares.
He never meant for the ground under my feet to always feel like it was opening up.
Or for me to keep pushing myself further and further away from a love for life.
My bed is my best friend.
My head is the only thing that exists that knows all of my secrets and feelings.
I keep a tiny light on in my bedroom so not to always be in 100% darkness.
What is this place?
I muse.
Even my muses feel my anxiety and pain.
What is this place?
Hope is my super blood moon smile and...
Smiles are hard to find on this face.
Red
"Red"

Red.
Red can be fire.
Red can be rage.
Red can be love and desire.
Red can be forever imprisoned in a cage.
Red is not the color of love.
Red is the color of spilled blood.
Red is no cherub flying around with an arrow.
Red is the screams of tomorrow's echoes.
This day,
This day will perish too

But hopefully,
hopefully today
you grew

Water me,
water me
I'm a seed
in the sun

Tomorrow
is evidence that
my growing
will never
be done
So, when I thought about her, I knew that I shouldn't be

She was a river of undertows that once held, would never let go

She would be my Queen of everything, my Queen bee

So you see, I can't help but think of her as my longing for her grows

I wish that she would wash over my body like a tidal wave along the shore

Feeling her all over me....something that I could never possibly ignore

She's as unique as the ice that flows down this mighty river

Right now she's a mystery, my fantasy giver

As the sun shines upon her, she glistens like flawless diamonds

She's a breath taker, the likes of which I can never pretend

Take...selfishly steal me away just for you on a perfect sunny and 75° day

Stare in the face of all that oppose and whisper to me....."nope, you're all mine today" !

One day I'll be her honeybee, so sticky and so sweet

Once she's had this drone, she'll be buzzing "in this heat let's please repeat"
Everyone is out here just trying to live their life

The ups the downs and how at times life cuts like a knife

The homeless are forgotten while the wealthy are cheered

Left to die in a bus shelter, alone with their frozen tears

I feel genuine sorrow and pain for the way that man felt he deserved to die

I can't ever imagine what he said in his last words as he shivered and looked up towards the sky

All that I know is when I first heard this story, I broke down and cried

But now he is wrapped in Heaven's warmth and by Jesus has been glorified

The pain of his earthly body and mind is forever no more

For now...
now he sleeps in a place with no more doors or frigid floors

Sleep warm tonight my friend

No more frozen tears for you tend
My emotions are as deep as the deepest ocean

My passion is as untamed and wild as the wind

I am a broken poet that loves a good storm

That enjoys walks in the rain on sultry summer days

That enjoys shoveling snow at 2am just to stop and listen to the peaceful calm

That loves putting my emotions and passion into words as poets often do

I am a broken poet but I think that most poets are

That's why they become 'poets'

To gather their brokeness and put themselves together with words

I try everyday to put myself back together

But I know now, that I am broken for life

A deeply passionate, broken poet for life

Poets are simple people, loving simple things

We are roses that bloom only to die

We are life and we are death

We are keepers of the keys to many a fantasy

Remember us poets

Remember us as you gather the broken glass

That's all that we ask
Next page