Frigthened poems on Hello Poetry

Carl Gene Hardwick Oct 2011

Buried

Quiet in the dark, I hear her voice,
She speaks in riddles with no rhyme,
I press my ear against the cold plaster,
But she will speak when suited for her.

A long, mournful, cry forlorned, listening,
I speak so softly to whisper my desire,
But she will speak when her time comes,
I must be patient and wait a lingering time.

So buried long ago in this cold wall,
Long forgotten, but not forgiven locals say,
To why her fate came to her that long-ago day,
Is mysteries mystery I now must comtemplate.

When nothing comes, just like a blackened void,
I call her name, so frantically in an audible voice,
But she will respond whenever the fancy hits her,
I must sit silent in case I miss her frigthened word.

Enough with civilities in playing a waiting game,
For her icy lips and cold-stone stare will surely come,
When walls of regret are torn down in self desire,
And I will gaze upon her skeletal soul to so define,
Why she is lost and buried so in walls sometime ago.

ㅡjatm Oct 2017

Drifting ever closer

Last night,
She held the ocean's hand,
It was his warm hand,
So soft, giving and inviting,
Nothing like the mysterious depths
That she understands,
His tide was laced in her veins,
In every emotions and nerves,
For with his exhalation,
She was taken elsewhere,
And she wasn't frigthened
Of what lies beneath,
Because he has seen her face,
Even the mask she tried to hide.

Last night,
She cried and he kissed her lips,
Even if she was hundred percent water,
He drank her before she drowned,
In the warmest depths of her soul.

Last night,
He was the ocean,
That's meant to be crossed,
She understood that it is a palace of life,
That can save her from her own fate,
The waves were created inside his mind,
Guiding her effortlessly,
Out into the everlasting blue,
And she has reached her safest shore.

Finally,
They were the waves of the ocean,
Going back and forth,
Crashing into one another,
Drifting ever closer.

#waves #love #ocean #closer #save #kiss #hand

growingpains Oct 2017

Colours

I'm not ready to make it real yet, not ready to make it tangible yet
I don't even know what it is yet, I'm just certain that I'm frigthened
I convince myself that it isn't sacred,
That it has nothing to do with my faith
I convince myself that it'll go away and I'll be able to escape
Truthfully though, I don't even know what to do
Truthfully though, I don't want to allow myself to say it out of the blue
It could burn the images I've tried to build
Burn the comfort I've succeeded to achieve
With a fire vibrating shades of orange and red
Dismissing all the tears I've shed
But with that pool of purple, I wouldn't know how to handle it
I'd be rewarded with courage
But would still be bitter about the wounds, the damage
I don't even know what it is yet, I'm just certain that I'm scared
I don't know of what or of who,
Of how or of when
But I just know that I think about it until the days end
It shouldn't be so complicated and yet, here I am,
Incapable of admitting to myself who I really am

#confused #uncertainty #scared

— The End —