"arden" poems
Sa malayong baryo ng lalawigan ng Antigo, ng bayan ng San Arden
Nakatira kapiling ng ama
Sa murang edad, sanay magtrabaho
Magpukpok ng pako sa tabla
Sapagkat naulila sa inang nagluwal
Ikinapahamak ang matagal na pagpapakasakit
upang mailabas lang kapagdaka
bilang anak niya
sa kamalig ng kanyang ama
Kinalong ng lolo
Mga kamag-anak ay humingi ng saklolo
Bumugalwak ang dugo sa patadyong
May pag-asa pa bang mailigtas
kung dadalhin pa sa bayan nang gamutin ng pantas
Sa daraanan sa palayan, kay lakas ng ulan
Pumapagaspas ang dahon ng palay
Kakaunti lang ang hininga sa di magkamayaw na hangin
Talagang binawian na
Nautas ang ilaw ng pamilya
Sapagkat iisa lang ang bunso't panganay
Kailangan sundin ang utos at patnubay
Kung nabagot sa kahihintay,
sa pag-uwi may sasalubong-
hampas ng latigo na maglalatay
Jan 4, 2019
Jan 4, 2019 at 4:58 PM UTC
Palabras, frases, sílabas, astros que giran alrededor de un centro fijo. Dos cuerpos, muchos seres que se encuentran en una
palabra. El papel se cubre de letras indelebles, que nadie dijo, que nadie dictó, que han caído allí y arden y queman y
se apagan. Así pues, existe la poesía, el amor existe. Y si yo no existo, existes tú.
El poema prepara un orden amoroso. Preveo un hombre-sol y una mujer-luna, el uno libre de su poder, la otra libre de su esclavitud, y
amores implacables rayando el espacio ***** Todo ha de ceder a esas águilas incandescentes.
Todo poema se cumple a expensas del poeta.
Mediodía futuro, árbol inmenso de follaje invisible. En las plazas cantan los hombres y las mujeres el canto solar, surtidor de
transparencias. Me cubre la marejada amarilla: nada mío ha de hablar por mi boca.
Cuando la Historia duerme, habla en sueños; en la frente del pueblo dormido el poema es una constelación de sangre. Cuando a
Historia despierta, la imagen se hace acto, acontece el poema; la poesía entra en acción.
Merece lo que sueñas.
6.8k
O dear sweet rosy
unattainable desire
...how sad, no way
to change the mad
cultivated asphodel, the
visible reality...
and skin's appalling
petals--how inspired
to be so Iying in the living
room drunk naked
and dreaming, in the absence
of electricity...
over and over eating the low root
of the asphodel,
gray fate...
rolling in generation
on the flowery couch
as on a bank in Arden--
my only rose tonite's the treat
of my own ******
Fall, 1953
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"O day! he cannot die
When thou so fair art shining!
O Sun, in such a glorious sky,
So tranquilly declining;
He cannot leave thee now,
While fresh west winds are blowing,
And all around his youthful brow
Thy cheerful light is glowing!
Edward, awake, awake--
The golden evening gleams
Warm and bright on Arden's lake--
Arouse thee from thy dreams!
Beside thee, on my knee,
My dearest friend, I pray
That thou, to cross the eternal sea,
Wouldst yet one hour delay:
I hear its billows roar--
I see them foaming high;
But no glimpse of a further shore
Has blest my straining eye.
Believe not what they urge
Of Eden isles beyond;
Turn back, from that tempestuous surge,
To thy own native land.
It is not death, but pain
That struggles in thy breast--
Nay, rally, Edward, rouse again;
I cannot let thee rest!"
One long look, that sore reproved me
For the woe I could not bear--
One mute look of suffering moved me
To repent my useless prayer:
And, with sudden check, the heaving
Of distraction passed away;
Not a sign of further grieving
Stirred my soul that awful day.
Paled, at length, the sweet sun setting;
Sunk to peace the twilight breeze:
Summer dews fell softly, wetting
Glen, and glade, and silent trees.
Then his eyes began to weary,
Weighed beneath a mortal sleep;
And their orbs grew strangely dreary,
Clouded, even as they would weep.
But they wept not, but they changed not,
Never moved, and never closed;
Troubled still, and still they ranged not--
Wandered not, nor yet reposed!
So I knew that he was dying--
Stooped, and raised his languid head;
Felt no breath, and heard no sighing,
So I knew that he was dead.
3.5k
Joshua tree
Across the high California desert you stand with lifted salutation off the beaten path the drift
Of sea moisture mingles with tule fog rising from the desert floor you have briefly entered an alien
World a brooding connection develops with London’s fog shrouded streets or the Arden with its
Identification with It being the one natural barrier to the advancing Roman’s might and Shakespeare’s
Play the woods for him was familiar but a place where change to ones fortune could occur and one
Could find love mist is one of the times that a magic wand was effectively waved it produced a myriad
Of realties notable connections a display that reaches the far borders of wonder pleasantness infringes
On the harder order of the desert’s hotter principles farther east the great desert sentry looms above
All else the saguaro cactus also raises its arms as the Joshua giving thanks for life in a stark and
Burdensome land rock and scrub fills this place it takes time to appreciate such bitter circumstances
But you can sink thoughtful roots that will play a symphony between sun and shadow and all the living
Things that eke out a living there are a breed of people that thrive here also they can teach a lot to
Others live on less you would be amazed how refreshing simple living can be get to much you find
Fun squeezed out of the seams of the so called good life just think in this term when does water taste
Like heavenly nectar when you have been deprived and are at a loss to find it the abundance of anything
Can temper its value death swiftly occurs when the spirit of taking things for granted pervades those
Times that are riveting and create completeness in us are by nature rare and treasured you don’t have
To trek to far off deserts or faraway places a child’s youthful smile that is slipping away When tenderness flows and she makes your heart glow know my friend you are blessed with God’s best for all of earths time a husbands
Gentle laugh his look that stirs you deeply these are but three of rarified finds that are in your life
Enjoy treasure them they are personal gifts you possess today
Jan 9, 2012
Jan 9, 2012 at 6:51 PM UTC
The sense of smell is a very powerful sense.
It can take you back to a certain time, place, and even person.
The scent that I grew up with was Elizabeth Arden Red Door.
I remember it smelling so posh, and sophisticated,
even the bottle looked expensive with the red cap and the gold liquid,
and it was the first thing I would smell in the morning.
The scent I grew accustomed to was Johnson and Johnson Peach Bath,
or any peach scented shower gel.
I remember it smelling so warm and clean,
and it was the first thing I would smell after a nice shower.
The scent that I later grew fond of was Vanilla from The Body Shop,
the whole range from shower gel to body lotion.
I remember it smelling so warm and delicious,
and it was the last thing I would smell before going to bed.
But among my favourite scent that I will forever cherish,
is the smell of your home baked brownies that is made with pure love.
It smells so inviting and welcoming,
and it is the first smell that reminds me of home.
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 1:47 PM UTC
It was in wander
for not lost was she.
It was in wonder
for without sin
she walked towards
the tree bearing
sweet fruit
enticing her forward
lust sent a lumber puncture
through her spine
upwards it shot to the
brain; cerebral forms
into a beating heart.
It excited her there was
such freedom found
in such innocence.
Pulsating quivers she waited
Adam to her Eve
daisy chains falling from her neck
framing a prepubescent chest
hooks temperately fastening
white knotted cotton hand sewn dress
virginal white
no womanhood in sight
Annabelle’s life, a melody of
melancholic cacophonic raspers
from asylums, former patients
of Briarcliff Manor
residing in her; only misery
innocent running’s from
grave dangers of
stark raving madness.
For, today
she wasn’t embroiled
as Arden’s pet
instead she was the little girl
so born to be before the woman
was stolen, bound by
a physicians sick
nightmarish re-enactments.
For, today
she was free
a starling, passionate
darling.
© Sia Jane
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 7:10 PM UTC
Amables Brasas en ascuas
descienden de un cielo de mosto
alcanzando la carnosa fatiga
de las ramas y de tus dudas
Como dibujos de tinta
caminan los animales en celo
y un murmullo de elfos
empuja hongos y furias
hasta el borde del frío
donde la tierra se empapa
de calma y de lumbre.
Es Otoño, y hay luz en tu casa
Una luz antigua que me ampara
y me guia, siluetas amables
que invitan y esperan
al que llega
siempre tarde del bosque.
Un suelo tibio
de pisadas y hocicos
crepita suave en las repisas doradas
un terco ajetreo vegetal y manso
se desliza bajo los pies descalzos
de un corzo mudo y dorado
que llena de asombro
la mañana de rocio tejida.
Es horizontal la intimidad
entre las viñas desposeídas
y los árboles insomnes.
Los soles maduros acumulan
sus frutas sobre el techo de la tarde
y todo lo que tiembla al norte del aire
se pudre mansamente
hacia los tesoros de marzo.
Un olor a nueces iza banderas de humo
y carne de castañas exhibe el crepúsculo
Una canción se esconde y se escucha
y unas muchachas se persiguen
y se esconden cantando
un estribillo prestado por el viajero perdido.
Hay voces prendidas en las ventanas
que arden lentamente
como adioses marchitos
Es tiempo de regresos y
dormidas semillas, y de animales
rumiando los breves días
y las largas noches henchidas de cuentos
El vino más joven
ya rezuma en las jarras
un mosto agridulce
parece exprimido del cielo
No hay prisa pues la luz es lenta
en llegar a las cocinas de Otoño
perpetuamente encendidas
con los rescoldos de los soles más viejos.
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 11:02 AM UTC
— and the rickety ferry-boat “Arden”!
What an object to be called “Arden”
among the great piers,—on the
ever new river!
“Put me a Touchstone
at the wheel, white gulls, and we’ll
follow the ghost of the Half Moon
to the North West Passage—and through!
(at Albany!) for all that!”
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Arden
tall,weird
blogging,reading,talking
anti-social
African American
Sep 19, 2015
Sep 19, 2015 at 12:01 AM UTC
I've had my time in bars. Rather,
Parked out back in cars. Chasing
Dragons through the stars. Destination
Far from Mars. Cross eyed
Painless fearless heart. Cut
frame
Welcome, here we are. Presently
Manifesting Arden far. Dancing
Feasting ******* hard. Creating
Broken blemished hearts. Tarnished
Famished far flung stars.
Tarnished famished far flung stars.
Nov 18, 2020
Nov 18, 2020 at 8:35 AM UTC
Emerge tu recuerdo de la noche en que estoy.
El río anuda al mar su lamento obstinado.
Abandonado como los muelles en el alba.
Es la hora de partir, oh abandonado!
Sobre mi corazón llueven frías corolas.
Oh sentina de escombros, feroz cueva de náufragos!
En ti se acumularon las guerras y los vuelos.
De ti alzaron las alas los pájaros del canto.
Todo te lo tragaste, como la lejanía.
Como el mar, como el tiempo. Todo en ti fue naufragio!
Era la alegre hora del asalto y el beso.
La hora del estupor que ardía como un faro.
Ansiedad de piloto, furia de buzo ciego,
turbia embriaguez de amor, todo en ti fue naufragio!
En la infancia de niebla mi alma alada y herida.
Descubridor perdido, todo en ti fue naufragio!
Te ceñiste al dolor, te agarraste al deseo.
Te tumbó la tristeza, todo en ti fue naufragio!
Hice retroceder la muralla de sombra,
anduve más allá del deseo y del acto.
Oh carne, carne mía, mujer que amé y perdí,
a ti en esta hora húmeda, evoco y hago canto.
Como un vaso albergaste la infinita ternura,
y el infinito olvido te trizó como a un vaso.
Era la negra, negra soledad de las islas,
y allí, mujer de amor, me acogieron tus brazos.
Era la sed y el hambre, y tú fuiste la fruta.
Era el duelo y las ruinas, y tú fuiste el milagro.
Ah mujer, no sé cómo pudiste contenerme
en la tierra de tu alma, y en la cruz de tus brazos!
Mi deseo de ti fue el más terrible y corto,
el más revuelto y ebrio, el más tirante y ávido.
Cementerio de besos, aún hay fuego en tus tumbas,
aún los racimos arden picoteados de pájaros.
Oh la boca mordida, oh los besados miembros,
oh los hambrientos dientes, oh los cuerpos trenzados.
Oh la cópula loca de esperanza y esfuerzo
en que nos anudamos y nos desesperamos.
Y la ternura, leve como el agua y la harina.
Y la palabra apenas comenzada en los labios.
Ese fue mi destino y en él viajó mi anhelo,
y en él cayó mi anhelo, todo en ti fue naufragio!
Oh, sentina de escombros, en ti todo caía,
qué dolor no exprimiste, qué olas no te ahogaron!
De tumbo en tumbo aún llameaste y cantaste.
De pie como un marino en la proa de un barco.
Aún floreciste en cantos, aún rompiste en corrientes.
Oh sentina de escombros, pozo abierto y amargo.
Pálido buzo ciego, desventurado hondero,
descubridor perdido, todo en ti fue naufragio!
Es la hora de partir, la dura y fría hora
que la noche sujeta a todo horario.
El cinturón ruidoso del mar ciñe la costa.
Surgen frías estrellas, emigran negros pájaros.
Abandonado como los muelles en el alba.
Sólo la sombra trémula se retuerce en mis manos.
Ah más allá de todo. Ah más allá de todo.
Es la hora de partir. Oh abandonado!
1.6k
Wala patutunguhan sa hiwas na landas
Bawat gawain ay kanyang pinupuna
Tinutuligsa ang mga munting kamalian
Palaging umiinit ang ulo at sumisigaw kahit marami ang nakatingin
Sa ikaapat at huling taon ay sa umpok ng kumikislap na dyamante
Di naman irisponsable sa klase - maayos ang mga marka
Sa pagtatapos walang anino doon ng itay
kaya agad lumabas ng paaralan nang walang bahid ng pagkagalak
Agrikultura ang kinuhang kurso
Nang ikalawang taon na sa kolehiyo'y naparool ang anluwagi - ama'y nahulog at napilay sa gusaling itinatayo
Hindi natanggap ang kanyang kapalaran
kaya laging tumutungga ng alak
Nagpasya na huminto sa pag-aaral para may kumandili sa kanya
Pinapagalitan man ay di pa rin nagawang magsawa
Sadyang maliit ang lupain ng San Arden
Sapagkat nakasalubong si Dessa
Halata sa mga mata na mayroong kinikimkim
Pagbabalisa sa gabing madilim
Jan 11, 2019
Jan 11, 2019 at 5:42 AM UTC
Al pie de tu cadáver sólo llora tu hija.
Nadie te pone amor, ni flores, ni recuerdos.
Desnuda estás, y sola, entre cuatro paredes
altas, altas y solas, sin penas y sin duelos.
Ni una silla siquiera, ni un banco en que la gente
si llegara a mirarte se sentara en silencio.
Arden las cuatro velas y arden las paredes
con una llama fría, un apagado incendio.
El hospital es tierno y son tiernas las manos
que te han puesto bonita en tu vestido viejo.
Tu nariz se adelgaza y tu blancura crece,
se derrama en tu piel como un viento.
Arañas, caen arañas del techo, caen cenizas,
papeles, sombras, trapos, caen del cielo,
rosas que Dios te tira,
ángeles en pedazos, y sueños.
1.2k
En el fondo del mar
hay una casa de cristal.
A una avenida
de madréporas
da.
Un gran pez de oro,
a las cinco,
me viene a saludar.
Me trae
un rojo ramo
de flores de coral.
Duermo en una cama
un poco más azul
que el mar.
Un pulpo
me hace guiños
a través del cristal.
En el bosque verde
que me circunda
-din don... din dan-
se balancean y cantan
las sirenas
de nácar verdemar.
Y sobre mi cabeza
arden, en el crepúsculo,
las erizadas puntas del
mar.
1.2k
Light shades,
Dark shades,
What am i to wear?
Lipstick, mascara,
Base and nail polish,
Mom in the back ground says, ' You're going to college.'
**** !
I need a new bag,
Also a liner by Mac.
Maybelline polishes,
All stacked,
So many colours,
But not black.
I need to apply Revlon,
As much as i can put on,
Making my lashes prominant.
5th Avenue, Still and Elizebeth Arden,
I want to wear them all,
' Oh no, i don't ' says my conscience,
But then again they're scents and my heart wants them.
Unzipping my wallet,
' No ', i have not much.
Making the puppy dog face,
' Mom ! Can i get money to buy a base ? '
She nodded.
' Also i want perfume, liner, mascara and a nail polish. '
She gives me a look.
' Go get your money and spend them on it.'
But i have no money,
I say,
She says,' Get a job and buy all of it.'
Like a baby i sob.
She ignores,
Looking all bored,
So she knows,
I'm acting emotional then why not scold
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 5:04 PM UTC
What dreams I have had of you tonight, my dear
to keep you alive and well in my head,
and are you alive and well in the world?
Out west somewhere, here and there,
on a farm, working for food,
and is the food working for you?
Gotta get out to Colorado one of these days,
climb a tree on the top of some mountain
and gaze out at the features and structures,
all far arden-like.
Are you tied down tonight?
By the perfectly designed sidewalks, and efficient chimney pipes,
tied down by:
cute suburban life, and duplicate blueprints,
tied down by:
pancake shacks, and sporting goods stores
tied down by:
someones misused, overly abused, grimy ****** string?
O’ Colorado where are you tonight,
and what dreams I have had of you in her absence.
Colorado,
where the rivers run far and wide
and the mountains are all on your side.
Colorado,
where I lay my land to dry,
and hold out my hands and cautiously cry.
Colorado,
where all humanity comes to drink.
Colorado,
where we gathered in the hills
not to find wealth, purpose, or the answer.
Colorado,
where riches take a different form,
and souls are free to mourn.
Colorado,
a quite, peace-driven, place… where I long to be.
In the calmness of the current,
in the atmosphere of river life,
in the drowning of the soul and mind,
in cool mountain breath,
in the welcoming brook - not fearing death
in the mouths of fish and under soft mossy stones
in the presence of inclining slopes, and the breaking of bones,
in soft pale earth with the dirt and the clay,
in the tall *** woods where the deer like to play,
and all the rest I forgot to say.
Gotta buy me a boat and get out west one of these days.
Get out on the river,
and just drown my soul for awhile,
live raw for awhile,
beans and rice it for awhile,
get down and see her for awhile.
River as my friend,
a cold and calculated trend.
Every turn: precise
Every depth: nice
I’m on the river now,
and the river is her.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 12:06 AM UTC
Ronda por las orillas, desnuda, saludable, recién salida del baño, recién nacida de la noche. En su pecho arden joyas arrancadas al verano. Cubre su **** la yerba lacia, la yerba azul, casi negra, que crece en los bordes del volcán. En su vientre un águila despliega sus alas, dos banderas enemigas se enlazan, reposa el agua. Viene de lejos, del país húmedo. Pocos la han visto. Diré su secreto: de día, es una piedra al lado del camino; de noche, un río que fluye al costado del hombre.
1.1k
Era el crepúsculo de la iguana.
Desde la arcoirisada crestería
su lengua como un dardo
se hundía en la verdura,
el hormiguero monacal pisaba
con melodioso pie la selva,
el guanaco fino como el oxígeno
en las anchas alturas pardas
iba calzando botas de oro,
mientras la llama abría cándidos
ojos en la delicadeza
del mundo lleno de rocío.
Los monos trenzaban un hilo
interminablemente erótico
en las riberas de la aurora,
derribando muros de polen
y espantando el vuelo violeta
de las mariposas de Muzo.
Era la noche de los caimanes,
la noche pura y pululante
de hocicos saliendo del légamo,
y de las ciénagas soñolientas
un ruido opaco de armaduras
volvía al origen terrestre.
El jaguar tocaba las hojas
con su ausencia fosforescente,
el puma corre en el ramaje
como el fuego devorador
mientras arden en él los ojos
alcohólicos de la selva.
Los tejones rascan los pies
del río, husmean el nido
cuya delicia palpitante
atacarán con dientes rojos.
Y en el fondo del agua magna,
como el círculo de la tierra,
está la gigante anaconda
cubierta de barros rituales,
devoradora y religiosa.
1.1k
It was in wander
For not lost was she
It was in wonder
For without sin she led,
The tree bearing sweet fruit
Enticing her
Forward.
Lust sent a lumber puncture through
her spine.
Upwards it shot
to the brain, cerebral forms
into a red beating heart.
It excited her, the
Freedom found in such innocence
pulsating quivers.
She waited
Adam to her Eve
daisy chains falling from her neck
framing a prepubescent chest.
Such tender collar
Bones, hooks temperately fastening
white knotted cotton,
hand sewn dress virginial
White.
Annabelle's life, a melody of
melancholic cacophonic
raspers,
from asylums.
Former patients; Briarcliff Manor
residing in her; misery.
Innocent runnings from grave
Dangers of,
stark raving madness.
For, today, she wasn't embroiled
as Arden's pet.
Instead she was the little girl so born
to be,
before the woman was stolen
bound by a physicians sick
nightmarish reenactments.
For, today she was
Free.
a starling
passionate
darling.
© Sia Jane
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 8:39 PM UTC
Follow me to a paradise not many have seen before
a kind that welcomes newcomers with its natural allure
Step through the iron gate with me, witness a scene like Arden
and feel the awe that comes with seeing my beloved secret garden
The vines will greet you as you enter, brushing your skin as you come
Blossoms will turn toward you as if you were as warm as the sun
Cacti will hunger and thirst for your kind and gentle touch
as if they've lived in the desert and it all became too much
But one must not relish in this beauty for too long
because anything abused past its use is just simply wrong
The vines will constrict you, you'll burn as hot as the sun
and suffer of constant ****** from the cacti you once loved
So, with this I warn you before you enter my piece of Eden
that this grace comes with a price as you begin to weaken
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 7:35 PM UTC
Right now
I regenerate
in time capsules
of Elizabeth Arden
Ceramides
and tomorrow
I shall look myself
again
like the picture
I keep in my head
Apr 13, 2013
Apr 13, 2013 at 10:26 AM UTC
I felt so sad as I took a jar of paper stars from the top shelf of my school locker and held it close to my chest as I walked down the halls and I knew you were watching... Arden.
You just didn't do anything.
You knew what it was like to cling to life the same way you hung from death, like it was some kind of sick game. However, this is not a one player kind of match now, is it?
I powerwalked through the halls once, wanting so much to die. I had no plans, just a few ideas. You know, I didn't consider hanging myself in my mind to be a "plan to die" because I didn't actually write out the plans, I just thought about them a little too much.
I answered "No." when asked if I made plans to **** myself, because in my mind, I really didn't make plans.
When asked if I was homicidal, I don't remember what I said, but I remember not saying "no". I remember that I've imagined punishing people, but never killing people. I want to hold their lives in my grasp and hear them apologize like they actually mean it.
But I am too nice for that. Too Christian for that.
It takes a strong person to lift weights, but a stronger one to lift the personal weight off your own back.
I've thought about retiring my poetry career 10 years too early, not even making it to my mid-twenties before quitting simply because there were too many people too eager to get offended at my work.
I will not play innocent to your sickly made games.
I am no fool.
Although, I will not retire my poetry career just yet. Because every time I feel the urge to quit, I am here at 3:22am writing long strings of poetry.
Arden's gonna have a fricken sleeve of tattoos.
Alex is gonna have pain.
Baer is gonna have me taking care of her sister.
But who really cares about that? Because Arden's gonna have something.
Arden has friends,
education,
teachers,
a job,
a life.
Arden's gonna have love.
Arden's gonna have fuckin' love.
Alex is not going to beg for my jaw unhinged from all the fighting.
Alex will not bend.
No sir.
Baer has hired me as the worlds worst babysitter, and her sister, only a few years younger than I already holds me to a higher standard than most.
But Arden has more to life than me.
There's no comparison.
I too, want to die when I'm not staying up this late to escape my thanatophobia.
I will not live to see Arden's graduation.
But I will live to see the hurricane that comes after it.
I don't feel special Baer.
But no one really needs to know that.
Dec 29, 2017
Dec 29, 2017 at 4:39 AM UTC
there's strange fruit hanging from the tree
we planted in the garden
those giant eggplants i can see
in cloth wrapped, burnt and hardened
the white ghosts cooked them on the vine
while chanting blasphemies in time
to metered prose of Tennyson's E. Arden
(C)2012, Christos Rigakos
Dec 12, 2012
Dec 12, 2012 at 10:52 PM UTC
Not an ounce of anger
nor arden rage
which typically fill the pages.
There’s a subtle calm
causing such hesitation;
a sense of being stuck.
-Restless, drifting
in a sea of tranquility.
Nov 21, 2018
Nov 21, 2018 at 8:58 PM UTC