"safehaven" poems
evil homestead with wicked doors creak
a sound developed to make strong weak
incites adrenaline,
a sprint, a leap
fluid unto your place of sleep
nothing to be afraid of, of course.
except for the biting coldness, the source
unknown...
bed as your safehaven you lay and turn
and with silken walls you let down your guard
eyes drift shut but thoughts sporadic
you dream a dream, a dream of habit
in this dream you have no voice
and where you stay is not your choice.
pushed and moved throughout your lifetime
a little creak; your angry punchline.
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 12:01 AM UTC
Do you remember that night out by my car.
Daddys Caddy,
bright in the moonlight.
A home for our words, carefully choosen,
sometimes not.
A mutual ground.
A safehaven for thoughts too bold for sunlight.
The darkness helped us, I think.
Protected us from seeing too much,
when too much was being said.
Maybe I was a little drunk.
Thats all it took, some liquid courage,
for you to know that I was sorry.
You touched me then.
Not a "I just want to **** you" touch.
You felt me, deep inside.
You knew the claws of a beast were tearing me down.
Not one that could be tamed,
and could only be suppressed for so long.
He was there and you saw him,
clear in my eyes.
Usually gaurded, fighting him back.
But there he was,
pompous as any.
Jabbing me in the ribs,
"I told you I would get out"
There he was teeth beared and all,
ready to rip me down
right in front of you.
Right in front of my Daddys Caddy.
Claws, teeth and lies.
Sep 10, 2012
Sep 10, 2012 at 11:45 PM UTC
I am outside myself
Indefinite
I'm a puppeteer
Insinuating motivation
For stupid decisions
Manipulation has overtaken
Every aspect put forth from myself
Everything a lie
I never tell the truth
Everyone lies
There is no truth anymore
Much less a need for it
I do it
Don't you?
My life is nothing but
The greatest extremities
Of the definition of deceit
Nothing is good in this world
Not even people
They turn like everyone else
Wrecked
Angry
In desperate attempt
To discover a safehaven
Broken
Searching
And will never find
What they're looking for
Trust
So hard to gain
So easy to lose
So very difficult
The void can never be filled
I tire of fighting
Struggling
Journeying to find my place
I never find new
Pain
Suffering
Walls I built so high
Torn down by something
As mediocre
As unexpected
As a pin drop
I am weak
Please don't **** me
Oh, but they will
Especial words
Designed specifically
Annihilation
Cutting into
Tearing into
The very flesh of my
Invalid being
I do not belong
I'm the old abandoned house
On the street corner
The one that's been there for years
The one you walk by
Without a second thought
Nobody wants to buy me
I'm too tattered and shaken
You don't even look my way anymore
The old doll on the shelf
That no child begs their mother for
Porcelain face
Too fractured
For even the most innocent of souls
*I do not wish to struggle anymore.
I just want this to be over.*
Nov 22, 2010
Nov 22, 2010 at 8:54 AM UTC
sitting silent in the dark of the night
watching ferocious dustbunnies ending the
days work in the mindmines of corners
homebound they chant merrily as
they swirl towards the safehaven under
furniture only scared when awakened by
the sound of the vacuumcleaner but not tonight
tonight we let dustbunnies live their own lives
only sitting
and watching
dreaming that nothing is too much
too much is nothing
enough nothing and you wish for change
change change change in the corners
cornered we all seek a way out
or a way in or just away
up up and away we sway on stacks of hay
down down down on the farm of striped
grassiron eating stardustplasma for breakfast
wearing fenominal hatlike feathers in
the colours of the rainbow
of long gone heroes
from other times
time
tim
ti
t
.
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 3:38 AM UTC
i have found a pond in the tree line. its filled with life that has the natrual beauty that sweeps me away. thres a cat that just sits an the pedistool watching the colorfull fish swim around. his is so patiance just watching the fish swim around with just ceriousity and no attempt to break its posture. the water rippes when the wind passes threw the majestic trees. to me this is a safe haven to me where i can escape the bull **** in life that only want to make me go insane. this place i have found has a pond and a warm hot spring that is wonder full to just ley your mind empty from all the negitvity that swollows you hole. my insanity clears away when i just close my eyes and take in this beauryfull place. its my safehaven to escape so im never going to tell any one cause its only place i can have my mind be cleaned.
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 10:44 AM UTC
hypochondira and hyperactivity,
misguiding nouns.
*vinum bonum et suave,
bonis binum, pravis prave,
ave mundana laetitia!*
łyski - whiskey -
łysy... itching to slap a skinhead...
so the question:
what are the ad hoc parameters of
cogito ergo sum?
i so wish to be given an
ad hoc clarity for certain maxims...
in most instances they're bibles,
obscurity riddles them a hymnal status,
and that said: holy.
i wan't to be given the ad hoc
instruction manual for certain
eurekas...
i'm told that the already stated
prefigures subjectivity...
and that the subconscious
isn't merely a bystanders' experience of
puppetteering...
insinuation sphere...
just like i might add third party
inquisitors demanding of me that:
every dream has a hidden meaning behind it.
so many have died trying to
create the uncoscious contraceptive...
this mental *******
this exploitative subconscious insinuation
puppet motivation...
the subconscious only exists
to create the other's drone capitalisation
of fragility...
the synonym of the subconscious
within groundwork of making choices,
acknowledging ethic, is insinuation,
spies and the alphabetical fixation on
subversion, and all other subs- congregate.
and it really does sound like nonsense
once the enemy's tongue is waggling...
some even called it the
omnivore safehaven...
when in fact so much was prioritised
for dietary requirements...
that became bouldered
anorexic grey-areas;
synchronised skeleton army
tugging the chimeras of crimea,
shortened to the word: Krym.
knowing this tongue, i should be apt at
forging any and all ethnic linkage with it
being expressed: i should be gagging
for a forthnight spent in las vegas!
but there's me, dreaming of a tartar steak.
Jan 11, 2017
Jan 11, 2017 at 2:11 PM UTC
Your light
Shines in the night
My soul
Lost and so confused
You guide
Me from the dark
My savior
From past times demons
Your illumination
All I focus on
A safehaven
I can concede in
Your warmth
Pulls me towards you
Into light
Out of the dark
I owe
It all to you
Thank you
For waking me up
Jun 24, 2018
Jun 24, 2018 at 12:54 AM UTC