"accross" poems
I want to take the bits of you I love
and press them like flowers
between the pages of my favourite book
because I know these will never fade.
And I want to take all the scraps
that you dislike about yourself
and display them on my refrigerator
to show you I'm still proud
of the person you are
and of the person you are becoming.
But most of all, I want to spin you like a globe
and drag my fingers accross until it stops
to discover the pieces of you
that you've yet to reveal to anyone else.
I want to wrap them up in linen
and place them in an old cigar box,
I'd tuck it away safely
in the top drawer of my bedside table,
so you know I will never let
those pieces of you go
Because when you share
hidden parts of yourself
with someone else,
you're trusting that person
to hold the secret sections
of your heart,
and to love the bits you thought were unlovable.
May 25, 2013
May 25, 2013 at 11:59 AM UTC
After school hours, sleepily
Looking down from the window sill
A deep rest in spring wind chill
If I close my eyes
To this brilliant world
Reflected scenery dances still
If I blow a low whistle
Towards the blue sky
Walking becomes a little more spry
Turning my music a little bit down
To listen to the lively corner of town
When I look up with slight rejoice
I hear a distant singing voice
Ah~ Ah~ Ah~
Today begins like any other day
Bathed in the sun slowly drifting away
The most pleasing place to reside
Is here right by your side
Dull clouds early afternoon
A sudden shower in the middle of June
Blue sky peeked out when I arose
Colors arc out accross concrete meadows
The bell chimes when I reach
Out through the window and to the beach
Warm breeze blows through the empty hall
When I looked up I heard you call
Ah~ Ah~ Ah~
Let’s rest into the sunshine
Taking breaths in a comfortable rhyme
We may not speak for very long
Though with just that I feel so strong
My quiet heart echoing true
When I’m here with you
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 12:24 PM UTC
I kissed you because it felt so right
I kissed you because I knew it was wrong
I kissed you because I felt a connection that we both said we lost with our current partners
I kissed you because I knew from the moment I saw you accross the room that you would mean something to me and by something I mean everything
I kissed you because she can't
I kissed you because my undeveloped brain acts too much on emotion and impulsity and not enough on logic
I kissed you because the way the moonlight reflected your face was so beautiful
I kissed you because I couldn't pay attention to what you were saying because I was too focused on your lips and not the words coming out of them
I kissed you because it was the perfect response
I kissed you because the look in your eyes was something I couldn't explain with any words
I kissed you because I can't possibly explain to you how I feel when those sweet eyes meet mine
I kissed you because when I heard that song at work with the lyrics that I no longer remember I knew you were perfect
I kissed you because you have what she doesn't
I kissed you because you deserve to be kissed, actually you deserve much more than a kiss from me
You deserve a Grammy worthy kiss from a scene in a cheesy movie
I kissed you because I hadn't felt those caterpillars in my stomach burst into beautiful butterflies in so long
I kissed you because there wasn't anything else in the world that I wanted more in that very moment
I kissed you because it felt so right
But now it feels so wrong
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 12:35 PM UTC
Sometimes I ask myself
when did my thoughts and hopes of blue and green
turn into violet worries, violent dispositions
When did this soul with its empty bookshelf
burn all its unwritten scripts of things yet to be seen
and my steady solace turn into a contradiction
I know what I want in life
when I see my favorite pieces of art
scattered accross the canvas of my solitary nights
my cold fingers once touched it and I can count it on all five
I want to believe that I'd be content with really only a shard
to know my dreams aren't just made of imaginary sights
My open heart drives me
in uncertain directions with clear aspiration, sometimes just insane
but always looking, always wanting, always one heart ahead
If my eyes could only look beyond uncertainty and I'd finally see
a way that goes far and will let me travel along a green country lane
If I could feel as if I'd know why it seems so difficult not to be dead.
In everything that had to be broken and shed
these distant promises on remote and empty shores
For only the contingency of all that could be good and whole
Truly not knowing where this road might have led
and still keep my hands open and reaching and breathe in deeply through all of my pores
let me just find one wholesome and abiding content in this burning library inside my soul
Jul 14, 2018
Jul 14, 2018 at 1:50 PM UTC
It was from the sands of a windswept beach
I picked up pebbles that were easy to reach.
They had attracted my attention while walking by
their coloured well formed shape caught the eye.
There were so many to choose from I had to decide
in selecting those which my fancy would coincide.
It’s truly amazing what some people see in stone
a subject which a lot of our imagination is prone.
It was almost as if I’d found treasure on the seashore
and couldn’t help myself as I looked around for more.
The simple joy of collecting something that attracts the mind
is an age old activity which all people do have of some kind.
There were the questions of how many would I take
and what, if anything with them, one could make?
They were so abundant and all varied mostly in size
that it wasn’t hard to imagine an object or visualize.
It was also only the first location at which I found
that I thought surely there must be others around.
So with a sense of adventure I looked forward to explore
another beach while making my way home along the shore.
There were several other stops made further on the way
collecting various coloured pebbles amidst the sea spray.
Many times would I get my sandals wet along that coast
going amongst rocks and sand to the waters edge at most.
It was with a sense of gain and loss then after I’d taken enough
deciding right there and then to stop collecting which was tough.
The next step would be to think about and see what I would do
with all those beautiful pebbles gathered while passing through.
Maybe I could approach someone with the right flair and skill
who could make something with them and imagination fulfill.
That natural forming eroding action of water, ice, wind and sand
rarely requires the finishing touches of some other skillful hand.
Perhaps in fashioning some jewellery using metal to bind
a few pebbles together that are different or a similar kind.
Or maybe I could just keep some myself and give the rest away
a gesture of friendship toward which our memories would play.
Yes it was from the sands of many a windswept lonely beach
I came accross and collected pebbles that were within reach.
Isn’t it truly amazing what some people see in stone?
a subject in which much of our imagination is prone.
Nov 5, 2010
Nov 5, 2010 at 7:20 PM UTC
I wish...
I wish that I was better with words.
I wish that I was more confident.
The kind of confident that would let me walk up to your door and tell you everything. Tell you everything that goes on inside my head as far as you're concerned.
But I'm not.
So I can't.
But I want to.
I want so badly to tell you that maybe, just maybe, you, are the one.
Not in a Matrix gonna save the world from the machines kind of a way but in the way that real people think of the one. The one that I've been looking for, the one I gave up looking for, the one that I didn't think even existed.
At least not for me.
I want to tell you that I think you may be the one and I want you tell me that you've been wanting to say the same thing.
But you couldn't.
Because you weren't good enough with words.
Because you didn't have the confidence.
Wouldn't that be ironic.
But I'm also scared.
I'm scared that I'll see you and tell you that I think you might be the one and hear you say thats all very nice and you might be my one, but I'm not yours.
And you'd be sorry.
You'd be sorry and you'd mean it because you are kind and you are beautiful. But it wouldn't help.
So what do I do?
Do I risk it? Do I tell you and cross everything and hope and pray that maybe, just maybe, I might be your one too?
Or do I say nothing.
Do I say nothing and just continue to lie here every night the way I have been since I worked out what it was about you that caused you to be in every thought that I have and every dream?
There is safety in saying nothing.
If I don't say anything then you can't say anything bad. You can't say no. You can't say that maybe you don't believe in the one. You can't say that you had your one once and it didn't work out so how can you possibly have another.
I know its crazy, but thats the way you drive me.
And its crazy that you drive me crazy. It's crazy that you've gotten under my skin the way you have. Its crazy that you've gotten under my skin so completely, you're like a tattoo. Like a tattoo in a private place, a hidden place. Like a living breathing tattoo that I carry round with me all the time and I'm the only one that knows that you're there. And I'm glad you're there. I like you there.
So I keep wishing.
Only now I wish that maybe you read poetry and you happen accross this somehow and read it and pick up the phone and say "Hey... stop wishing so much, just kiss me."
I wish.
Aug 7, 2010
Aug 7, 2010 at 8:12 PM UTC
I am from too long grass
that left muted green stains on my knees
From rock gardens overrun with punny yellow snapdragons
which delivered into my care all sorts of fascinating creepy crawlers
I'm from ash grey two by fours
which were all together fun to climb on
but gave nasty splinter when they were mad
I'm from the woodchips and sand
that provided me an elaborate landscape
in which to house my boundless imagination
I'm from the tail of sulfur smoke
that burned white hot through the crisp October Sky
and propelled my rocket to high heaven
or so it seemed to my eger eyes
I am from Thursdays
from green and red rhubarb leaves
and dirt under every fingernail
I'm from hurling half-rotten tomatoes
at the fence accross the ally
and running haphazardly from angry neighbors
I'm from lasagna and jell-o
candels on Christmas eve
and the squirt bottle of water
my only defense against ants
I am from obscure old families
who came over like so many others
and played the ***** in the secret choir loft above the church
I'm from woodwinds and piano strings
and never a silent moment
From reading aloud and reading alone
and from those who did the reading
I'm from the future and the present and the past of a million different stories
And I've always been headed towards
Where I'm from.
Apr 30, 2012
Apr 30, 2012 at 2:47 PM UTC
Here I lay in my comfort composure
Listening to every rythm of my music
Removing my white earphone to listen
To listen to the beauty of nature raining
Picturing myself as a randrop falling; free
Picturing the placid movement of water
Moving as one, cold breeze and falling with heavy gravitational pull
Thinking back to when I'd lay in
_comfort_
Listening to every perfect beat of your heart
Concentrating on the whispers of your spirit
Being attentive to your chords as you release them
Piercing my mind, _quaking_
through my flesh
To simply un-wither that was even desintegrated
Your love circulating my veins
Simply
By speaking
Rippling accross my seams
Bolting through my body more
than any drug ever
Hanging me on your hook
Touring to the meadow in my
dreams
Conquering the battles in my
nightmares
Re-writing the words on my page
that is life
Then
After enough re-painting
Of my story
You started to un-write my book
Crossing the hearts
Tearing the written pages
Oh how I could only stand and
_stare_
Oh how all you did, difficultly
_Glare_
The whispers your soul gave
_withered_
Cleared and filléd my mind
_vacant_
Was I abandoned by your heart
So easily the welcoming door
Became an unbidden command
_requested_
This hour
Is when I play it back;
Remenisce about it
Laying alone, in discomfort
Listening to no beats
Not even one of my own
Then I close my eyes violently
Shoving back the emotion
To silently replay those words
I love you
Always
Crashing down
Bolting tar through my body
Poisoning my mind
Rippling through my veins
That same poison
Is what I use
To **** inside me
What demons creep
See the story has a twist
What I feared most
What demons I feared even more
Is exactly what I became
The poison inside me
Crisply ogling at me
Inside the cage
Compresséd
Inside what
We call a
Mirror
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 9:30 PM UTC
Through the gardens
Head over heels
Over and ahead hills
Time met a forcefield...
"Love Metaphor's Field"
Shall we cross
The lines of the path
Pass pastures
The past matters
It's the path to the present
Pleasance
Now
Is the time
To take the future
A few Daisies at a time
Thier radiance
So similar to the sun
But Sunflowers disagree
To the utmost degree
And they still wave
Peace
The Rose says
Romance is beauty
In the eyes that behold her
Forgetmenot's
Are unforgiving
To those who don't...
Memories
Remind us
Of the pasts importance
And we move foward
Through assortments of bouquets
New day
Others aren't as please
The violets hide under trees
And shade thier purple face
And sing the blues
No jolly
Oh
Holly ornaments
Hang accross vines
And intertwine tight as twine
Or a kiss...
Tulips under the mistletoe
Such bliss
As free as insects
The Beatles
Eat the ripe fruit of life
We share
No one cares
There's
Strawberry Fields Forever
Sweet scents
As we swing
Life has been like a Jasmine
Imitating that yellow sun
And it's will
While we walk without haste
Through Love Metaphor's Feild
Sep 30, 2010
Sep 30, 2010 at 1:09 PM UTC
A hollow smile
Waiting for a stranger to arrive
A door opens
And welcomes the dark night
A woman screams
Whispers pregnant with secrets
Searching for a ear
To lay down and give birth
To the horror of the night
Hidden and scarred
from the knives and stones
A wall of glass shattered
And the pieces feel so alone
Crumbling under the shoes of the night
Buried where they fell down
Running away from the mirrors
And the unleashed hell hounds
A face looks for the stranger
He's just outside that door
A déjà-vu in the air
This Light has faded before
Womans screams turns mute
As a flash of thunder roars above
A storms approaching this madness
A carnival of pain and hurt
Night grows even darker
Stars bid farewell to the sky
And you can see a glimpse of smile
In the strangers eye
The world is covered in blackness
Separated and segregated in Demise
A dog barks at a distance
As he chases away the wise
Nothing but a memory left to die
As the blades of hell
Kisses the women goodbye
A farewell to tomorrow
And the dreams that'll resonate
In the sky
Another act in the carnival
To kneel before and oblige
-doors left open
As the darkness invaded a home
Blood stained prints
Accross the wall and into the hall
A silence of thorough quietness
Picture frames Wont talk
A struggle in the corridor
Marked by the broken frames and a vase
And a corpse sleeps in the corner
Darkness has engulfed its face
And the strangers footprints leads to the night
That befalls this bloodstained sunrise
And when the darkness fades away
Cursing under its breath about the approaching day
All that is left are dreams that lie shattered across the floor;broken
And a ****** hand print on the front door that was left open
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 1:47 PM UTC
I'd always thought
That when you finally left me
I'd use that pain to write poems
The best ones Id ever written
Because the most passionate pieces of us
Are hurt.
Pain is the emotion we feel the deepest.
And I thought I'd be able to use it
In a way that cleansed me of you
But now that you're gone,
I see I was wrong.
I can't even lift up a pen.
In fact
I think I want to burn every ****
Paper I have scribbled words accross
Trying to describe you to people
Who would never understand.
Now that you're gone
I hate poetry.
I hate metaphors
I hate similes
I HATE THEM BECAUSE YOU YOURSELF ARE THE GREATEST POEM EVER WRITTEN.
And you're gone.
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 9:59 AM UTC
She was not like most people, she got caught somewhere in between reality while swallowing substances as a form of psychiatry.
She had found herself always stumbling accross her own art you see, even amongst her own world she was lost and misplaced her galaxy's key.
She was never exactly listening while breathing in your level of dimension you see, her thoughts wandered much too far off the edge of her galaxy's sea.
This place she ended up was consumed by madness, darkness, and imagination. She was always shaking on the floor fighting the feelings of prostration.
This woman lived inside of her head you know, all these things she could not explain somehow made her grow.
She fought against her own world, how was she supposed to stay sane when the reality around her was swirled?
She tried her best by hiding behind the moon and sprinkling her world with fairy dust, still she found herself screaming at the stars to please shake off the feeling of lust.
She was cursed with a heart that never ceased to love, voices whispered in the skies of her own galaxy and laughed at her from above.
She refused to waste her time believing in actuality, for she was too busy seducing starlight with her sensual sexuality.
Her unpredictable personality was either devilish or angelic, she was lost while chasing dragons in this world of hers oh so psychedelic.
You would never dare to walk deeper into her thoughts of fantasy and lucid dreaming, your naive infinity could have never established any meaning.
You were unimpressed by her actions and resented her always reckless, around the witch's neck laid her luck inside a necklace.
She remained in her own nonsense believing mysteries indeed mystical, in the end these mysteries meaning nothing less than egotistical.
You never saw beyond the facts of your own perspective, little did you know
from her's she was fighting villians just to keep her nature protected.
May 15, 2019
May 15, 2019 at 8:26 PM UTC
feeling the breeze touch your skin,
the melage of the warm air.
touching cold tile,
noticing the ware.
delving into Earth's dirt,
having safety offered.
running through the glorious grass,
being touched again and again.
stepping on a sharp glass piece,
loving the realese given.
walking accross road,
pebbles poking through.
realizing what's in you
is what's in all of us.
for once being a part of something
without dehumanization.
humans aren't what this is about,
we don't even understand.
Jan 30, 2011
Jan 30, 2011 at 7:27 AM UTC
A hollow smile
Waiting for a stranger to arrive
A door opens
And welcomes the dark night
A woman screams
Whispers pregnant with secrets
Searching for a ear
To lay down and give birth
To the horror of the night
Hidden and scarred
from the knives and stones
A wall of glass shattered
And the pieces feel so alone
Crumbling under the shoes of the night
Buried where they fell down
Running away from the mirrors
And the unleashed hell hounds
A face looks for the stranger
He's just outside that door
A déjà-vu in the air
This Light has faded before
Womans screams turns mute
As a flash of thunder roars above
A storms approaching this madness
A carnival of pain and hurt
Night grows even darker
Stars bid farewell to the sky
And you can see a glimpse of smile
In the strangers eye
The world is covered in blackness
Separated and segregated in Demise
A dog barks at a distance
As he chases away the wise
Nothing but a memory left to die
As the blades of hell
Kisses the women goodbye
A farewell to tomorrow
And the dreams that'll resonate
In the sky
Another act in the carnival
To kneel before and oblige
-doors left open
As the darkness invaded a home
Blood stained prints
Accross the wall and into the hall
A silence of thorough quietness
Picture frames Wont talk
A struggle in the corridor
Marked by the broken frames and a vase
And a corpse sleeps in the corner
Darkness has engulfed its face
And the strangers footprints leads to the night
That befalls this bloodstained sunrise
And when the darkness fades away
Cursing under its breath about the approaching day
All that is left are dreams that lie shattered across the floor;broken
And a ****** hand print on the front door that was left open
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 4:20 AM UTC
The man accross the street is cursed.
Last week he has lost his wallet,
And he never had it back,
His dead son's picture went with that.
As he walked his dog to town,
The lead broke, started to run
A car has been speading up,
The dog cried out it's last bark.
His wife cheated him three times,
She left him their only son,
He never got a divorce,
His heart is now really broke.
All this because of his Mum,
Who is a witch on the run,
One day he drank her liquor,
And he never heard from her.
I heard whispers that women
Doesn't mind a bad omen,
If it's her son she's killing,
She doesn't mind, she's evil...
I really don't want to meet
The woman I mentioned here
Better avoid the trouble.
Her poor son will recover.
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 8:34 AM UTC
The process of creation
Instant in a flash of light through the spoken Word
Or fertilized in the womb
Or sprouting underground
Maybe born of the heavens long ago
Before earth and sun
Born of the stars, exploding into the universe
Or within the volcano
Deep inside the earths core
Born of the waters, the streams and waterfalls
The rich colors of the untouched forest
Initiated in the sounds of night, birdcalls and the occasional howl in moonlight
Sons and daughters of thousand year old oak trees, acorns falling, scattering
Conceived in the deepest and darkest oceans, unaware and uncaring about the mythical surface world
Carried upon by the wind accross the world, currents and pathways charted by the birds and the monarchs
Dandelion child
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 6:53 PM UTC
Its his eyes, watching you undress
slip seductively beneath the sheets
Its his fingers dancing accross the small of your back
and his hands pulling you close to his chest.
Your breath deep and filled with air he's breathed
Sweet life-giving.
Your eyes flutter and close,
Its him watching you slowly fall asleep.
Its him cupping ben, jerry.
Its him whispering love, penetrating deep and fixing your shattered heart..
And you, sweet, sorry, beautiful, god **** there'll never be words.
Be everything to him, as you were to me.
Don't make love the way we did, it's sick, it's wrong, it's ours.
Nov 22, 2010
Nov 22, 2010 at 1:56 AM UTC
To touch these dreams
Of broken seams
Unwind a harmful truth
That day after day
I dig deeper my grave
That holds me as a youth
I am scared to say
That in my bed as I lay
Pondering of days not to be
I often come accross
A thought once lost
But now urgent to stay next to me
But where do you turn
When you wish not to learn
How to become a better you
Because the cuts feel good
They make you free like a bird
But freedom is gone too soon
I don't want to be touched
And I won't speak as much
If I'm mad and raging with fear
But your gentle sigh
Of a sweet lulleby
Is something that I hold dear
My arms beg for embrace
As along my cheeks your hands trace
To touch these tears of shard
And you reach past my chest
In hopes of the best
To find a racing heart
But now you can see
There's nothing in me
But a heart that whispers death
So in this grave I will lie
Until that day that I die
And of me - - nothing be left
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 8:37 PM UTC
Shreaded heart due to color of the skin,
Lonesome nights due to attire I'm found in,
Invisible due to the identity I'm lacking,
How can it be that all of this is still happening?
Inocence in a cell because the color tries to define them,
Eyes of hate cover the dark hair upon them,
Forget the studies if papers weren't probided,
How can we live passing all the judgement?
Military veteran, but color over sees it,
Depressive memories drowning a person's surroundings,
Brought accross at the age of no concience,
Let us widen out eyes to see instead of look,
To listen rather that simply hear,
To speak not talk,
To extinguish this judgement basing on the cover of an incredible story that may walk right past your ignorance.
-Kathia Mariana Landeros
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 11:47 AM UTC
I've won a day at the races
For me and my friend Doreen Maguire
Posh frocks and new hats
That's what we require.
So off we go shopping
Hair and nails done on the way
Well we girls want to lookj our best
For the big race day.
Now Doreen's buxom and curvy
Me I'm thin as a latt
Or you could say slim and slender
And Doreen's just fat.
We went in loads of shops
Nothing seemed to fit the bill
Everything was kind of frumpish
And we're definitly not over the hill.
Then we came accross this shop
In a side street in the town
It's called Reds Closet Boutique
And we both came out with a gown.
We got fascinators to match
Shoes, accessories and bags too
Doreen got something in pink
I got something in blue.
It was the day of the races
We were up with the lark
Had our lunch at Tom and Jerry's
Then off to Haydock Park.
The horses are under starters orders
And I'd backed the grey
Well it came home last
But it was winning all the way.
Now we came to the last race
And we're digging deep in our pocket
Doreen said put it on this
It's called Super Rocket.
Well it romped hom at 50/1
This horse called Super Rocket
And me and Doreen Maguire
Went home with brass in our pocket.
© Hazel
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 2:27 PM UTC
tis time
said the elf in my ear
tis my time of year
unpack the baubles
the lights,
tinsel
and gear
the merryest of merry
times is near
said I to the elf
get back on tne shelf
nay get back in that box
good gosh and begorrah
calm down your striped socks
it is five in the a.m.
December the 1st
said the elf, in my ear
I know the time
I let you sleep a whole
four hours and 59 nine minutes
over the strike of my first happy day
so now
get your great *** into gear
this is the only time I see
the otherside of the box
after months locked down
so get it together mother dear
hang the lights
and let them twinkle
place the tree and
smell the pine needles
and the faint
odour of cat ******
watch them as they shed
hang the baubles that sit
differently to how they
looked in your head
throw tinsel at that sucker
till it glows and shimmers
knowing that stuff gets every where
even into the cats stomach and bed
bring on the cheer ,bring on the glee
bring out the angels, the santas, and me
start buying presents
and wrapping them furtively
have the discussions about
what to buy for those less near
buy the cheap and nasty, or
the credit card dear
buy the simple or make the stuff
or simply divert payments to next year
as if we mostly don't have
more than enough
remember those gone and those left behind
keep them close to heart and to mind
think of those with out resource or recourse
make some adjustments in order to be kind
and give away joy to some you don't know
could well become their reason to stay ...not go
come on said the elf it is time we began
got to get ready, spread a little love accross
your patch of this land, don't be a grinch,
a scrooge or sadsack, you gotta have
the big jolly-mans back
and while we are here
conversing and such
remember the reason
for all this fuss,
doesn't matter,
the religon, the caste
or the creed..
as this time approaches
take moments to reflect
upon this years closing
and hope with joy
and no fear
for love to conquer all
in the future year
said I to the elf
yammering away in my ear
well said young chap
time to get on my good cheer
Dec 4, 2018
Dec 4, 2018 at 4:09 PM UTC
To watch,
Blood run through your veins and know,
You can stop it, quick or slow.
The lack of complications with which you could potentially be the murderer of your own breath.
And for what?
To prove to the world that you as many others have become vulnerable of your own mind?
Victimized by tragedies or scenarios of twisted "what if"s.
Of love found and lost,
Love from birth and ripped away from your heart like a knife to a steak.
To prove to yourself that you no longer must live in pain or fear.
Fear that consumes your every breath and thought that crosses your condemned mind.
You feel as though it will not get better than sitting in denial in a room full of voices begging for peace in a world that is not our own, voices crawling from no lips only from your own self inflicted insecurities.
But I,
I, am not here to let this monster of a thought consume you.
I, for one, am a stranger.
A stranger to you but not to this monster.
I too have battled the war between peace or life.
I too have swam accross the vast oceans of thoughts screaming to fulfill their wishes.
But I won this battle.
And I will be the knight to stand by your side when it is time to make the decision.
Between life, or a commitment of suicide.
I am the real you I am the one who lives the one who wants to make you smile and find love that will not betray you but for that you must trust me.
You must trust that there is in fact a light at the end of the tunnel as cliché as it may sound.
So listen to this last phrase for it will **** the voices of torture.
You are worth every breath and every tear, you are worth it all and more, be the knight and fight the battle, you will win, because we all believe in you.
-Kathia Mariana Landeros
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 6:41 PM UTC
and tonight it is
the elder, mother god
of which i speak....
she snores and snuffles
in the lazyboy chair
slumped awkward
and sombulant,
akin to a ragdoll,
carelessly,
tossed aside,
after a day's hard play.
and it is in the cracks
and crinkles, both large and minute that craze and track
accross her well worn,
well loved face
that i see,
the god-dust...
lingering.
and as i gently,
place a woolen wrap
over her tired old body.
i take a moment...
to give thanks and
worship,
her hard earned diety.
and the mothergod...
slumbers, snoringly on.
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 5:59 AM UTC
I'm a tight rope walker
Accross telephone wire.
I hear phrases,
Anger,
Love,
Grief,
Happiness,
And they've all bled together.
Our future and our past
Stand as two poles,
More wires than I can count
On my fingers
Webbed between them.
And I'm tangled up in the mess.
There are lies blazing through
The wire around my neck,
Love traveling back and forth
Around my chest,
Happiness
Buzzing around my head,
And fear
Encasing
My stomach.
I'm alone on my tight rope,
I don't know where you are,
All I hear are your words,
Jumbled together
In a rainstorm signals.
Feb 23, 2017
Feb 23, 2017 at 2:23 PM UTC
Chopin's Nocturne opus 9, number 2
A sonorous performance,
The mellow yet melancholic undertones of the masterpiece reverbates through the meadow
From the reflective rubato streaking past the flowerbed,
To the passionate conclusion in a whim, echoing through the garden,
The garden in which a willow rests
Its twigs holding a chalice in its embroidering,
Twines glowing in the shimmering of the silver moon,
Its dark-red fluids seeping from the cracks
It gazes through the dark crevasses for an eternity,
A panorama of planets and stars dwindling to dust as it stirs its nebulas,
Clouding its view as in parallel,
Universes as large as needle tips deteriorate to nothing
There's just naught, nothing, nothingness,
The black mass piercing,
Puncturing the veins of the solemn soul wandering through the canyon
Rubato, stringendo, it walks its own pace and in its solitude
The moonlight its guide, the music its guardian
The darkness its friend
The walls enclosed - an impasse clad in an aural hue descending from the stars
An eternal mirror flowing accross the pond
It took a gander in the deep lagoon and saw the galaxy unfold
Sparkling candenzas fluttering through the sky like fireflies
Ever abiding, expanding galaxies within the grasp of its cortex
The moon flows, the stream flows
The sound of drizzling water emanating from the distance
Timeless endeavour snaps back to reality
I found myself sitting in a dim-lit room, glass in hand
The mellow taste of the blood-red wine
A bouquet of fine grapes with cherry undertones
In the corner rests the mirror I gaze in occasionally
Seconds pass and I gazed into an abyss
Minutes pass and I gazed into an abyss
A murky shadow lurking
Hours pass and I gazed into an abyss
A murky shadow along two red stars
Days pass and I gazed into an abyss
A silhouette hued in rubescence grimacing with hollow eyes
Weeks pass and I gazed into an abyss
T H E E Y E S W A T C H M E W H E R E V E R I G O
Months pass and I observed a whole new universe
As I looked at the crevice staring back at me
It smiled and reached its hand
Years pass and I gazed into an abyss
The opaque mass piercing my glassy veil as familiarity reminiscences
A supernova of grief and destruction strokes my back, pinching my neck
The willow is dead
The moon is red
A brittle chalice crusted with blood
Then it fell silent and yet the nocturne faintly lingered in my head
As I stared into the mirror for the first time in centuries
It stared back, bearing the most unnerving grimace
Nov 18, 2017
Nov 18, 2017 at 7:17 PM UTC