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Chris Thomas Apr 2016
Motionless and stationary
Yesterday haunts the steps of my boots
Over you, or just halfway under you?
Watching daybreak with one eye open
Nearing the point where splinters break

Weather is calm, but I'm a soul of storms
Out of the frying pan, out of reasons why
Rational?  No, but I never claimed to be
Seven hours in this abyss of apathy
Traitor!  Keep your distance and your sympathy

Each their own, but I've disowned myself
Nursing bitterness to spark another war
Everyday is just a spectre of deceit
My reflection stares right back at me
You, my friend, have become my own worst enemy
Yuki Jan 19
What I like about diamonds
are their splinters,
the thorns of the rose
you picked up in winter.
s Aug 2018
Hi there.
Sometimes it hurts to think.
I'm driving around in my hometown
I saw this old park that me and my friends would run and laugh and play at all the time.
We played cops and robbers
Lava Monster
Freeze tag
We acted like knights in strong armor and princesses with glittery dresses and we all slayed the dragons
Well now here I am staring at this old swing set that no one swings on anymore.
I used to think that I could touch the clouds with my feet if I swung high enough.
There is something so lively about a group of kids laughing and playing on a playground.
There is something so eerie about an old empty playground where no one goes.
That playground used to be so alive.
Now the swing creaks as it sways in the slight breeze.
You can almost hear faint whispers of the kids laughing from years before.
Now all those kids are adults with lives and responsibilities that are much more important than slaying a dragon.
The wood has splinters that get stuck in your fingers.
It is not shiny and fun anymore.
It used to be new
But I have found that everything changes eventually.
I wish people didn't leave so unexpectedly.
Anyways I am just rambling
but next time you see a playground
just try to look away.
it hurts to think too long
Bye.
I am so sad. So many people keep dying
Juhlhaus Mar 5
From where the bridge was, after the first plunge
Soothed the sunburnt skin and the hay-splinters
Loosed the straw stuck in ears
After I left you under the porch light
I stood alone on the other side of the night
Where poplars reached for the moon and stars
And the cows chewed on bits of memory from when
In the cobwebs and calf pens
They were brought to life by your gentle hands

You crossed two worlds to find me in the darkness
But I was not the one you were searching for
You prayed for miracles while
God stood by, arms crossed
Taking in the sunset and the clouds
Like an old tree beside a grave carefully fenced
To keep it disheveled amid tended fields
Thus the cancer had its way and I could not
Fill the void left in your heart or mine

With no more tears to soften dry leather
I put both our hearts on skewers and held them
Over the bridge's burning planks
Too close and they were immolated
Not carefully spun to stay golden and warm inside
So I packed my hollow heart full of nothing
Filled the passenger seat, until
There was only room for me and the steering wheel
And no way to turn
Ilia Talalai Sep 2018
when you meet me...
                                     hush my love,
don't tell me that this depth
                               makes you afraid.

That my voice is like a siren 
                           singing on an ocean of words.
                                                          ­                          
A whirlpool
pulling you under
where no light can shine with grace.

Your crashing heart
is yours to cherish tenderly.

In my arms,
                  you will cyclone to the very
                                                               b­ottom of your soul.
My arms
              are here to hold you
                                            while your heartship
                              splinters and cracks
              on its spiraling
downward journey.

Held
in my arms,
you and I will feel it all.

And when it is all over,
when stillness prevails...

from the crumbling shipwreck you
will be born anew.

a mermaid swimming through the ethereal waters of her soul.
Rising up,
                  up,
                         up
                                breaking the surface
                                 to drink her first
                               sweet sip of salty air...

searching for the land
she once remembered
in a time now lost.

when you meet me...
tell me that my arms are as vast as the horizon,
that they are the very water you breathe
holding you through all your waves and ire.

when you meet me...
tell me that my eyes are like the night sky,
that their depth holds the whole universe
within a twinkling facade.

when you meet me...
                                when you meet me...
                                                           ­      when you meet me...
jane taylor May 2016
erstwhile a halcyon extant universe incessantly ceaseless
cradled itself in hues of violet phosphorescence
laced with cobalt shimmering stars
perpetually whole it nonetheless
sought to know itself

encompassing all that is bubbling over in effervescent ebullience
intertwined with indescribable catastrophic splendor
it shattered into tens of millions of splinters
of eloquent efflorescent light
shining in the night

each splinter heretofore imbued with sempiternal felicity
began to conjure sumptuous dulcet elixirs
furtively seeking out savory emollients
to mollify the pique of separation
plummeting they fell

into monstrous competition seeking demesne they lost the purpose
of gaining awareness and intelligent consciousness
surreptitious estrangement overflowed
deluging them in excruciating agony
thus an epiphany was born

the carving of the beleaguered fragments inked with tremendous pain
created a transfiguration of splinters to crystals
hence enlightenment commenced as the gems
magnetized together constructing a world
where omnipotence shines

the ineffable beauty formed by the reintegration of crystals
far exceeds the original as they dazzle with universal light
bursting from diamonds etched in deep wisdom
flooding the firmament with kaleidoscopic
rainbow strobes cascading the sky

©2016janetaylor
Skaidrum Jul 2015
An armor of cloth
is all I have to offer.
                                                 resonate like tiger lilies
     A shield of granite
splinters like glass
                                                  extend further than orchids
         A sword of ink
spun from the backbones
of poets awaits you
                                                   bleed thicker than roses
This is the art
of flirting with
death and
having a one night
stand
with life.
.
She loves me, she loves me not....

© Copywrite Skaidrum
L B Mar 2017
The right winter
for dope and ice
for walks along the river route
home

The right winter
for arctic pin-***** wind
holes in boots
turquoise dress coat
far too thin
for walks along the river

But The Merrimack couldn’t find her way
when fabric moguls migrated south
Fascinated by nylon nasties
they traded their silks and cottons
for those petro-polyesterdays

While she—
could no more manufacture life
than mint their money
So, they blamed her
Pronounced her—“Dead”
Decried her “*****”

Now—
She wanders sadly under bridges
stopping to eddy in an overhang of birches
In dank canals, I found her sleeping
angered only at the falls

Poor outcast!
with current edge she splinters light
from cities sadder still
retching her oily stench 
        past Plum Island
into the sea— into me

What’re a few warm tears
falling from someplace on a bridge
to the icy waters of the Merrimack?
Rivers get lost in the ocean don’t they?

Let them find each other there
https://www.pinterest.com/pin/240872280040374240/

I never knew anything about Jack Kerouac, and only today, learned that he breathed his last on my 20th birthday in 1969, just as I came to his sad hometown of Lowell, Massachusetts to endure a baptism of my own.
Jordan Rowan Dec 2015
There's a simple life somewhere
Out there in the cold
If it's dead, I don't care
I'm already too old
The window feels like winter
It makes me think of home
My thought's been split to splinters
On this lonely, teenage road

Have you seen my possessions?
I think I left them in Omaha
I've got no obsessions
As we pass through Arkansas
Can you play our song?
Only if you sing it with me
And if you've been driving too long
Give the control back to me

There's a ringing in my ear
It's the voice of an angel speak
Tell me, I want to hear
Your stories awaken me
This wheel's on fire now
Just like our skin and our hearts
And before it's over now
Can you tear me apart?

I've been in here too long
I can't stand the engine noise
I need to get back home
And have a drink with the boys
Can you fill up the tank?
Can you bring me to the end?
Don't take this to the bank
But I want to see you again
Anecandu Nov 2018
In the Castle of my smile
All lovely words are imprisoned in stone
This place I am King that stretches a mile
My tongue its gilded throne

In the Castle of my smile,                
I spy through its bars of milky white
The silky wonderful love of my life 
Walk Eden's paradise of light.

In the Castle of my smile,                
I weave a golden rope of magic letters,
Gluing jointed lyrics with praise filled ethers
Ignoring the splinters of criticism  for better.

My means of escape down the walls to you.
Our blood is equipped with spit and spirit
And it flows right into our splintered hearts
We are already shifting stratospheres
For there was a lonely place here
Even before the earth appeared, quite naked
We infiltrated the epicenter of the universe
Just to hear her whisper in the dark
Alex McQuate May 2018
Great tragedy suffered,
Impossible circumstances conquered,
The warrior walks upon the field flanked path.

The wanderer's armor tells a tale,
Battle scarred and partially rent asunder,
A face of stoicism that hides the haggardness underneath,
Peeking out beneath the mask of a hardened soldier.

The clouds clap ahead, preceded by flashes of light brightly illuminating the world,
Accompanied shortly after by the rainfall.

A trickle becomes a downpour,
The battered individual trudging along as the road becomes a bog of mud and slop,
The message firmly planted within their mind.

Coming upon the dark outline of the castle ahead the warrior picks up pace,
Reflecting upon what would happen to those that the Warrior helped.

The pace is now fueled by a different kind of urgency.

The rain is cold upon the faces of those that it falls on,
The torn edges of metal digging in at places,
Some already wounded and tender,
As the final hilltop between them is crested.

The gates are closed,
And this loyal soldier is for the moment shut out,
A fist is raised,
The declaration of allegience given,
An angry detailing of the warriors achievements and adventures shouted,
And a challenge of one's path,
Building in anger and fury as the dam finally breaks and gushes forth,
Threatening to shatter the gate and doors to splinters and twisted metal.

A long ago promised gift to be rewarded,
For all the things endured,
Things that could be considered so cruel,
The storm picks up in force until it's akin to that of a hurricane,
As if brought forth by the warrior's grief and pain finally being released,
For the first and only time.

These things ringing out dispite the storms roaring wind,
Gathering force,
Perhaps in affirmation of the warriors words.

After a pause the gate begins to lift,
It's metal screeching,
The doors groaning as they begin to swing outward, and the embattered soldier is bathed in light,
Taking the weight from the warrior's shoulders,
As the threshold is finally crossed.
Lay the edge across the page
and cut the words in two

Separate the vowels from the verbs
and eliminate the pronouns too

There is an objective in the adjective
fleshy skin parts the red red Sea

If the emotions in motion cause commotions
they must be extracted
immediately

Never before such perception so clear
Picking splinters like scabs off the cross

So what never was will be no more
blood tastes salty in a memory's horde
Scissile means to cut into , apart , or off .
frances Jan 2014
if you have never found yourself
picking splinters from your veins
because you tried so hard to reconstruct
you forgot that not everything is fixable
then maybe you should stop reading

if you have never found yourself
scraping the earth into your own grave
wanting nothing but nothingness
and the silence that comes with departure
then maybe you should give up on me

because I have spent too many days
hoping my mind would suffocate my being
and trying to bind myself to the air around me
because I hate it when things change
for me to explain this only to be dismissed

there comes a time when the nights seem longer than the years
and the sky stops being black velvet
if you stare then you will see
ink spilled across a page

there comes a time of realisation: you are a stranger to yourself
you only notice you are dead
when you're coughing up soil like blood
only to swallow it again
Flavia Nov 2012
Why do you do this?
Your Army of Nothings
Who lay in the sun
and are all but sweet
who swelter and sweat
in that fresh cut grass
mowed by a man
you can't hope to know.
And you,
you there, with the grin
Who's side are you on anyway?
What made you the prince
of the Army of Nothings;
The leader, the first in command.
You spout and you spit
that ******* and bare
your teeth at me like you're the bomb
dot com
You're such a disgrace.
parading around
with your head up your ***
"So what's new?"
Oh, shut up,
You can't even fill out your pants.
Why should I care for you,
why should I feel?
How will I ever come home?
Where welcoming words
and magical treasure,
and stories that never come true
but are good.
Where futures of light once reigned so supreme
I swore they would never run dry.
I thought you'd missed out,
you know, then and there,
of the life that we talked of in dreams.
No flowers and chocolates,
no diamond rings,
just love.
Made of stuff so much deeper
and denser
and finer
and lovely, and warm, and alive...
But it's over, and done.
and I can't have it back.
So I go on avoiding
the Army of Nothings
as they come marching in
marching in
one two, at the ready
I feel deep in my bones
that breaking and tearing
Help me, archangel!
Save me! You promised!
You said you would always be there
in that carved-out big apple
our home, once upon
when we laughed and were happy and good.
But goodness runs out.
You made that as clear
as a crystal that needs to be smashed.
And I did that, remember?
I left it all broken and you were so proud
So proud I had chosen
the right over wrong.
yet you overlook
all the splinters of glass
all there
all here
all lurking in me.
I don't want to cry
or beg or to fight
But I loved you in ways
that she found unacceptable?

So silly, so stupid,
so big that it keeps you away

Not that I care very much
For your army of nothings
or things that remind me
of memories gone with the wind


**But I do.
gleck Feb 2016
''
Sand and stones between my bones.
Today the sun never shone.
Look how beautiful I am.

Chop, chop, chopped wood in the fireplace.
Don't get too close if you want to keep your face.
Be careful not to burn yourself.

It gives a certain warmth
And brings a certain want.
I would, yet I can't enjoy it by myself.

Royal blue like the winter hue.
My skin is merely bruised.
Can you still see how many times I've been hurt?

That winter depression.
Makes me want you as my new obsession.
Come in even if it's colder than outside.

Melt, melt me, I'm a letdown.
Having a meltdown.
I am melting under your fiery touch.

Snow flakes the skin.
I am in for a win.
What a special snowflake I am, wouldn't you say?

My heart is surrounded by splinters,
It shouldn't, yet it get's me through the winter.
Between my arms it's chiller, why don't you come hither?

Take a bite of me with your ice chipped teeth.
Swallow me up like a leech.
Red blood gauges from my blue veins.

Guess I'm not that royal anyway.
Hide it before you can complain.
-
Too late.
You already know the taste.
"
jane taylor Jun 2016
fly
born in illusory chains
gnarled metal
encrusted in my broken skin
the copper colored dust
of rusted steel
infectiously envelopes

shaving off antiquated layers
of fundamentalist religion
encrusted for generations
unpeeled until raw
an unsophisticated method
unveiling
ancient lodged glass shards
colored with deceit

brought before their court
interrogated
unfathomably skewered
an eerie salem witch trial
in modern times

barbarically they shun me
banished
i wander aimlessly
smelling the rotten decay of deceased community
as splinters pierce my feet
from the crooked wooden plank
i walk alone now

an unfathomable inner ache
kindled a residue within
igniting a wildfire from the darkest shadows
uncontainably erupting
i dance savagely
naked in the orange moonlight
and in every shaded edge
lit my soul ablaze

i am a nomad sheep
‘tho not one of their color
no pasture to contain me
no shepherd i can follow
theological safety nets
no longer there to catch me
bohemian-like
i plunge

free falling
plummeting
stripped wide open
magically
fearlessness
reverses gravitation

floating
untethered
i soar amongst
apricot tinged clouds
my skin still wet from rebirth
and rise with the flaming coral sun

you cannot destroy me
i twisted in your decrepit pencil sharpener
and with fresh mettle
cut through the chains that bound

you can have my ego
but you cannot have my soul

dismantling domestication
transcending limitation
wildly untamed
i fly

©2016janetaylor
my husband and i left the mormon church and lost many friends, family, and community
Since our life and beauty dies as fast
as we watch others grow.
We can only pass traces of ourselves,
the pieces, splinters of love to the new.
These pieces will out live all
despite the wrongs of time.
Harsh Dec 2014
When every other thing in your life has shattered
and you are a shell of a person and all you do
is call me at an ungodly hour to be alone,
you don’t have to say hello. You don’t have to say
anything. Let your sadness speak its lengths
through the silence that permeates through our phones.
I’ll stay on until you fall asleep, or I’ll come to your place
and hold you until you find your breath again.
I’ll wipe away the tears for you, but I won’t tell you
not to cry. Sometimes crying is the only thing we can do.

When you’re tired, just look at me and
give me one of those exhausted smiles we share;
I’ll carry you home and undress you.
I’ll fold your clothes to the side, tuck you into the covers,
and read to you while caressing your hair.
Don’t worry about snoring or moving about
while you sleep; just get your rest.

When you’re furious and all the world has done is
disappoint you, I’ll hang from a doorway and be
your punching bag. Don’t be gentle with me.
Yell until your voice splinters and you punch your knuckles raw
and stomp until your knees give out from under you.
I’ll lay you down and ice your hands and give you tea
for your throat. I’ll hold you as the rage turns into
anguish and frustration and all you can do is tremble.

And even when my actions are futile and
all my words do is come crashing about your ears,
I promise that I will at least try for you.

All your wounds heal both inside and out.
I will always be here to soothe the burns.
I will always listen to your rants and ramblings.
I will always have a hand for you to hold.
I will always love you; everything that I have
and everything that I am, all that that I ever will be,
is yours.

Always.
My rendition of this piece: http://lntroductions.tumblr.com/post/75665068982/and-if-you-call-me-at-4-am-too-sad-to-even-say
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