"crumbles" poems
as is the sea marvelous
from god’s
hands which sent her forth
to sleep upon the world
and the earth withers
the moon crumbles
one by one
stars flutter into dust
but the sea
does not change
and she goes forth out of hands and
she returns into hands
and is with sleep….
love,
the breaking
of your
soul
upon
my lips
117.9k
Sun ached to rise,
above the jagged horizon.
It lit the shadow,
of stone work,
of your craftsmanship.
It stood high,
strong and everlasting.
A stone giant,
held together with assumption.
Assumption of him,
the prince that you seek.
Recently one has followed,
to the top where you lie.
He said the verse,
a promise, an assumption.
He would mend the holes,
patch the sides.
As time rhythmically passes,
the tower would stand,
strong and eager.
Until your assumption,
is not yet reality.
The one that followed,
sometime ago,
has left with the moon.
As your eye tears,
the tower leans,
crumbles.
The salty liquid,
corrodes your assumption,
that is often set in stone.
I watch from afar,
knowing the outcome.
I tread among the emotion,
overflowing and scattered around.
As your kin, your brother,
I help to pick up the pieces.
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 11:30 AM UTC
Hiding the complex
Through basic reflex
Seeing simple lives
Through diamond eyes
The world falls
And then crumbles
So the time flies
Through diamond eyes
And rain falls
And thunder rolls
The tiny lies
Through diamond eyes
No want to be obtrusive
Need to be reclusive
Seeing quiet sighs
Through diamond eye
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 2:05 PM UTC
Your beauty may birth from shaved legs
red clown lips, gaudy eyeshadow
flimsy black crumbles beneath
your eyelid
You are sexy-sun-kissed;
I am opaque.
Blotches of color
Lighten my smile
cheekbones never as sharp
as your words
Jul 3, 2019
Jul 3, 2019 at 3:18 PM UTC
.
And her arms enfold me,
I lay my cheek
against her breast.
The shaking starts,
the tears fall,
as sobs emerge unhindered.
Cries from way down deep,
and I hear her heart,
slow, steady, metronomic.
So I follow its rhythm
along a path richly bathed
in warm sunlight.
Through an archway
and across a threshold shrine,
the cemetery of the Ancients.
A hundred thousand names,
carved in marble,
adorned with statues and plinths.
Holding knowledge of old,
and the sound of silence,
like an abandoned library.
The shadow of love hovers close,
driving through midnight mists
and leading me on.
Practising narrative necromancy,
reanimating old words,
giving them life newly born,
upon the first carved marbles,
its names burnished with wisdom,
and the anonymity of obscurity.
There glows one name
in forgotten script
and I know my deepest identity,
the weight of the aeons
flows free into my mind,
histories of the millennia.
I know
my Forest Lady holds secrets
that belong to me.
And she gestates them all,
a coveted pregnancy.
A path-working, an etherical dream,
and her heart skips a beat,
as another part of me
crumbles and dies,
to mingle with the dust
of ancient knowledge.
© Pagan Paul (11/07/18)
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 2:51 PM UTC
Mama should I trust the Government?
Men in charge,
With suits and ties.
Mama, do they know whats best?
or are they selling
pre-packed lies.
Mama should i get a job?
sell my soul
to the money train.
Mama is it true in fact?
man can't live
of soil and rain?
Mama why do i feel sad?
kept cramped within
the city walls.
Mama how do i go on?
When all arounds me
crumbles, falls.
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 8:21 PM UTC
Time crumbles over the years, eroding
under the weight of "I should have been
theres", and "backwhens", and "I miss
yous". And, as it erodes, it leaves the
bittersweet smell of what was, complete
with a little taste of memory on the back
of your tongue that will never quite go away...
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 2:45 AM UTC
forgive me my darling
hollow beauty
but seeing you so gaunt
with
sunken dark eyes
and skin like gray soap
makes me feel
your easily breakable
already so close to death
my **** could crack your pelvis
and bird delicate ribs
inspired skeleton dancing
your body exclaims to all
a sensual exhibition
of slow suicide
my bloodless blossom
brave breatharian
your favorite math
subtraction
by multiplied
delicious starvations
you may need a strong man
deaths final instrument
who will love you
with tender crushes
darkly ******
come naked
spread wide my lovely grotesque
nestle in my arms
coffins embrace
to be bruised
while tremulously kissed
i will turn you to crumbles and powder
to finish sweetly
what you have started so long ago
Feb 2, 2017
Feb 2, 2017 at 12:41 PM UTC
Your caress is silky and creamy like butter
And my darling, I'm afraid that your lingering touch will give me diabetes
Your heart crumbles like flour when I press mine against it
And beads of sugar hang like dew upon your lashes
Maybe if I blended you up into cookie dough
And baked you at 350 for 15 minutes until you were golden brown
Then I wouldn't be afraid to stroke your resplendent face
Perhaps I wouldn't wince at the thought of pressing my ear against your chest
Just to hear your confectionary heart quiver
And there wouldn't be the slightest trepidation when I kissed your intoxicating tears
But I'm afraid that I'll leave you in for too long
And your saccharine core will harden and reek of soot
And with the slightest touch, you'll be reduced to ash
And your cremated remains will get frightened at the accusatory wail of the smoke detector
And they'll seek refuge in my oven's crevices
Never to be seen again
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 7:35 PM UTC
Alcoholism took my father away from me.
I watched him destroy his life from the age of five.
When Austin left us- I watched his life shatter completely.
I started to plink away on the piano.
Then he started to pick up the pieces.
He got his life together, remarried, and is trying to repay a lost childhood.
So I continue to play.
Now, I'm watching both my sister's life come to crumbles at the lips of a bottle.
So I play louder.
One has gone to rehab for drugs and alcohol.
She is getting better- back on her feet.
The other has moved out and cut off communication with our Father.
So I keep playing.
I'll write a sonng or two for you-
and I'll wait for you to come home.
All I've ever known alcohol to do- is destroy.
And people wonder why the smell nauseates me..
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 12:02 AM UTC
believing when the world crumbles
She won’t crumble with it
The girl in the red dress
A wild horse- a beauty galloping at full speed
Never forgetting her worth or her means
full of fireworks
With a passion overwhelmed
by the aching love of the world
The girl in the red dress
Who is freer then any being
Because she lets herself be
Free
Yet more tied down then she seems
The girl in the red dress
Who will fight ferousicialy for anything
And anyone
To the girl in the red dress
Who has the wisdom of the moon
And the brightness of
The sun
Dec 19, 2018
Dec 19, 2018 at 2:29 AM UTC
Resistance is a **** stunting the possibilities of us, our nature,
and the sun that resides in us all.
When we let go
we always move forwards.
And when we hurt we grow,
we heighten,
to a place that isn't initially seen,
as holding on doesn't want to recognise
you're no longer there.
The illusion of resistance crumbles
when we empty our hands,
when our hearts tell our minds
Just let go,
here we regain the power of trust,
of faith,
and the wild playground of our lives
prove joyful again.
To extend out with all we have
knowing this reach has reversed equally.
Dropping the weight like a stone
surrendering in the sea of life,
expanding further still as we sink,
knowing that holding on to that
which resists so much
is not ours to be held,
we are not to remain stunted
in a state of tug of war.
life around us says so,
we are to learn and beautify
as we rise,
as we fall
We mustn't resist.
And so we are,
so we shall be
free.
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 3:04 PM UTC
i ask you to be patient
there are still cracks between my ribcage
i am trying to fix
and i am still searching for ways to mend
my broken, tattered wings
there are parts of me like missing puzzle pieces
i'm still trying to find
and i own many things, yet if there's one thing
i do not own, that would be time
again, i must ask you to be patient
at times my head is a storm of emotions;
thunder and lightning are all i hear
at times i will play a game of hide and seek
yet it's not you i hide from but my fears
i'm the girl who wears her heart on her sleeves
yet i hide behind closed doors
the kind who smiles bright like fire
though she crumbles in ashes to the floor
once more, please be patient
wait; i promise you'll see the masterpiece i am
for i am of many dimensions
and through my eyes, you will see
my thoughts as the stars made into constellations
i am the galaxy, and i am infinite
a firework, a work of art
all i ask is for you to be patient and stay
to see past the pain darkening my heart
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 11:53 PM UTC
you're a melancholic blue rock
who's oblivious to what you're parallel of
just a slight erosion I noticed,
as I picked up
the little crumbles
the gem stones
the tears
crystallizing under crushing pressure;
I know it's aching,
some time to tether
you're (spontaneously) combusting
but you're still as dainty as a feather
don't have to look at your reflection,
just your shadows
then you'll see you're illuminating
and now you know
you're more than enough
you were just
a diamond in the rough.
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 10:14 PM UTC
I hold you so deep in my heart
When I listen to my soul
Your constant ringing,
Is still guiding my every step.
You have left me and even if not by choice
The anger, The sadness,
Is still drumming in sync with my heart.
Your memory is like a withering flower.
Slowly starting to bend
slowly, dying
What am I to do?
I share my water, my food, even my love.
But your time is up
I hold that dead flower so gently in my hands
But still it crumbles
Being the fool that I am told I am
I try to mend the broken petals back together
In hope that somehow
You will bloom once again
Into the beautiful flower
That I remember you to be
That is still in my dreams...
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 4:11 PM UTC
We’re looking into each other’s eyes;
it’s 4am.
We’re sat in a hospital room, I’m reciting your favourite verse.
You’re ragged and stitched together;
I just wish it was from being loved.
I just wish my love could make you Real.
I knew from day one, no one and no thing,
not even love, could take you away and finally
set your soul free.
So
I gave you all of me.
It wasn’t hard to give away.
Within moments of witnessing your smile; the one
held in your eyes widening your stare,
you crushed through my ribs with warmth and love,
held my heart in your hand, promising no matter
the distance and land between us, my heart would remain
safe – beneath your bruised chest.
Tonight, I’m alone.
It’s been 17 days since I last saw you.
I’m in the park where we always walked,
where our love was made tangible by etchings in wood.
The bark now crumbles
and the decay mirrors the gradual corrosion
of what was once, and will
never be, again.
© Sia Jane
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 2:36 PM UTC
i feel so
empty.
but who knew feeling
this empty could cause
you to have
such a heavy heart.
everything's going right,
for once,
then it all crumbles.
at night
i fight the urge to scream.
and not a scream that's caused
by held back tears,
or hidden emotions.
i fight back a scream
that's due to the worst feeling.
the feeling of nothingness.
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 11:55 AM UTC
The pick
All the stress that an orange has caused is painful.
It is painful for the tree from which it came.
Snatched away with promises of sweetness.
A tree mostly green, engulfing
Small speckles of that deceptive orange.
It was such a bright colour – high hopes!
Handpicked by a man only looking for the best,
Choosing poorly not for the first time.
The green leaves frantically try to reclaim what’s theirs.
Branch after branch reaching out, trying to uproot him.
Close, so close. But they are a sea apart,
At least an apple has a core, a heart.
The peel
Now it is pilfered, the painful process begins,
Never quite ending: disappointment beckons.
To try and taste these orange juices
You soldiers must bear the burden.
Each soldier, a finger digging themselves
Into the tough stressful shell.
Fingernails stained with orange blood,
Eyes blinded by the same tangy juices.
It never slips off in one go
Like a roomy balaclava,
But crumbles like the remnants of a bombing.
Brick by brick, orange by orange it crumbles.
Now it is finally undone
But neither tree nor man has won.
The preparation
The crust collapsed, but now
It is time to untangle the web the mantle holds.
First, a division – the separation of brothers
Who served side by side at birth.
Dissected by these soldiers
Acting as a bomb squad,
Searching for those hidden pips.
Found, but not without casualties –
Sticky fingers with no taps in sight.
Once removed the web is untangled.
Tired, he hopes that the stress will swiftly end
Unaware that the sweetness was just pretend.
The pain
Finally the moment has arrived
And illogical ceremonies commence.
I fear the celebration is far too soon,
For as white touches orange and tries
So desperately to unite,
The tartly taste slays the poor man’s buds:
Igniting like petrol on his burning tongue.
He wishes he could return that orange
To the green tree to which it belongs,
To return a bullet-sprayed windscreen is not an option.
The orange, once bitten, enjoys its trance
Latching on to those pained tingling taste buds.
His orange, a disaster to undress:
Bad taste – a foolish price for such a mess.
Feb 14, 2011
Feb 14, 2011 at 12:06 PM UTC
The decision was mine,
and throughout the day
I own it.
But late at night,
home alone,
lying in bed,
the façade crumbles.
And I think about
everything we had,
how perfect it seemed.
I wrote poetry proclaiming
my love for you,
But now I'm stuck with these
tear-marked pages.
Logically, my head tells me
it was the right choice,
but it's hard to explain that
to my heart sometimes.
If I let myself,
I miss you so ******* much.
But this was my decision,
so I have to own it.
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 12:44 AM UTC
*“As for Charles – he likes girls. If he’s drunk, I’ll do. But – just when I’ve managed to harden my heart, he’ll turn around and be so sweet. “
“You like him a lot, don’t you?”*
The night crumbles to dust as I trace
every single crease, every nook, every edge of you.
I drink you in, you drink cheap wine:
you only kiss me with alcohol in your blood,
you cannot stomach me without
the drugs.
A pile of cigarette ash on the floor,
broken glass. Shattered ice cubes and
cigarette butts.
It’s a scene of decay; you and I
could only survive if you whispered
sweet nothings and I let you gut
me. You lead me on and I always
slip, and touch you and believe
this time will be the time you stay,
this time will be the time you remember last night
morning come,
this time will be the time
I
am
the
one.
It rains the first time and there’s a bottle
of scotch; we play cards; you’re drunk:
I strip you off; tonight you smile; tonight
you will not mind if I touch
your jaw
your lips
your waist
and below
and your heart
no – never your heart.
Then it’s a matter of time.
You always come when you need me and I
can never refuse to be the one
who lets your tongue
explore my mouth
if only drunk
if only for a while
if only for the night.
I’m there. I will do. For now.
I kiss
your lips
your throat
your neck
your collarbones
and down – way down – below
and your heart
no – never your hear.
You twist me round your little finger and I
would die and die and **** and die
a thousand times
to have you look at me and say
I’ll stay tonight.
My Charles.
No – never mine.
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 9:25 AM UTC
Skin
Fingernails, moonlight, low-light
What’s the beast in the mirror I see?
It stares at me, it’s features moaning a sad soliloquy
I find it’s eyes, green, green, the colour of envy
Envy. Envy.
I find myself stretching skin.
Skin, it’s anthropomorphism deeply disturbs me
Why can’t I take it off
Peel it off, rip it off, burn it off, cut it off
Snip, snip
The more I stare the more it crumbles, it crumbles
I paint it’s mask with lacquer but the same pair of green eyes stare at me
What is that, who is that beast
The low-light consoles me but still I see it for what is
Me
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 4:16 AM UTC
So many colorful shards,
so many scattered books,
my Father left behind.
He connected the dots
with me, in space and time,
listening to the wind
when it was raining.
Absent and so close,
he used to say:
“Listen to what’s on the ground.
See what lifts us at night
when the birds go silent.”
He gave me more unrest,
he was the left hand
forced to write
with the right.
He believed in me
when the system
sent me away,
dismissed me.
He had hope
without medals,
standing steadfast
in the last row.
Now the body crumbles.
There is a memory
full of holes.
A counting echo—
he remembers,
he doesn’t,
it’s fine,
still hard
but his voice lives…
Time is blending
into a rusted chain
of events.
Tenderness,
resistance
to the falling apart
of departure.
He won’t come back.
He won’t recover.
The body is warm,
life doesn’t want to escape
the shrinking shell.
Sharp words cut helplessness.
Many nights still come
until the final return
to the embryonic state,
to point zero.
I am here,
into this deep night
being the witness to breath,
awake in the dark gentleness.
Jul 9, 2025
Jul 9, 2025 at 8:05 PM UTC
you were there on his last night
and was there on the night
we stumbled upon
an unfamiliar house
the creatures were making
a peculiar sound
it was the strange place we inhabited
for as long as we could be brave
you were with me when i lost a limb
you saw grief and tropical storms
right through my eyes
you heard words come out
of my mouth, they were all
in past tense and shaky
the best four years a teenager could have
i have spent them with you
i gave you my trust, my blood
and our promises
you met the 3am version of myself
which i believed that is ours
only to keep
i could not fathom the grief
of losing a limb
nor the grief
of seeing our strange house
collapse right in front of me
but the concrete was made of trust
you contended that you were here
to extend succor, immediate aid
to a grieving soul, to your friend
you came in crowds extending
sympathy as how i've seen it
little did i know that succor
meant pulling the trigger
when the tectonic plates
and the seismic waves
bends the buildings
and crumbles to the ground
when the tropical storm
named after me
pull the tress from its roots
floods the households
and all the different routes
or when your 3am uncertainties
scare you, and you would howl
and howl and howl
but who will you run to?
Nov 5, 2016
Nov 5, 2016 at 2:36 PM UTC