"nolstagia" poems
your favourite song is playing.
and
for a moment,
nolstagia felt like you-
transient and
somewhat like a foggy
window on a rainy day.
it was cold
and you
were the only warmth
nearby.
when
the first droplet falls to the sill,
the next follows;
what a pity,
they collide
never again.
the most played song
in your playlist,
i reckon,
has long been replaced.
and.
i suppose.
today.
i'm not putting this song
on repeat again.
Jun 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016 at 12:03 PM UTC
i was teetering on the apex of delirium
bony fingertips scrabbling at the air grasping at absolutely nothing
the concrete jungle below presaging certain death
on my tippy toes on unstable soil
tottering and turning with the world askew before my eyes
i fell before i found the light
/
my eyelids cracked themselves open
my irises protested and my retinas sent
shockwaves of pulsating light
through my disoriented mind
suddenly i didn't want the light anymore
didn't want the truth that i carved through my ribcage for
wasn't too hard, diagnosed myself with somatoform
prescribed myself with anagelsics
and sweet, sweet, slumber came
/
nolstagia sweeps by like an autumn breeze
faded memories rustling in the wind
that smell of muted, jaded wonder
i avoid the falling leaves like lava
hop, skip, hop
i press my lips together when i walk past the street cleaner
dutifully raking away the brittle, useless appendages
i am half tempted to leap into the neatly swept piles of the past summer
but i dig my heels in and stride past a life long gone
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 4:04 AM UTC
Lightening forking the sky
Dazzling spray of dissonant cues
Crackling, mesmerizing
As the thunderous clouds
Bellowing, rumbling in cry
After the screech of the light
Wind spark, whipping a tempest
Never to have behold before
A dancing feat of grace and defeat
Trailing entrails of vivid wonders
Across the night, the dusk descending
Warfare of gain and spell, transcending
The terror in beauty and rolling nolstagia
Of the silly pouring rain mantling sails
To whisk a soul to another world
Like when you press a hand against a window
And it's cold so that your warmth
Shroud and condense, dew drops
Leave a trail of words, rhythm to rhyme
A flutter of ghostly syllables
And warm intentions, like fingers strumming a guitar
A single string or a flood of
Pressed strings reverberating in the belly of plywood
That takes not wisened girth
Only the way to make your words and music
Weep and laugh with that of the tempest
Brewing outside
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 11:16 PM UTC