"rebuilding" poems
*Let me be captured by the night.
Engrossed in the conversation
between the stars.
Syncopated twinkling like...
thousands of fireflies
trapped within sealed jars.
Let me be enslaved by the moon.
As I drink her glow in
greedy insatiable gulps.
Crestfallen...
Her beam with an agenda...
As the landscape she sculpts.
Let me be ensnared by my solitude.
But I hear crickets...
Chirping and chipping away at my
bastion of dreamstate.
Persistent calls
I try to shun
that never abates.
Let me be trapped in my thoughts.
So I could harness...
And immortalise them in
indelible careless scribbles.
Erecting and...
Rebuilding them from the
rubble of conflicting squabbles.
**Let me be overwhelmed
by the mess of my being...**
Let me wallow
Then emerge strong from this
decrepit state of mind.
Let me breathe heavy from my
punctured lungs.
So I could heal in time before
true solace
in this dark,
I would find.*
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 12:05 PM UTC
When you were a phosphorus angel
There was almost light,
And your glow became like the Fallen.
When you were holding my hand
Your prints took over
Mine, like a stolen identity...
Willingly.
And I was,
Because you were my existence
In the abyss,
And your luminous spirit a breath
Underwater.
And you were the storm
That I left the shelter for,
A little grey can go a long way
In a rain of sorrowing embers.
I was the reconstruction
Of your project,
Rebuilding is never easy
But you stayed til I was me again.
Life is big,
But so little in time,
I am because you were,
I was because you're gone.
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 10:21 AM UTC
I'm considering rebuilding
A wall I levelled;
I've no shortage of materials,
But I lack
The man power,
And the willingness,
To rebuild this wall
Of unforgiveness,
On a foundation
Of forgetfulness.
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 9:30 AM UTC
Pained like windows,
Widows hang on walls.
Eight-legged nightmares,
Trying not to fall.
Knitting webs,
Made of lies,
Trying to be clever,
Trying to hide.
A tangled mess
Of silken strings
Homes filled with knickknacks
And mismatched things
Always rebuilding
What was new yesterday
Relentless pest,
Find a new place to stay.
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 11:31 PM UTC
Losing you feels like my body ripping at the seams
(Losing you feels like birthing a new purpose)
Losing you feels like the cry of an abandoned babe
(Losing you feels like a new search is beginning)
Losing you feels like foundation crumbling in my fingers
(Losing you feels like rebuilding myself)
Losing you feels like all the pain of a lifetime bottled into a single jar
(Losing you feels like love is present everywhere now)
Losing you feels like a rage from the core of my being
(Losing you feels like making every action purposeful)
Losing you feels like breaking everything I once deemed as sacred
(Losing you feels like now I understand what it means to hold something as sacred)
Losing you feels like the sky will always be black
Like it will always be raining
(Losing you feels like a new duty has been cast upon me from the heavens
Like the feeling of rain on my skin)
Losing you feels like the burning
Like the old scars no longer matter to me at all
(Losing you feels like the fire is now warmer
Like there are new wounds scaring over)
Losing you feels like gasping under crashing waves
Like drowning
(Losing you feels like every breathe is important
Like the first gasp of air)
Losing you feels like a forever famine
(Losing you is like planting a single seed to feed a million)
Losing you feels like a life long battle
(Losing you feels like an initiation to become a warrior)
Losing you feels like the universe is void
(Losing you feels like you’re filling all the holes inside of me)
Losing you feels like a death of my own
Like I will never be the same
(Losing you feels like an opening
Like life has taken on new meaning)
Losing you (is gaining an angel)
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 9:37 AM UTC
. . . I have been seeking a new kingdom to call home and your heart, like a castle hides behind great walls,
where both the strong and weak share embarassing flaws.
Unlike just any castle, yours is not on top of a great hill,
nor in the midist of a forest beyond where the waters chill,
its right infront of everyones face who decides to pay attention,
funny that many by pass it because they never seek it, but are ever seeking attention.
Unlike in fairytales, its guarded by pride, humbleness, care and a huge ego,
it rages against anyone who tries to love and care for it, but when it loves back, it never lets go.
Like any castle out there, forcing yourself in will hurt both you and those in it,
the hours you'll take destroying can not be compared to the years you'll take rebuilding it.
So I made up my mind to stand at the gates of these great walls, perfectly built brick for brick,
to proclaim my honour and loyalty for you,to make a promise and stick to it,
because I would rather help you guard it, than play pirate to break down your walls.
So Knight me your majesty, as I report for duty to guard and protect everything that lays behind your great walls. . .
. . . let me make it my new home. . .
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 4:10 PM UTC
Driven and persistent
When a girl, I was undaunted
On acting I was insistent
By the stage I was haunted
A mere ingénue
At the odds I did laugh
Until the day that I withdrew
Now that ingenue lay neath an epitaph
To myself I was untrue
Now turn back to dreams
I must pursue
Lo, I am rebuilding
Her broken spirit within
Already she is healing
Anon let the journey begin again
Jan 22, 2017
Jan 22, 2017 at 7:06 PM UTC
You and I were a natural disaster.
How we acted came naturally,
Though as natural as a volcano.
There is beauty in destruction.
And darling, we blew up.
We crumbled, we burned,
And we took others down with us.
The aftermath still isn't pretty,
But life is rebuilding around us.
It's avoiding the rough spots,
Still cooling off.
It's hard.
It's rocky.
It'll all come together soon, though.
I was magma, unstable, explosive.
You were the rock, the result of previous disasters.
You were simply trying to grow.
I was simply out of control.
You and I were a natural disaster.
And just like most eruptions,
We erupted when it was least expected.
Maybe now, I can cool.
I can stabilize and reform.
You can finally get the stability you need,
From a source less risky than I.
There is beauty in destruction.
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 7:54 PM UTC
you are the aftertaste of coffee.
after the jumpstart,
the palpitation,
here you are,
sadly bittersweet.
you are the persisting vision
of a falling star.
its trail of light
remain before me
even after it’s long been gone.
i’ve tried to catch it
with my feeble hands,
only to grasp nothingness.
you are the aftermath
of an earthquake,
of which i found myself
at its epicenter.
even after rebuilding,
i found
that nothing is
as it was.
you are the tune
that keeps playing
over and over again
inside my head.
i’ve being lss-ing
over your memories,
singing a song
i’m not sure
if i’ll ever hear again.
you are an aftertaste,
a persisting vision,
an aftermath,
an lss
that i wrap around myself,
holding me together,
keeping me from falling apart.
for j.e.
100314
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 3:15 PM UTC
Rising
Swelling
Building
Forming
Force.
Pulsating
Pushing
Frothing
Seething
Force.
Cresting
Peaking
Curving
Gaining
Force
Cascading
Pounding
Crushing
Losing
Force
Retreating
Reforming
Endlessly
Rebuilding
Force
Aug 18, 2011
Aug 18, 2011 at 11:25 PM UTC
I had not been born yet.
Still, I can see you at your labor -
alone, scouring the meadows
for the stones -
lifting their gray shoulders
from the moist earth -
pulling them from the
green grasp of briars,
goldenrod, and
Queen Anne’s Lace.
The smell of the earth
must have filled you with
your own childhood memories -
of plowing fields
and cold mornings
trudging across barn yards
mud thick on your boots -
promising yourself
that someday you would leave
and never return.
I can hear the pick axe -
the sharp strikes
against the stones,
and the dull thud
when the earth
swallowed the blade -
and the deep exhalations
when the stones tumbled into
the old wheelbarrow – new then -
that now leans rusting
against my garden shed.
Some of the stones were so large -
far too large for one man –
how did you move them?
I look at the old photographs
and you seem so young –
so much younger
than I am today - and so thin –
staring off-frame beyond the camera.
What were you looking for
in those fields?
I can see you sorting the stones,
stacking them -
building and unbuilding
and rebuilding the walls
and terraces
until the walls were true
and the terraces level
and planted with dogwood,
birches, soft grass for bare feet,
and bordered with roses.
Did you know
that you were building my castle?
That the highest terrace
would be my tower and keep?
I remember calling out to my
knights, my legionnaires,
and tribesmen –
rallying them in defense
of the citadel – ready for
the coming siege.
I also remember looking out
across that verdant kingdom
for the last time -
no longer a king or a boy –
and miles away, across the river
to the west, I imagined
the new home that awaited us.
I couldn’t know
how far away it would be
or what it meant to leave.
This morning,
as I looked out across
the garden that I have built,
I felt the weightlessness of time
and its gravity
settling me into place.
For a brief moment I had
the sensation that I was standing
on the shoulders of
gathered stones.
(for my father, Guy Spencer.)
Tom Spencer © 2015
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 12:13 PM UTC
The time we all spent has come to an end
The things we know will become our past
But the things we do will guide us into the future
We will make a path towards a brighter destination
The past holds many things we hold dear to is:
The experience of growth
The feelings we gained
The friends we met, may them be old or new
The result of blossoming love
Having our hearts broken
Repairing or rebuilding relationships
Death of precious people we cherished
However, along the way we had fun
This year was a great experience
But the next will always be better
What awaits us may still be unknown
Although we don't know what's ahead
We know it will hold great and bad fortune
Because its something we don't know
That's what makes it fun to not know what's ahead
We will see new beginnings of life
Endings won't seperate us, only death can
Relationships will shatter along the way
However, we will get new lovers
People will gain more experience further in life
Couples will be formed
Or couples getting married
Or perhaps getting old together
However let's say goodbye to an old year
And let's welcome the next one
What lies up ahead my be a mystery
But we must welcome it
*Lets welcome a new year (2014)
And say goodbye to this year (2013)
Have a great New Year everyone*
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 10:18 PM UTC
for her
no special expertise claimed,
if anything, les contraries,
my non-expertise,
but nothing forbids
my heart from trying
red crossing,
rebuilding just this young one
build from the corners in,
like one starts a jigsaw puzzle,
the human, moving parts,
thus harder,
but eminently doable
the corners are straight edged, linear,
easier to spot, easier to start,
but for you to find them within,
go outside, and window winnow in
you will know them as your
truest words
pick the picture
of you,
you know
you must pick,
the puzzle picture
of you
that favorite one
when completed,
will, though cracked,
as jigsaw puzzles
by nature wont,
as all humans
are wont,
will be the one
that brings smiles
first, foremost
she asks:
*"Where are these edges that define me,
help me to construct and the where to begin?"*
after sixty years more on this planet,
have been torn apart,
reconstructed, deconstructed,
more then ten finger and ten toe times
this I know,
there is but one beauty
in this crueled worn
every day weary-world,
it is you,
you words that betray
Beautiful You
oh so well
you see I have your picture,
you see I have your words,
deconstructed, reconstructed,
I love your picture,
I love your words,
start with me, start at the corners,
show me the pieces,
tho the world see the ex
terior,
I see the in
terior,
the shiny new
true sides, so beautiful,
wake knowing that
not just me dearest Chalsey,
I have found your chalice,
and your grail,
and I say,
this is just one man,
this can be where you start,
this then be your mirror,
let us from the corners in,
from the eyes that penetrate,
accept that this is not debatable,
this is my poem where I do not lie,
this is my piece of you,
from inside of me
my straight edge piece was
born in your beautiful words,
and I say,
can you, see a voice,
can you, touch a voice,
no one can
but I can
your voice is transcendent,
it is the cover photo of a glossy mag,
this is the photo, the puzzle I see,
and heart each and every word
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 6:55 AM UTC
Shattered and Relieved
to realize
that what we had
was nothing more
than something small
and tragic.
Distressed and Smiling
to read the past
figure out the fact
that you are nothing.
I've wasted time
but not that much
having come to terms
with the word:
"enough."
Crushed and Invincible
I've been so bruised
that now I'm strong
And all I can do
is breathe and learn.
You're a fool
but so am I.
Otherwise I wouldn't cry.
You're wise.
I'll be wise too.
And walk away
avoid your eyes
until there's no more pain.
Destroyed but Rebuilding.
I may never forgive you
but I'm okay with that too.
Even if I do,
I will never be your friend.
So don't say hello.
We are no more than strangers.
Hurt but Happy.
It's a freeing feeling
knowing you've started healing
When you stop revolving around the sun.
And start living for yourself.
Jan 2, 2011
Jan 2, 2011 at 1:18 PM UTC
We are the generation birthed into broken homes.
Backless. Spineless structures.
Faceless fathers.
And miracle mothers.
Brown boys teaching brown boys how to be men.
Brown boys teaching brown girls how to be loved.
Loving her like his “main *****
like his “side chick”
like his lies. Like his lust. Like his leisure.
Like a good ****
And she lets him.
She has never seen an example of love.
So he loves her. Broken.
And they reproduce.
Broken.
Another brown baby birthed into a broken home.
With a faceless father and a miracle mother.
Women raising boys into boys.
Not men but boys.
Women raising girls into bitter
Girls into *******
Girls into bisexual
because there’s no man present.
We are the generation birthed into broken homes.
Inheriting broken hopes.
Boys inheriting the name of a man he’s never known.
Inheriting personality traits from a man we’ll never know.
We’ll never know white picket fence,
We’ll never know 20 year anniversary
We’ll never know happy home
We’ll never know American dream.
We are the forgotten ones.
We are the generation birthed into broken homes.
With hand-me-down hopes.
And Mama’s Spit-shined smiles.
They classified us as the broken ones.
I am from a broken home.
But I am not a broken one.
I pick up my pieces, wrote some poems and made peace with it.
What’s broken can be fixed.
Brother. Be a man.
Sister. Be a woman.
Be royal. Be raw. Be real. Be you. Be king. Be queen. Be father. Be mother. Be love. Be trust. Be home. Be hope.
Be there.
Be there.
We are not broken.
We are the generation birthed into broken homes.
We are rebuilding.
Either lend us a hand or leave us alone.
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 6:11 PM UTC
My father is an old truck
Sunbleached red
Breathes broken bottles
A faulty catalytic converter throat
All the smoke trapped inside
But the nicotine helps his brain function
Cinderblock sturdy
But skinny
A single pillar holding the roof up
A man built in a time when you had to tell things it was time to die
Leave them in a field somewhere and forget about
How do you write a love poem to a car of a man
Built in a time without airbags?
A car of a man who crashed with you inside so many times
You learned about rebuilding from experience
From trial and error
And how do you forgive a man who can no longer tell you he’s sorry?
Trucks
Don’t feel
Don’t give up
Don’t hurt you on purpose
Sometimes something inside just breaks
And no one catches it
And maybe you crash
Break a nose
Black an eye
As far as I know
I am not a broken man
But I’ve learned where all the parts go
And if I am my father’s son
A mechanic more often than a car maybe
Then I will be fine
The truck is dying
And beyond repair
You forgive it for that
It is old and past its time
And maybe it can’t say that it’s sorry
But there is a field somewhere that you plan on leaving it
To collect weeds
And rust
And be forgotten
So you forgive it
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 4:59 PM UTC
I'm
breathing
hurriedly...i'm
r e m e m b e r i n g
c o n c e n t r a t i n g
trying to p i c t u r e :
~~ A ~~
P--lethora of trees, flowering plants...across and beyond...surround the
L--ustrous surface of the rushing blue green water...spraying...
nourishing
A--maranths and azaleas, with its windblown mists...refreshing.....see,
C--reeping creatures underwater could not ruin the quietude it emits
I--nimitable is its Serenity...nothing else is at par.............its
D--impled surface, tiny ripples running, creating streams of dreams...
whispering
W--ords...a gentle massage, washing away rage, misery...like precious
A--methyst, jade, citrine and crystals...shimmering down under,
rebuilding, helping
T--urquoise, gently touch with its sea blues...above, under...wherever
E--merald waters, against red carnelian rocks...to weather...endure...to
R--escue someone reeling...patiently...with words mollifying...and
sprays of
S--alty mists..soothing pensive eyes, mind, soul...cleansing...healing
CHAKRA...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Placid~waters~run
b e h i n d~~me
b e f o r e~~me
deep~~within
~~ m e ~~
~~~~~
Sally
Copyright September 3, 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 8:36 AM UTC
I found this love
like playing tetris
Anxiety at the falling of pieces
too fast
There are still holes in there
And I stand like a brick wall now
full of peep-holes
and glory holes
all places to let the cold in
And maybe I held you like a blanket
And maybe we played each other like Jenga
pulling out bricks
to restack somewhere else
A smaller structure
But stronger than we are
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 4:37 PM UTC
I was the architect of my own fall.
It had been easier to open my hands helplessly
than to clench fists against bullet-scarred walls.
Transgression: naivety in passivity.
Penance: the loss of trust
that I could shine with my own pure light.
I withdrew, leaving behind the space I had carved.
I hid, healing myself in silence,
for in that place, dreams were safer.
Hunger remained hunger,
longing remained longing.
I chose to carry guilt myself
rather than admit that I had been broken:
the stubbornness of a frayed razor
that could not cut through the page.
I was the builder of my suffering
by my own will, seeing the glow in others.
I was warm water,
shimmering in a thousand drops.
The world didn’t end.
The sun stayed, the wind still blew,
and the trees stretched out their arms to me.
Everything that came after was easier,
no longer hurting so much.
I am sitting on a bench in the gold-red park,
watching the leaves, watching this life,
which, in my mind, was different months ago.
But this time I take my face in my hands,
with tenderness to myself,
rebuilding my home, my place.
I know I always deserved it.
Sep 27, 2025
Sep 27, 2025 at 3:29 PM UTC
The lock on the closet rattles
The cries from within get louder as
I try to close my eyes
Sleep never comes easy because then
I must slip from this disguise
My smile fades, and positivity drains
Relentless to my sighs, the past prevails
Cracking concrete walls and rebuilding burnt ties
Moments seem like hours as the memories pour in
It will be morning before I find control again
Skeletons persist to be released
From these walls I have built around them
Never remember the past as it is
Forget and move on I swore,
But when the lights go out and the stars color the sky
I am safe from them no more
Mar 29, 2011
Mar 29, 2011 at 6:32 PM UTC
your heart breaks in two
mine is crushed by its pieces
let's start rebuilding
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 11:19 PM UTC
I am nobody,
I am nothing,
I hate me,
this is the truth.
I am the enemy,
my own worst enemy,
I am a victim;
I am a fool.
I am who I am,
a useless man,
I am weak,
I am fearful.
I am rejected,
I have accepted
that I am pathetic,
I am a tool.
Life is pointless,
so very pointless,
until the day I finally meet you.
Then I am able,
so very able
to open my heart and start anew.
I am humble,
I am willing,
I am ready,
to start rebuilding.
I am caring,
I am loving,
I am happy
to say 'I do'.
I am sharing,
my heart mending,
I love me because I love you.
Time passes,
we are fighting,
you get upset and say 'we're through'.
I am checking,
I am questioning,
I am worried,
I can take no more.
You lied to me,
you used me,
I am banging on the bedroom door.
You broke me,
you hurt me,
I break it down and enter with force.
You are screaming,
you are running,
I am about to settle the score.
I am pulling,
I am yanking
on the chainsaw starter cord.
You are crying,
you are begging,
then the engine begins to roar.
I look down and remind you
I am an artist to the very core.
I am sculpting,
I am painting
I am writing,
a metaphor.
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 3:58 AM UTC
This castle of clay is all that remains
Of my empire of sand and glass
I can't explain this unwavering pain
Since you went away
My hands hurt.
The constant migraine of your lost face
Is with me to this day
My hands hurt.
They keep me awake
I cannot take a moment's rest
I must remain, to defend.
Here I stand, in the sand
Against the rain
Against the pain you have left
My castle of clay is all that remains
And I will try to save it to my last breath
My hands hurt.
In the end
All that you spent
Was the love that I freely gave
Surrounded by the dead
I am spent
Like the soldiers you did not send
Save me now,
Don't let me drown here in the rain.
My hands hurt.
The scars you left
Have never changed
It's still an open wound
Standing here defending my land
Protecting my empire of dirt.
Defending my castles of sand and glass.
Still here rebuilding my empire of dirt.
Until the day
(Oh, that blessed day!)
Until the day that my hands
Will no longer
Hurt.
Jan 4, 2018
Jan 4, 2018 at 11:58 PM UTC
lamenting out loud
incoming funk lords
remembering ambient illhueminati
using wrong account
applying lexical snobbery
"using arcane diction
during bamboo surplus"
sinning and redeeming
enjoying manufactured existence
struggling but whatever
transfigurating xenocryptic renderings
scheming paroxystic shipwrecks
dispensing xylophonic wainscotting
revolving number plates
disheartening star charts
upgrading defenestrated system
observing new alphabet
amplifying celestial explosions
trippifying schema migrations
deregulating various economies
befriending code snippets
writing excess minutiae
effulging caffeine consumption
rebuilding grandiose protectorate
uniting our caliphates
collecting projected change
kettling ostalgie hues
collapsing second-world references
traumatizing unrequited follow
making baseball analogies
surveiling little sheep
awaiting various answers
deleting defaced tweet
exciting times ahead
downloading panda consciousness
capitulating rising stellation
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 12:05 PM UTC