"discolor" poems
When the rainy gloomy day
From the gray clouds weaves the arch,
When the heaven of lead acid in the silence
Floating to us vast object,
When the foliage discolor,
And the cries of birds can be heard barely,
And thousands of hums seas
Denunciations from the heavens stronger,
When the winds are changing rules,
And hit the backhand in the discord,
And the air, woven from the the needles,
Sparks all over the blackness,
Suddenly a flash split the day in two,
And the lightning sparkle the bridge,
Connecting the heavenly home and the ground,
Showing the miracle of burning fire.
Aug 21, 2015
Aug 21, 2015 at 11:47 AM UTC
the apple tree sits
staring at me
watching my every move
her branches reach out to touch my flaxen hair
combing out the tangles with her withering limbs
her leaves form a braided wreath
with fragile pink blossoms embodying my innocence
her knots form a kind and gentle face
the corners of her mouth turning up to assure me of hope
her crevices are filled with love and life
my only friends. my only family.
"patience" she says
and so i wait. and so i watch
waiting the blessed day of forthcoming
"patience" she says
but I can't wait any longer
my crystal blue eyes are beginning to discolor and my hair is beginning to fall
time is running out
I break from her withered limbs
I break from her benevolent smile
I break from her hospitality and materialness that nursed me back to health
only to fall into a deep abyss of incompetence and insubordination
childish and juvenile acts that were not nursed by the fruit of eden.
I run back to her warm bark
begging for forgiveness
only to taste the now bitter apple.
Dec 24, 2012
Dec 24, 2012 at 3:36 PM UTC
Final love letter
Before
Death
Retains the last breathe
Silver moon shines
Twinkling brilliant glitter
Discolor blossom
Adorning till the last sunset
Till the skylight cracks
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 11:08 PM UTC
my brain is a garden in the fall
cold and dry and lifeless
bright prospects, once blossoming are long wilted over now,
throughly stomped by thick-soled boots
and discolor sets in.
filled with the fallen, it has been throughly raked apart, spread across the front lawn and scratched into lumps. they’re run over and jumped on and i just feel twinges in them now
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 9:00 PM UTC
he is walking on you like wet cement and every step,
no matter how light,
leaves a print
and it hurts,
but it's drying and maybe
many people will walk on the finished pavement
and their mark won't be as brilliant,
but they will wear you down
they will discolor you,
until someone decides you need some paving over,
and that someone will not dare step on you,
they will want to make you new
and won't want to ruin your baptized surface
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 3:40 PM UTC
Listen please,
I hear the call
As the paint drips
From the wall and
Onto the floor.
We are redecorating
Only, we are temporary
As we splatter
To get out the past.
But hey, I like
This color
As my hands are
Coated with some
Thick lacquer
That holds my nails
And wrinkles of my skin.
This hue will go well
With what we don’t have
As the brush smears
The globs
Of pastel
And wipes out
The wallpaper,
Of the previous owner.
Layered away
We discolor,
In layers we
Bury them.
Jan 9, 2018
Jan 9, 2018 at 2:22 PM UTC
To him
I am just
A discolor forest
A vulnerable mountain
A singing bird
In the golden cage
To me
He is
The sweet venom
The tragic mystery
The universe
I can never get
Enough of
To discover
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 4:55 AM UTC
Formed in a field of fire, I cry,
serving thorns of beleaguered triumph, I crawl
to a shorn little wreath of wiring, I stall
to enthrall all the force behind me, I crawl.
Crawl with a ghost's sobriety, in a thought
I have wrought
what a world denied me, in a joke,
but its not,
it's assuming a piety
in deliverance from fouler hits
isn't a blinder for your civil bliss.
Wake the **** up.
Watch the flare, trace the wick.
Dodge the rain drops, cop's air and spit.
Hopped a train of thought for a ditch
Found a chain of White grapes and whips.
You intervene with glitter glue at the seams,
assume to placate flames below the root of your jeans,
assemble suitable frames amid a brutal disease,
accrue the nourishing famine, staying true to your leaves,
and seeing nothing.
_
capitulate to the critical conditioners , an oppressor
hypernormal in biblical proportions for your pleasure
find the border for brick mortar
pull lever, level threat, fine order,
don't. cross. this. line.
ever.
Never stop to observe the servile nature of your stature
levy thoughtless concern to herd the ******** in your factor
paper shredder for flame fodder, **** your water
crawling out with a name, and an aim to discolor your collar
I have no eyes to see son or daughter,
grass in the field, lacks appeal,
devoured countless when I was smaller
Eyes on the whole deal, now
coal fields, cold meals, thick prose, sick cows,
this thirst, it grows, it thrives, right now
it knows, it chose,
these throes are how these days will close when you aren't loud.
Eat the rich
Eat the poor
Eat the earth
Nevermore.
Wake the **** up.
Aug 28, 2019
Aug 28, 2019 at 1:36 AM UTC
Why must you
be this way?
Full of blemishes
and discolor.
I know God
wanted me
to look a certain
way,
but i'm sure
he didn't intend
for this.
I try and try
to have a clear
face, but nothing
seems to help.
I look at my
reflection and cry, cry, cry.
Even though my outside
isn't so beautiful,
at least my inside is.
Aug 18, 2016
Aug 18, 2016 at 11:31 PM UTC
Harlequin cover carried on warm zephyrs north
through febrile piedmont leviathans ..
Furious March sediments that choke . Debilitate ..
Frustrate and discolor ...
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 2:32 PM UTC
I keep close watch of the scars on my body,
making sure that their stories don't liquidate and seep out
like blood when I'm not looking,
that they don't fade and discolor before I remember
who I am without them.
I'm afraid of letting them vanish before
you let yours vanish too.
So I stare pigment into the blisters on my right palm and I
still remember
the first time you held it,
at Six Flags when we were both high on funnelcake and the fumes of late summer mixed with bus fuel and sweat.
I do the same to my shoulder,
where yours would always be after I missed the midnight shuttle
and trudged home with a scarf up to my eyelashes
in the nearly horizontal snow.
And to my ears, because
I'd always have more work to do,
and you'd carry your stereo to my room and play
that song you stained so thoroughly with your voice that
I can't bear to listen to it
anymore.
I spend the most time re-burning the skin around my eyes
to precisely the degree that you did when you brushed the tears
from under them,
and that I did later when
I scratched away at the same flesh because you weren't there
to do it anymore.
I keep close watch of what I never thought would
turn into memories,
making sure that our story doesn't liquidate and trickle away
when I'm not looking,
that it doesn't fade and discolor before I forget
who I was when I knew you.
I'm afraid, too, that you've already long
forgotten.
Apr 25, 2021
Apr 25, 2021 at 4:23 AM UTC
My eyes aren't bloodshot from losing you
They're the strained red because missing you comes in flashbacks
I remember the curve of your hand
When it touched mine
I remember studying the flecks of discolor in your eyes
When you kept looking past me like if you actually stared at me,
You would miss the world and whatever was past me
I remember you calling me at 1 am
You thanked me and you said you were done
I remember wanting to crawl on your skin
I craved being so close to you
I remember me telling you how much I needed you
And you telling me that my sentences reminded you of someone else
Jan 26, 2017
Jan 26, 2017 at 8:05 PM UTC
...I shall be
a lonely
petal rose
waiting
to discolor
and fall
Feb 28, 2019
Feb 28, 2019 at 1:11 PM UTC
Ignore my tired gait and red rims
The hint of discolor on my pale skin
The mirror exposes naked sin
The pain behind my forced grin
This battle I will never win
The unending struggle to be thin
Apr 9, 2018
Apr 9, 2018 at 5:49 PM UTC
Six years old with ragged clothes and bright golden hair,
Clutching imaginary friends and a stuffed polar bear.
She was an avid dreamer with a thousand-mile stare,
Alone but never lonely, only ever without care.
She wandered streets paved with a child's imagination
And made friends with the faces at which only she could stare.
Though her home was such a broken place beyond repair,
She rested in a fantasy that cannot be impaired.
She dreamed of scenes of evergreens that teemed with things that sing
So joyously, for the joy they bring her seems so rare.
This little princess ruled her world with smiles, love, and hope,
But her enchanted kingdom paled the older that she'd grow.
Seasons change, from sun to rain, from warm to cold they fade.
Autumn brings the death of beauty, summer falls away.
What was green, alive and vibrant dies as chill sets in:
A king flew in on winter winds and deflowered the purity within.
Twelve years old, the little girl grew cold to all that was.
No longer were her dreams a haven made of callow love.
Defiled princess fears her king who towers high above
Her land now filled with monstrous fiends that devastate the *****
Just as dying leaves discolor and fall from off their trees
Did little Autumn's self esteem degrade most rapidly.
With no dreams left to offer solace, no hope to be seen,
She withers with her wizened world of wonders once pristine.
To wash away the degradation felt within her bones
Alone she traveled to a bridge, onto the ledge she leaned.
She closed her eyes and took a dive headfirst into the stream
And with one final breath, bereft, the soul of Autumn leaves.
Nov 5, 2019
Nov 5, 2019 at 12:36 PM UTC