"mainland" poems
You are a sailor
Drift way from the harbor
Pull up the anchor
That binds you down
Set sail towards the horizon
Take off the blindfold
And hoist the sail
Let the wind be your guide
Sun and the Moon your compass
Steering through uncharted waters
Sometimes calm weather
Or, inclement weather, rocking your ship
Tackling the deep waters with alacrity
Unfathomable depths, yet the ship sails
Cutting through the waters
The saline water, which is a part of you
Seagulls guide you towards the shore
Anchoring at the preferred destination
Every grain of sand cushions your feet
Welcoming you to the island of bliss
Cut off from the mainland
Yet, helping you connect with yourself
Now it’s time to unwind
And join the party after a successful voyage
Ready to set sail for another expedition
As a sailor, cruise till the end
© Amitav (Radiance)
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 3:30 PM UTC
It's nice to feel the warmth
The weather's never bad
Living surrounded by the wai
And by the sweet sounds
Of the ukulele.
Many people live aloha
Living proud of their culture
And friendly to another.
Ohana is important
And friends are part of it too.
A beautiful tradition
Giving of leis
To someone special
On a special occasion
Or just any given day.
It will be sad to leave one day
There's so much sunshine.
The mainland's all the same.
Here there's so much diversity.
I think I'll miss the food the most...
Oct 12, 2012
Oct 12, 2012 at 12:49 AM UTC
It’s not marijuana in Newfoundland
In our fair Island we call it Product, b’ys
Son, have you been smokin’ Product again?
This is some ****in’ great Producttttttttt, ohhhhh, mannnnnnn
Mr. Speaker, why is there a shortage
Of Product in the province, Mr. Speaker,
Not worried about the stocks of cod if we
Can get stocks of Product, Mr. Speaker
And if the shipment from the mainland stalls
They’ll beam us some Product from Muskrat Falls
Oct 25, 2018
Oct 25, 2018 at 3:24 PM UTC
I hate airplanes.
I hate them
More than
Anything
I've ever hated.
Except the flight
From Dulles
To Ft. Lauderdale.
I like that.
Especially at night
When it feels like
Stars
Can be caught with
A thin fishing line
Twenty feet away
And eventually you
Go off the mainland
And can't tell where
The water starts
Or
The stars stop.
Then you see a
Sudden line of lights below
And beyond that
An infinity of bright bursts
Of lights
And lamps.
All darkness,
Then suddenly
Light.
I really hate planes.
But not the flight
From Dulles
To Ft. Lauderdale
At night.
I love that.
Nov 28, 2013
Nov 28, 2013 at 12:51 PM UTC
*absolutely scandalous the way you are..
you treat me mercilessly for feeling cheerful ..
so cruel attitude you are ..
thou silent throughout my sense of my disappointment to smile ..
truly evil your touch ..
you whip my heartbeat pounding and carefree ..
indeed bear your concern ..
you fill up my weak with politely invincible ..
really sneaky way you are ..
you stole my heart a dozen years ago to freeze and harden ..
indeed savage your sincerity ..
you satisfy and pamper me until i could not walk on the mainland ..
because you are the villain of heart of mine..!*
┈┈┈┈┈»̶·̵̭̌✽✽·̵̭̌«̶ ƦУ »̶·̵̭̌✽✽·̵̭̌«̶┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈
sang penjahat hati..!
sungguh keji caramu..
engkau perlakukan perasaanku tanpa ampun untuk ceria..
sungguh kejam sikapmu..
engkau bungkam seluruh rasaku kecewaku hingga tersenyum..
sungguh jahat sentuhanmu..
engkau cambuk detak jantungku berdegup kencang dan riang..
sungguh tega perhatianmu..
engkau jejali lemahku dengan santunmu hingga tak terkalahkan..
sungguh licik caramu..
engkau curi hatiku belasan tahun lalu hingga membeku dan membatu..
sungguh biadab ketulusanmu..
engkau puasi dan manjakan asaku hingga tak sanggup kupijak daratan..
karena enkau adalah sang penjahat hatiku..!
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 12:30 AM UTC
You have no idea, do you? You don't realize that every time you tell me you love me is another dig into my own grave. And every time I remember that you don't is another pinprick that never heals. I've got scars on my back from the last time you kissed me and there are bruises on my arm from when you last looked me in the eye. I miss you so much that I feel like every thought of you constricts my chest and makes it hard to breathe. All I ever wanted was to have your hand in mind and feel like for once I'd never have to be so alone every time I walk past another tree.
I remember the last time you made me smile. You were lying on my lap the day before you had to fly off and you were listening to me talk about the other people I had known from my journey then to now. I was playing with your hair and I remember thinking that there was nowhere else I'd rather be and no one else I'd rather be with. I remember thinking that maybe I could finally set my roots and follow one path to one place, but you took that away from me.
In the same day, you put a stake through my heart when you disappeared and said nothing, no call, no whisper about leaving so I started walking back home but waited at the end of the road for an hour to see if you would follow. You didn't. Love didn't.
I was already in love with you then. And it hurt to realize you didn't really care all that much to make sure I got home safe.
We ended things. Or at least I did. You argued that even if you were in the middle of a vast ocean and I was on the mainland, our love could've traveled distances and I reminded you that there was no love here and that you were the one who told me without saying a word that you held no love for me but expected me to love you in places beyond our reaches of the galaxy.
But my hands could only stretch so far, and my heart could only take so much before the pain of being with you and without you all at once began to dance on my skin like folk songs around a bonfire.
I know my heart and I know that it believes in the worlds away and it holds so strongly it can hardly take the pain but keeps pumping anyway. But for once, the blood pumping in my veins understand that it's alright. It's alright to let go of love and it's alright to let go of you. My eyes understand it's okay to weep and that my lungs breathe better without tears choking it.
My hands will shake and be taken over by tremors but they'll know that you were never love and love would never again be you.
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 9:01 AM UTC
Cockcrow harbour:
the gulls whining like tethered dogs
about rooftops
paliophobic cars and
grounded vessels..
Look:
on the hoary horizon
a glaucous strip
beguils
with backwater.
Not putting on a show
the frigid sea benumbed..
Easily,
with a tail of emerald jelly
skim a vanishing lane off that
lustrous sheet
and watch
the trailblazing mainland
scuttle.
Now,
Only scattered dreaming is possible.
In it's bachelor pad,
cradling over crinkles,
away from the meretriciosness
of validating the real by sharing it,
THE WIND
blusters off any veneer.
Here,
stale but spry,
fare your way around the inoffensive isle
to it's most shyest of harbours:
a mouth full of silver
saving it's breath.
The windows facing the sea
seem
black & white,
their wooden frames hooked to the wind,
the splattered gulls meow
your name
in a way
that's
personal.
Of course comes to mind.
The pines
are demanding a visit,
They're whispering
so you can hear them,
each as different as every snore,
these pines know
how to grow in the sand
and still reach for
the Nimbostratus with heads in unison.
The spaces
between their trunks illuminating
the blazing needles
raining down
painting the ground
familiar
to your lover's
skin texture:
Feel her closeness
from jilted borderwatchtowers
as she speads her mire
like no one's watching:
weedy and sugared
with bellflowers,
the waves in her shallow armpit
billeting a pair of white swans:
demurely they float
sometimes as pillows and sometimes
as question marks..
Go ask the seasoned locals,
they say the bones she parked
when she let her ice sheet melt
are portals
to her noble underbelly.
Hidden in the woods
reminiscent of your heart,
the red
tank-sized stone
is sealed,
but what the lighting reach cannot
the rain shall sluice apart
dumbly.
And though her hair has
come to be
the moss
black and hoarse
as sailor's beard,
there is still time.
The void says
her noisy neighbour is nothing
to die for.
The theadbear car with absent doors
incites
to drive her
in reverse gear
to the first few
days of holidays:
her golden locks a-blaze,
her arm around your
hind-sighted doppelganger.
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 2:20 AM UTC
shapeshifter, son drunk
& changing skins.
he digs up skeletons of a spanish battalion
buried
by tigers on the garden key.
suncresent
spray of blood & oranges.
new-fangled sailors once soaked
in madness.
now just starvation.
the viking speaks:
in limericks of new world poise.
his antler woven mask,
set nicely upon the shore.
seod, turtle lord
of space & time, appears only once
every lunar eclipse. bound by treatise
to the jellyfish triumvirate.
his acolyte,
bolivar t. shagnasty,
wanders the mainland in search of water
or meat of trees.
kindness
of men turns to dust & belly worms.
forgotten, the plants mutate
into root-rich empires
of fish & figurine.
million year armistice.
dr. samuel mudd,
shackled years to tide-slab &
fort jefferson. he
purifies the island of its yellow
shivering death.
hospital key.
fastforward hundred plus years
through mudd lifeline:
battle weary sneakers,
spokes sung by strum of card, the bmx
stridden boy & his
teenage mutant ninja turtle mask.
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 4:55 PM UTC
❝ while he runs from darkness
she purposefully turns off her light
he saves her flicker and makes it burn
like a california fire guided by his wind
she spreads through the mainland
curving through the hidden crevices of the world
her scorching heat;
felt and seen and adored
as he runs from the darkness,
her light continues to burn a fire blue
the shadows slowly melt away from her touch
and he feels her warmth and basks in it
she thought she has saved him from the monsters
she thought she has saved him enough to stop running
but the shadows crept back in
slowly, until it consumed him entirely
and off the ledge he went
her savior,
reduced to nothing but a pool of dusk
and emptiness
and sadness
she was but a flicker but he preserved her
a flicker which continued to burn in her heart
so she savored the beauty of his grey tones;
found and accepted his darkness
in all the bright places ❞
Mar 23, 2023
Mar 23, 2023 at 3:32 AM UTC
Seven years I lived my life, fading from reality. Crossing into machinery. Robotics with which I am so unfamiliar. Machined, greased, lubricated parts. Built with a purpose. A meaningless purpose. Destined for failure.
A broken down machine I stand. Sit. Lay. Run. Work. Play. Slide. Cursed and wretched as the demons which haunt the dreams of the fallen. I rise above. Skyrocketing through reason. Through the seventh layer of Heaven and Hell. On a false sense of cloud nine I currently float…awaiting the plummet.
Its falling away from me. I sail through a shattered sea of broken glass. I closed my eyes and the tears could not flow. Blocked by my eyelids, restricting emotion. After all of this, I am amazed. The wall could be broken. Forgotten faded memories of which I have no say.
Of past. Of present. Of gifts. Of futures. Of lists. Lists of black. Hit lists in my head. I live in my head. I am not what I wish. I am what I’m not. I am what I dream. A scream. A cry. Laying here, blank as the page on which I cannot create a scene. A scene behind my eyes, yet I cannot attain it on paper. These words flow meaninglessly, but not slow.
Daedalus, Icarus, Thrice. Three times I roam. Randomized plains of thought, laid out on a digital page. Keys, not a pen. Ones and Zeros, not ink. Screens, not pages. Neat, not sloppy…yet my words do not understand one another… nor do I….
If we make the mainland, this song would not be made. Epic beauty, formed through misfortune and tragedy. Oh son…I beg you…keep a steady wing. For you are the only one who means anything to me. My wings are made of melting, shredding, fading elements. The sun, heating, lighting, someday dying. I understand that nothing is as it may seem. Nor is any seam as true as the seamstress believed. The Gods did not take the only thing which meant anything to you, father of legend. Your son is not dead…only afire. Acquired by the forces you believed to be merciful.
Feb 8, 2012
Feb 8, 2012 at 9:22 PM UTC
Ferry Me
Ferry me, but once more.
The last ferry rides of Indian Summer,
Always arrives on schedule which is
Always and precisely, too soon.
Then, the imprisonment months,
Sentence, indeterminate.
*A Grand Jury trial of months,
I, and my co-defendant,
My sanity, this time, the Oddsmakers say,
Won't survive the lockup.
The source perfume of driftwood words,
Very ferry distinguishing marks,
Sails and seagulls, diesel fumes and saltwater,
Sunsets and seagrass, flying fish and multi-mollusks,
The stuffing of my summer turkey, the currants of
Poems and dreams, sad-eyed longings...
Now,
Evidence used by prosecution,
Confession freely uncoerced,
I Am A Summer Man
Adjudged and convicted,
Guilty of Winter's Discontent.*
But it is these last few passages,
Not of words, but over water,
The absence thereof, crush, ravage,
Worse than any grey calendar captivity,
Forlornly, I mouth silently, repeatedly,
Ferry me, but once more.
The course, straightforward,
Voyager, but a few minutes, but long enough to
Love it deeply, need it like a fix,
The mania of the mainland left behind,
The island, thinly lit, more shadow than real,
The approaching dark, shelters, comforts, embraces.
Perhaps, likely, I deceive myself.
No matter how the island comforts,
The brain always rumbling,
Can never make stop questioning,
Prisoner of 24/7,
But it is lessened, left behind,
As I am ferried away both,
In body and in mind.
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 2:23 PM UTC
—Flash Forward—
A day of reckoning.
A small boat crosses
the Hudson River,
no warning horn.
Destination New Jersey,
of all places.
A. Burr isn’t warned
that Hamilton will not
fire his pistol.
Destiny predetermined.
“Death doesn’t discriminate
Between the sinners and the saints,
It takes and it takes and it takes.
History obliterates.”
—Flashback—
General.
Colonel.
Aide-de-camp.
Immigrant.
“Don’t engage, strike by night.
Remain relentless ‘til their troops take flight.”
“We escort their men out of Yorktown.
They stagger home single file.
Tens of thousands of people flood the streets.”
“Took up a collection just to send him to the
mainland.
‘Get your education. Don’t forget from whence
you came.’”
—Stepfather of the Union—
Treasury secretary, author of the Federalist Papers,
lawyer, speechwriter, confidante, opponent of slavery,
member of the Constitutional Convention.
“History has its eyes on you.”
“I’ve seen injustice in the world and I’ve
corrected it.”
“The Federalist: Addressed to the People
of the State of New York.”
“Goes and proposes his own form
of government.”
—Family and Marriage—
The Schuyler Sisters – Eliza.
Maria and James Reynolds – adultery and bribery.
Philip Hamilton – successor son and victim.
Philip Schuyler – father-in-law.
“And if this child
Shares a fraction of your smile
Or a fragment of your mind, look out, world!”
“I know you’re a man of honor,
I’m so sorry to bother you at home.”
“I’m only nineteen but my mind is older,
Gonna be my own man, like my father
but bolder.”
“Grampa just lost his seat in the Senate.”
—Why, How, How long?—
Why not?, biography,
genius, rapid-fire rap,
hip-hop, historical vertigo,
Lin-Manuel Miranda at the White House,
a cast talented beyond measure,
the Great White Way,
2017-18 and forever….
“…13 percent of the population is foreign
born, which is near an all-time high;
that one day soon there will no longer
be majority and minority races, only a
vibrant mix of colors.”
‒Jeremy McCarter, from Chapter I of
Hamilton: The Revolution
*© Lewis Bosworth, 12/2016
With credit to the book:*
Hamilton: The Revolution
Dec 7, 2016
Dec 7, 2016 at 11:35 AM UTC
People yearn for peace through the night
When they can only see by inferno light
A flame that engulfs the world
But begins in our hearts
We've been tainting this pearl
From the very start
When ****** is part of their plan
I honestly attempt to understand
But the tears I hate flood my brain
When fears create blood and pain
I'm willing to lose my agency
As long as they don't aim at me
We bang our heads on the wall
Until they roll on the floor
They built a ceiling so we'll fall
So we can't reach the door
I am no longer the man inside the estate
When I'm disenfranchised by the state
So I'm pushed to society's outskirts
For the people with whom I flirt
And my perceived net worth
But where one society ends another begins
And they all claim that I've committed sins
So I wander around
Just not inside towns
Where the bullets fly like the accusations
And productivity drains all inspiration
I live in the remote wilderness now
I hoped things wouldn't be so loud
I hear drum beats in the distance
They're explosions killing infants
But there's nowhere else to turn
And my lawn is starting to burn
Must I deal with the chaos colossus
Or could I continue playing possum?
Must I stare into the fiery abyss
To make it onto heaven's list?
Must I return to the mainland
To experience my final stand?
I will wrest sovereignty from them
I will rest in poverty until then
But I would rather have less money
Than subtract family members
They say you draw more flies with honey
But all the flies die in December
Nov 9, 2017
Nov 9, 2017 at 3:25 AM UTC
Blood felt in a caress
Was the last gift of love I sent you home with.
My thoughts gently clinging to the curled ends
of your hair.
The moon bright as a baby's skin
The wind from the sea leaving nothing untouched
I could think of a Springsteen lyric
but this isn't the summer
and my clothes cling too tightly
To this body which I intend only to please you.
I think instead of a friend telling me of a power-out
When he lived in a minor Chinese mainland city of seven or 8 million
And how all he could see for miles around for an entire week afterwards
was smog.
And I contrast that
With when in the relatively far west of this tiny island
We stood laughing in wonder at how the stars hung so closely down on us
And how smog is all that fills my head
When I try to remember words you use
When you speak of the moon.
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 7:34 AM UTC
lead me far from the mainland:
i have need no more for their custom.
gore these umbilical cords i share:
i no longer need their worldview,
i have forsaken them
they have, me
writhing akrobatics!
i whip my flagellated tail
and prance defiantly
into the danger zone,
where the crispness leeches
onto my body
and i shudder in view
of the sincerity i have
forsaken for this
my life has terribly been choked,
ab ovo
in principio,
nothing, was i, but a mere ghost.
caged-in oneirataxia:
i cannot distinguish
( i was a saddened victim of kalopsia )
these prefab worlds:
one, real
the other, an illusion
my life has captured me and
coerced me - prisoner
with blackened post 'round my neck
wrenching exposure
and blemish me.
but there,
there is a light
past corridor's end
and i see it, theoretically,
finally
and i remember the one good thing
to come from Pandora's folly:
hope.
i no longer need their choices
which have guided me past with harm
i can fight alone without their armor
which never did fit right, to start
rummaging for the undertow
in this ocean
to take me far from home
where i am embraced
by my prime
their volition:
no more
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 6:22 PM UTC
- 6 degrees Celsius
From my balcony,
yes! the atlas
of my balcony;
with the music
of the masters
pouring forth,
from within,
I follow the stars
direction Norway
and Sweden
while around the corner
one looks
towards Iceland
and 'those islands'.
Cleeve is just across the way
and Paris and Brussels
down the road.
This is my mainland!
Aug 9, 2010
Aug 9, 2010 at 9:02 AM UTC
fingers- i landed my boat here, when i first met you. your fingers twirled together absentmindedly and they still do and i'm still get lost whenever i wander onto the dark beaches.
hands- i discovered these peninsulas when you pulled me along on your adventures after I landed on the beaches and they were so rough yet so wonderful and i honestly want to get lost here more often.
wrists- i found these a bit more on the mainland, still flanked by water and they were so narrow that i was afraid i would fall off into the water and i wonder how those thick colorful bracelets stay on.
cheeks- one day i wanted to go on a hike so i decided to climb up these steep mountains and whenever something beautiful sailed by you these beautiful red begonias popped up and i'm a little upset that i didn't make them pop up but i'm glad they didn't bloom around me because i got to see the natural red hills and i got to love them.
but i made a mistake because i never went south and maybe i would have gotten lost somewhere else more beautiful but if i went south, i wouldn't have found the beautiful pools that some call your eyes and that would've been the real loss.
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 10:51 PM UTC
oh sorrowful
barbary coast
they took your young daughters
and sold them to sheikhs
of the sand as water
not so unlike college girls
from the mainland
disappearing now
during spring break
as midnight contraband
Feb 5, 2020
Feb 5, 2020 at 7:39 PM UTC
“Will you love the glimmer of dew that shines from the point of my shovel as I bury your body in the forest on the mainland?”
He says as he demands that I terminate the only thing I know I’ve ever loved
-forced abortion
Mar 7, 2019
Mar 7, 2019 at 3:48 PM UTC
I’m an island
On another planet,
I’m so far away I could die.
The earthquake that made me
Comes back around to shake me up
And now and again
I crumble away a little
And the fish nibble at my toes.
I’m an island,
I’m surrounded, swallowed up
By deep blue melancholy,
I have a little melody
That I whisper through my palm trees
When the wind comes whistling ‘round.
I’m an island
And I’m beautiful
For white sands and a volcano,
I’m so beautiful you’d cry
If you could see me,
You’d try to free me
But I’m stuck to the ocean ground.
I’m an island,
I write myself a novel,
Because I’ve got no one else but Word,
And my four peach- colored walls
Become the horizons that I’m dreaming of
And my floor becomes lagoons
That beckon me to drown.
I’m an island
Because I cry,
My tears are my existence,
I’m my own wife and my own husband,
And I am childless and bloodless and I’ll always be around.
He is a rowboat
Of weathered wood,
Made of love and aged by making love
To the elements that define him,
And his wisdom and his readiness
To cross the Seven Seas.
He is a rowboat,
His billowed sails prepare for passion,
His oars anticipate his return home
With two in tow.
He is a rowboat,
The only one who can
And wants to reach his island in distress,
He carries himself
On wings of wind,
He’ll carry us both
When it becomes apparent that I can’t swim,
He’ll row and row and row his boat
To land ashore on the pain within
And he’ll love me all the way to his mainland.
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 12:45 PM UTC
Midway- Surprise! We saw them
Coming from a mile away.
Japanese aircrafts and ships try and attack,
And they get their butts whooped!
And then we got the idea to island hop!
Hop to Iwo Jima- Slowly.... Slowly.... Don't scare it,
It's like a nest of bees!
And we got it! Two air bases captured
And one step closer to the mainland!
Japan may be fortified, but we
Have tons of muscle!
Hop to Okinawa- this one was a doozy...
The biggest amphibious battle of WWII,
And contained the most casualties! Pretty harsh.
Maybe you they shouldn't have attacked us in the firs place!
We only meant to invade and use the island as a
Springboard towards the mainland, but the
Battle took too long.
Just weeks after the fighting ended, Japan surrendered
And we bombed Hiroshima and Nagasaki!
We never got to invade...
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
Black plastic nametag with white letters,
slightly off-white and not-so-flat from a trip or two through a bachelor's dryer.
I remove it from the bottom of the washer, lightly ********* the engraving,
and ask what's your middle name, this letter T?
From the kitchen you say, my grandmother named me,
with a private grin.
She might have been kinda drunk.
Walking behind me, your caramel-rich low voice soft in my ear,
TsuneoKawehiwehiokekuwahiwionouaioku'uhome.
(saying with careful pronunciation)
Tsu-nay-o-Ka-vay-hee-vay-hee-oh-kay-ku-va-hee-vee-on-oh-vay-ee-o-ku-u-ho-may
and I was just sent
No, she wasn't drunk, she knew exactly what she meant.
Kapunawahine, holding her little mo'opuna kāne,
sensed your father was restless with rock fever,
would be moving away to the mainland with her first grandson soon, so she says to you
This land of water and rainforest trees of the mountains, Hawaii, will always be your beloved home.
Jan 5, 2013
Jan 5, 2013 at 12:07 AM UTC
I just wanted to be
your tugboat captain,
your name engraved
on the hull, my name
enmeshed with your
skull.
Dance around in your tutu,
yes, suspended on one toe,
yes, now slip it off &
crawl into the bath.
I just wanted to be
your tugboat captain,
your skin wrapped
around the mast, your
skeleton draped upon
the shaft.
Look up at me with blue eyes, yes,
open up your pink mouth, yes,
now steer with your feet &
take us to the mainland.
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 7:40 PM UTC
fireworks sparkle
the darkened sky of my memory,
sparkling through my soul in a pleasant wave,
uncovering a walk in the jungle of my heartland
and a guava tree.
I’m in my kitchen, filling my nose
with the delicate scent of ripening guavas from Mexico,
palmed in the chalice of my hands,
feeling my way to that jungle walk with my family when I was three
or maybe two, in Hawai’i
and the guava tree.
as I bite through the fragile skin of the yellow globe,
the seeds, like BBs, take me further into my remembrance,
my family around me sharing
the excitement and joy I felt when I saw and climbed
the guava tree.
after we moved back to the Mainland
to a desert paradise I also loved,
each Spring I came down with what I called my Island Virus:
a deep yearning and homesickness
for my heartland
and the guava tree.
c. 2017 Roberta Compton Rainwater
Oct 7, 2017
Oct 7, 2017 at 3:42 PM UTC
My tears can no longer seek home in my eyes,
They refuge to the mainland- flooding and filling every crevice- they take away life.
Toxic and hot,
They spurt out as if they are small spits of lava.
I cause pain and devastation,
I **** nature.
Feb 13, 2020
Feb 13, 2020 at 8:14 AM UTC