"stingingly" poems
Gnarled cedar ridges match one wrinkle,
Red on my foreheads smooth, pale, taunt skin
Contrasting the deep skies blue, roundness seen,
Through two globular, wet, brown eyes.
Cedar bark can feel jagged outside but,
Like my own tongues tendency to tell truths,
When picked open releases a green scent,
Honestly pungent, stingingly needed.
Cedar roots are buried under mounds of aged Earth–decay,
Gripping tight like family, faith, friends, remaining
As the one force that holds the Cedar up,
And I too reach my hands up in praise.
Oct 7, 2012
Oct 7, 2012 at 4:34 PM UTC
I sink in
I rest my knobby elbows on the hard glass
my dark, fuzzy, pinpricked reflection stares up at me
I place my cold palms on my hot eyes.
These eyes, they've seen too much
yet, nearly not enough
My chapped lips,
stingingly soothed by minty beeswax
My clothes
plaid polo flannel, red, green, tan, black, white, jumbles, like me
My cold feet stick out,
they rest painfully on a wood bar long stripped of stain
An old soul trapped with the mind of a child in a teenager's body.
This be will interesting.
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 1:05 AM UTC
Why break unto the will of the suffering when the summation of the whole amounts to nothing.
We can hold on to oversaturated dreams that portray a future not yet broken.
However, that past is where a misery is left, choking, a soul of unbreakable will with love.
Much like a moth diving into the most beautiful flame,
Expecting to be warmed rather than burned alive, but from the inside.
The internal struggle of aspects far deeper than the sum of four simply arranged letters.
From the habits we have to every emotion we display,
The meaning that fits between the space of each letter is an infinite array.
The construction of the connection so strong, it is only bound by the effort given in pursuit of that bond.
But like a pond still as glass, there is more underneath the surface for which to grasp.
We tread through life with water like emotions, hard and cold or warm and soft.
We take flight to places far beyond, breaking through emotions bonds to a new state of mind.
A soul so confined to infinitely roam, having lost the line that ties to the reality, stingingly true.
A wondering light, often too bright for others existences, never choosing a direction of conception.
But with the detection used by inner wisdom of once overturned beliefs, a soul that learned.
In the end there is little we can do to affect the grand design, to change the laid path or rewind time.
We are a grain of salt, melting away...
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 2:18 PM UTC