"callousing" poems - Hello Poetry

At times, Cold departures leave A stain of faith. You're departure, However hellish, Remains immaculate, Even as you turn With a blizzard on your heel, Kicking Winter in My eye. You replace him up there. Not in piety but In hierarchy, Of the royal void breed. I tailor the nails to your palm And broken foot. Drying like slaughterhouse Meat on my clothesline. I found our nature Profoundly meaningless. Was it transcendence? Algor Mortis? Or did my new eyes Survive incubation? I await the birth pangs Of sight, Callousing the whole, From lid to lash.

0

Aug 4, 2014

Aug 4, 2014 at 10:34 PM UTC

david-jm

Callus

At times, Cold departures leave A stain of faith. You're departure, However hellish, Remains immaculate, Even as you turn With a blizzard on your heel, Kicking Winter in My eye. You replace him up there. Not in piety but In hierarchy, Of the royal void breed. I tailor the nails to your palm And broken foot. Drying like slaughterhouse Meat on my clothesline. I found our nature Profoundly meaningless. Was it transcendence? Algor Mortis? Or did my new eyes Survive incubation? I await the birth pangs Of sight, Callousing the whole, From lid to lash.

28

When the wind blows due west, through the corn fields, past the seasons, past years of the world building itself up into cities past buildings falling down and people re-birthing themselves past me, hardening through moments of loneliness swirling around me several times until stone chunks fall from my face and crumble into the ocean - I'll wake up and find you I'll be born in the ocean, next time there will be other currents that pull me from my center and push me in random directions I'll find new explanations and make friends out of fishes There will be new expressions sputtering from my mouth when I touch the air occasionally - I will long for you Catching raindrops in my mouth Waiting for teardrops to consume me. My body is broken. Eyes are broken. My only friends are numbers. Aching bones, skeleton heart beats - I will die before knowing you, I think. Warm water through fingers hits the sink and drains. There's always something to gain. White ceiling touches white walls. your name on the white walls Soft hands : worth callousing over and starting fresh, rolling the dice I'd hope this time for a prettier mess I only want to love

0

Oct 14, 2012

Oct 14, 2012 at 8:10 PM UTC

barefoot-cascades

Sunday chills

When the wind blows due west, through the corn fields, past the seasons, past years of the world building itself up into cities past buildings falling down and people re-birthing themselves past me, hardening through moments of loneliness swirling around me several times until stone chunks fall from my face and crumble into the ocean - I'll wake up and find you I'll be born in the ocean, next time there will be other currents that pull me from my center and push me in random directions I'll find new explanations and make friends out of fishes There will be new expressions sputtering from my mouth when I touch the air occasionally - I will long for you Catching raindrops in my mouth Waiting for teardrops to consume me. My body is broken. Eyes are broken. My only friends are numbers. Aching bones, skeleton heart beats - I will die before knowing you, I think. Warm water through fingers hits the sink and drains. There's always something to gain. White ceiling touches white walls. your name on the white walls Soft hands : worth callousing over and starting fresh, rolling the dice I'd hope this time for a prettier mess I only want to love

33

People bake brown in San Antonio Striding sweaty and sticky, ******* through the city. But you like apples so you must like San Antonio all sticky and sweet. You're baking crispy Callousing your soft hands Bouldering and baking in the city I don't know about Texas but I know I like you. Tornadoes rip through cities in my dreams. I try to warn people in my sleep, I'll call out to my empty apartment "The tornadoes! Be careful." I bet your crispy, sticky, sweet hands would dry out my dreams as you brush over my forehead. I bet you'd tell me to go back to sleep There aren't any tornadoes. I keep thinking of you.

0

Oct 23, 2013

Oct 23, 2013 at 10:09 PM UTC

alastur-berit

San Antonio

People bake brown in San Antonio Striding sweaty and sticky, ******* through the city. But you like apples so you must like San Antonio all sticky and sweet. You're baking crispy Callousing your soft hands Bouldering and baking in the city I don't know about Texas but I know I like you. Tornadoes rip through cities in my dreams. I try to warn people in my sleep, I'll call out to my empty apartment "The tornadoes! Be careful." I bet your crispy, sticky, sweet hands would dry out my dreams as you brush over my forehead. I bet you'd tell me to go back to sleep There aren't any tornadoes. I keep thinking of you.

19

I’ve manifested an after midnight symphony, looping mp3’s of my own eulogies and consecutively callousing and shaking hands with death, the feeling brings a paradox of finding warmth in cold palms and it cuts between relation and addiction to a palpable misery, shot glasses of blood trying to make home in my throat drawing ***** and neglecting to force warmth back inside, left cold and red hands ramble abstract frigidness on a livid mess mimicking a sorry excuse for a heartbeat, and all i’ve been doing is touching myself and each fingertip friction formalizes an addiction to a wintry contagious

0

Sep 27, 2016

Sep 27, 2016 at 12:42 AM UTC

MitchNihilist

Wintry Contagious

I’ve manifested an after midnight symphony, looping mp3’s of my own eulogies and consecutively callousing and shaking hands with death, the feeling brings a paradox of finding warmth in cold palms and it cuts between relation and addiction to a palpable misery, shot glasses of blood trying to make home in my throat drawing ***** and neglecting to force warmth back inside, left cold and red hands ramble abstract frigidness on a livid mess mimicking a sorry excuse for a heartbeat, and all i’ve been doing is touching myself and each fingertip friction formalizes an addiction to a wintry contagious

24

As she swayed to the tide of music nobody heard The ghostly rhythms of my own forgotten soul caught FIRE Tap dancing tenaciously on the tightrope of the void Calling forth cascading cataracts, callousing over the mind, a cacophony of Mallards, flying south for the winter, NEVER AGAIN TO SEE THEIR MOTHERS. She tied my brain into a rope and swung across the chasm Laughing like a Mameluke who had just discovered his feet. The camel was left behind at the gate The Babble went on till the break of dawn Till it stopped. And collapsed. And felt weak as a Sunday Noon Tide Carolers Bunchcake, Fun and Dry, Severing again and again the Hair twine Randal Slappy Blimp map candy man Cadillac attack A BOTTLE OF WINE AND TWO LEFT FEET LATER A scumaladdoodalla frigate-splayed poodle-cups When finally she agreed to let me into her preschool I had already given up the hope of ever having a career in the arts. Bean friends. Are the only friends. That accompany you. To heaven.

0

Dec 15, 2015

Dec 15, 2015 at 3:50 AM UTC

orion-schwalm

A dance for Two

As she swayed to the tide of music nobody heard The ghostly rhythms of my own forgotten soul caught FIRE Tap dancing tenaciously on the tightrope of the void Calling forth cascading cataracts, callousing over the mind, a cacophony of Mallards, flying south for the winter, NEVER AGAIN TO SEE THEIR MOTHERS. She tied my brain into a rope and swung across the chasm Laughing like a Mameluke who had just discovered his feet. The camel was left behind at the gate The Babble went on till the break of dawn Till it stopped. And collapsed. And felt weak as a Sunday Noon Tide Carolers Bunchcake, Fun and Dry, Severing again and again the Hair twine Randal Slappy Blimp map candy man Cadillac attack A BOTTLE OF WINE AND TWO LEFT FEET LATER A scumaladdoodalla frigate-splayed poodle-cups When finally she agreed to let me into her preschool I had already given up the hope of ever having a career in the arts. Bean friends. Are the only friends. That accompany you. To heaven.

19

Normalcy is surreal So surreal that it almost feels real Trying to absorb it all We get stuck in this timeless pitfall In the end just callousing If we could've done something different from it all. . . . Mehek

0

May 14, 2019

May 14, 2019 at 12:18 PM UTC

Depressedshitdeliverygirl

S. U. R. Real

Normalcy is surreal So surreal that it almost feels real Trying to absorb it all We get stuck in this timeless pitfall In the end just callousing If we could've done something different from it all. . . . Mehek

10

There is peace in a path. A narrow road, though it boasts of whistling cliffs, those taunting lips, smashing the masts of adventurous ships. It would be a lie, if I said I haven't tried, to reorganize, my innermost parts out of adolescent formation, Because thoughts I've entertained now reign throughout my mind, like a dictator elected by popular vote, like the deep which holds up the glacier that floats, I find fear is a liar and she's never been kind. Like staring at shadows until you see your worst enemy, horror cinematic score, as the mirror gives you clarity. Identity a scarcity in a dull, cold chamber, looks like the real world but its upside-down, Not quite right, black screen that shines against nature, A deceptive light that you chase, while you hide under sheets, staring down the staircase, it looks like you yet you know it's a stranger. But these days, heights don't scare me the way that they used to, jumped off a bridge to prove to myself it wasn't true, Feet placed firmly on the stones of solutions, of callousing hands grasping rocky protrusions, ascending the mountain which returns with repentance, returning to walk in the light and see it through. My hands hold the rope, but I didn't tie it Heaven isn't distracted, she's extended her kindness. I always got the order wrong, I thought the affection of a woman would make me the man of my dreams, but that comes first. Love bore me, shaped me, and gave me my name, so I'll live by it. And that's the point, there's peace in a path, the acceptance of name, to face those fears and say, "You're wrong. I'm a son of faith"

0

Mar 18, 2017

Mar 18, 2017 at 4:01 AM UTC

WordsWithWill

Peace in a Path

There is peace in a path. A narrow road, though it boasts of whistling cliffs, those taunting lips, smashing the masts of adventurous ships. It would be a lie, if I said I haven't tried, to reorganize, my innermost parts out of adolescent formation, Because thoughts I've entertained now reign throughout my mind, like a dictator elected by popular vote, like the deep which holds up the glacier that floats, I find fear is a liar and she's never been kind. Like staring at shadows until you see your worst enemy, horror cinematic score, as the mirror gives you clarity. Identity a scarcity in a dull, cold chamber, looks like the real world but its upside-down, Not quite right, black screen that shines against nature, A deceptive light that you chase, while you hide under sheets, staring down the staircase, it looks like you yet you know it's a stranger. But these days, heights don't scare me the way that they used to, jumped off a bridge to prove to myself it wasn't true, Feet placed firmly on the stones of solutions, of callousing hands grasping rocky protrusions, ascending the mountain which returns with repentance, returning to walk in the light and see it through. My hands hold the rope, but I didn't tie it Heaven isn't distracted, she's extended her kindness. I always got the order wrong, I thought the affection of a woman would make me the man of my dreams, but that comes first. Love bore me, shaped me, and gave me my name, so I'll live by it. And that's the point, there's peace in a path, the acceptance of name, to face those fears and say, "You're wrong. I'm a son of faith"

39

I just want to put into words how you make me feel. But if I were to do that, You wouldn't be able to read it. Mangled, maimed, torn, confused yet Happy, loved, appreciated, sane. Too mixed, too unsure to explain How a person originally nothing to me can slither into my life and become its focus; I can't understand. Am I not stronger than that? Am I not smarter than that? Have I learned nothing? The countless times three words were used to trap me have made me aversive to hearing them. When you say them, are they any more real than these others? They can't be, everything is only temporary in the end And I'm expected to trust you? To believe in you? To understand that what we are is timeless though we are nothing? No matter how often I attempt to force myself into callousing my most vital organs to your charm, nothing works. I can't fight you. So you need to drop me. It shouldn't be hard for you, I'm only a temporary pleasure like everything else.

0

Jun 19, 2014

Jun 19, 2014 at 12:42 AM UTC

jadeaj

The Feels

I just want to put into words how you make me feel. But if I were to do that, You wouldn't be able to read it. Mangled, maimed, torn, confused yet Happy, loved, appreciated, sane. Too mixed, too unsure to explain How a person originally nothing to me can slither into my life and become its focus; I can't understand. Am I not stronger than that? Am I not smarter than that? Have I learned nothing? The countless times three words were used to trap me have made me aversive to hearing them. When you say them, are they any more real than these others? They can't be, everything is only temporary in the end And I'm expected to trust you? To believe in you? To understand that what we are is timeless though we are nothing? No matter how often I attempt to force myself into callousing my most vital organs to your charm, nothing works. I can't fight you. So you need to drop me. It shouldn't be hard for you, I'm only a temporary pleasure like everything else.

22