"primose" poems
I'm not a poet.
But if I were, i'd probably be a nocturnal one and i'd write about how on most nights my tongue is a tombstone, my throat a grave filled with regret,
and my voice is each grunt and whine I give my timed reflection as I avoid every mirror because I can't stand looking at myself...i'd tell...
I'd tell people that my depression is an ocean. Within it's waves, high and low...slowly but surely blanketing over me...dragging any broken
and lost pieces of my happiness back into itself, resetting the sand that is my skin so tomorrow you can't see the holes that were there.
Yeah.
I'm not a poet.
But maybe if I were, i'd write a song about her. It would tell a story about how on days when the sun blinks and everything around me is grey; and the
world is stained with my fears...she. is. the honey-warm scent after a summer rain, an evening primose before the tempest, and the quiet cerulean air in an earthquake...
she's...every hue of a pacific sunset.
I'd sing about how she was the moments between each tide that kept me warm; how she was the sun that fed the daisies in my throat reminding me
that life is possible.
I'm no poet.
But if I were then this paper would be the towel I dried my heart with, the words would be all the unspoken dreams of my insomnia, and the pen was the
blade used to cut this heart so I could bleed my everything to you...I swear. If I were a poet, i'd whisper every vowel i've been given that completes me
into stardust. Sprinkled into the cosmos to someday create a world where the ocean never raged. A world where there were just enough clouds and no
earthquakes...then again...where's the poetry in that?
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 6:26 PM UTC
~ ☾☀️☽ ~
Your fate was woven in the silence of time.
Embroidered with dread and pain.
Made bearable with bonds of friendship and love.
~ ☾☀️☽ ~
Disrobed in the darkness, the sky freckled
with the light of stars, shivering.
Never will we forget the undying.
~ ☾☀️☽ ~
For fate is something twined in a misty veil.
Ignore the flute that sighs a sweet melody.
For you, Noctis, will be bound to your threnody.
~ ☾☀️☽ ~
Born with the Storm's Blessing,
in all it's strength and might and glory,
all that will be left for you is a ruin
of crying waters, deathless flames, and
flooding song of the Oracle's lyre.
~ ☾☀️☽ ~
Her hair of spun gold; a primose in white,
and pearls around her slender wrists.
In her hand, a sylleblossom, bent low
in your final kiss.
Your final promise.
~ ☾☀️☽ ~
She stands strong, her trident in hand,
knowing that she is a phantom of
transient life.
She looks at you.
In a field of flowered ice.
Standing as days of harsh sun and rain pass by.
~ ☾☀️☽ ~
It haunts you.
The memories of where you dare not
tread.
Yet.
~ ☾☀️☽ ~
Give yourself into the song of the sweet summer bird.
Give yourself to the Oracle - the Morn's Star who
fears no sun in her wake. For she was born
to die in the light.
As are you.
~ ☾☀️☽ ~
No need to be afraid, Noctis.
Your corona is a crown that befits no other.
For all shall witness it's splendour and glory
as the Chosen King.
The days are waning.
~ ☾☀️☽ ~
The nights are burning.
Alive with daemons and weeping plagues.
The Sun and Moon reap pain sown
from so long ago.
~ ☾☀️☽ ~
It's alright.
Because you will be beyond our world.
Where you will no longer be weary.
Where you will no long be pitied.
Where you will finally be free.
~ ☾☀️☽ ~
Where Love is sweet and Sleep is kind.
To you both.
The Storm was always yours.
It blessed you for good reason.
~ ☾☀️☽ ~
Where the moon is full and the sun is high,
Where the mountains stand so strong in vain,
Where the meadows chant and greet the light,
Where the roses bloom and sylleblossoms cry dew,
Where the wind carry joy and not whirls of sad.
~ ☾☀️☽ ~
There you are,
The King of Kings,
Noctis Lucis Caelum,
and his consort,
Lady Lunafreya,
~ ☾☀️☽ ~
I see you there.
Swaying and drifting off to the sound
of sweet chimes.
Under the Sky of the Light's Night...
~ ☾☀️☽ ~
Oct 9, 2017
Oct 9, 2017 at 4:04 PM UTC