Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Sep 2017 What I Feel
Anderson M
A soulful song
Escaping from a depthless
Oasis of stillness.
The absence of sound.
Inspires an inspection of one's
Spiritual architecture.
Don't waste your days away
write bad poetry
I mean absolute garbage
and draw stick figures
with squiggly lines
and paint with your fingers
and laugh when you ****
and blame someone else
for the terrible smell
and sing and scream
whenever your driving
to wherever you may be driving to
and stay up too late
and get up tired
and nap
and sleep through church
or at church
and snore really loud
and day dream
and live dreams
and when the nightmares come
enjoy the fear and the rush
and the pouring sweat
on your forward
as you wake up screaming
but don't look out the window
because there isn't anything
out there that is more scary
than your imagination
and make a deal with the devil
and cheat him his dues
and leave a rubber corpse
on your death bed
and live another day
and out run the sun
and give a butterfly the moon
in exchange for
the hidden treasure map
painted on its wings
and hang that map in the sky
to cover the hole
where the moon used to be
and don't worry
no one will notice
because they look exactly the same
and ask the stars politely
not to tell anyone
and don't forget to say please
and thank you
for stars never ignore a request
for a favor that is asked
with a manner of grace and kindness
and build sandcastles
to close to the shoreline
and watch the waves
wash the towers and walls away
and listen to the mist giggle
at the mischief it has done
and fold a boat
out of the song
no one else can hear
and give your hopes and prayers
to the wind
and sail away
and find yourself
and lose yourself
and give time and love
your full attention
and no matter
how bad things may ever get
or how good things may ever be
I will always be a fool
and a dreamer
and a magic bean believer
and I'll write you bad poetry
really bad
absolute garbage
whenever you need
because I can't think
of any better way
to waste my days away
It begins with a trickle
A small surge of light

And enters the room at the edges


Conversations falter
As they place on the altar

All of their flaws, their hurts, their pledges



Hedging bets, with guilty frets,

The Fire starts to stir

To spark,
     to grow,
     to arc,
          to blur


With tightly closed eyes,
Reaches up toward the skies,

And down around the corner forming,
Curving slightly, glowing, swarming,


Burbling nightly,
Flowing brightly,

A river of fiery lights,


Inverted, on the ceiling,
The intercessors kneeling,

O'er metaphorical fights...


O collective vision
With an unknown meaning

As intuitive as fission
For wizened guide with spiritual leaning
If there's pain, is it supposed to bleed?
If there's blood, Is it supposed to hurt?
 Sep 2017 What I Feel
Jay Lewis
Do you ever forget,
how lonely you are?
When the silence creeps in,
like the moon and the stars.
And all they see above so high,
is untold stories,
seen by those twinkling lights.

Everything that we once knew,
It was false, untrue.
We didn't know the truth,
Watching the stars burn as they die.

We're made of stardust too,
When I look at them,
I think of you.
They know our untold story
and how it'll never touch pen to page.
Why do you think it rains?
They're crying for us two,
Don't feel lonely,
when I'm always with you.
Friday night again...
The fountain pen drips and plays.
Staining the pages,
Rearranging the phrases,
It’s lost in the fray,

Contemplating the ages
A mystery steals the day.
Next page