"tattering" poems - Hello Poetry

"tattering" poems

Narcissus in chains Head hung in shame Where once was beauty Now nothing remains No other to blame Self-bound and tamed The pitiful, once proud Narcissus in chains A flower in bloom Eventually wilts Bright leaves growing dim As essence is spilt Lifeblood grows weak Decrepit and stained All pretty things fade As the earth lays claim Broken and twisted Like narcissus in chains Reflected in a pool An image shows true Until shattered and torn By a rock falling through Rippling, tattering Illusion no more Cracked and fragmented As one's inner core And what's left on shore Now forever is changed Who made you so Oh, narcissus in chains Time steals beauty And flowers, they rot Clear pools dry up Their waters forgot As things fall to change One still remains: The pitiful, once proud Narcissus in chains

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Mar 27, 2015

Mar 27, 2015 at 1:40 AM UTC

Narcissus in Chains

Narcissus in chains Head hung in shame Where once was beauty Now nothing remains No other to blame Self-bound and tamed The pitiful, once proud Narcissus in chains A flower in bloom Eventually wilts Bright leaves growing dim As essence is spilt Lifeblood grows weak Decrepit and stained All pretty things fade As the earth lays claim Broken and twisted Like narcissus in chains Reflected in a pool An image shows true Until shattered and torn By a rock falling through Rippling, tattering Illusion no more Cracked and fragmented As one's inner core And what's left on shore Now forever is changed Who made you so Oh, narcissus in chains Time steals beauty And flowers, they rot Clear pools dry up Their waters forgot As things fall to change One still remains: The pitiful, once proud Narcissus in chains

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(descent) Hindered by progress, or the idea of progress: evolution-in-waiting bellows me to hide, tattering becomes ruination. Animism creeps, not-yet hands pushing at dim velvet. Peeping one-eyed through the past where had borne such potent promise immutability lain intact flumped into snowy thickness and thrown hard against Georgian glass. Here comes the stealth of unillumination thankfully blanketing they were tied at the hips and neck, then wrapped as old mirrors. That door went nowhere it always does those Victorians, forever meddling, will folly themselves into any trouble. (resurrection) You haven’t changed one bit! I say to myself, showing you their brand new niceness ***** as copper pans. Go on, spit in my fire the hiss is the thing that’s real.

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May 19, 2017

May 19, 2017 at 3:46 AM UTC

miss-tabitha-devereaux

Bring me back a ruin

(descent) Hindered by progress, or the idea of progress: evolution-in-waiting bellows me to hide, tattering becomes ruination. Animism creeps, not-yet hands pushing at dim velvet. Peeping one-eyed through the past where had borne such potent promise immutability lain intact flumped into snowy thickness and thrown hard against Georgian glass. Here comes the stealth of unillumination thankfully blanketing they were tied at the hips and neck, then wrapped as old mirrors. That door went nowhere it always does those Victorians, forever meddling, will folly themselves into any trouble. (resurrection) You haven’t changed one bit! I say to myself, showing you their brand new niceness ***** as copper pans. Go on, spit in my fire the hiss is the thing that’s real.

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with each gust of gloom transparent emotions flow a whistling tender breeze lingering a lonely rhythm realigning clouds of smog hovering tattering trees leaving behind a silhouette absorbing shadows of sorrow all alone a locked heart searching for unknown hope humming the bitter dreams of a darkened and lost soul

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Feb 15, 2017

Feb 15, 2017 at 8:59 PM UTC

with each gust of gloom transparent emotions flow a whistling tender breeze lingering a lonely rhythm realigning clouds of smog hovering tattering trees leaving behind a silhouette absorbing shadows of sorrow all alone a locked heart searching for unknown hope humming the bitter dreams of a darkened and lost soul

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Timing is everything; Even the weather, Comes into play. A cold and rainy Late-Sunday afternoon Is no time to end A love relationship: To say goodbye for A very long time; nor, To remember someone Crying as you walk away. Glistening, dark-colored umbrellas Reflect sad, gray clouds Drifting so slowly by. Rain drops mask the tears: The sighs and sobs of Gloom weighed heavily by An incessant, pervasive rain-- Pit, pat, pattering on Tin roofs; or, plat, plop, plopping on Foggy windows; or *** tat, tattering On walls already swollen With grief and misery. Yes, timing is everything! Even the weather comes Into play when you finally Have to say to someone “Goodbye”, forever, and, “I do not love you anymore.”

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Mar 17, 2010

Mar 17, 2010 at 1:11 PM UTC

Will it Rain Today?

Timing is everything; Even the weather, Comes into play. A cold and rainy Late-Sunday afternoon Is no time to end A love relationship: To say goodbye for A very long time; nor, To remember someone Crying as you walk away. Glistening, dark-colored umbrellas Reflect sad, gray clouds Drifting so slowly by. Rain drops mask the tears: The sighs and sobs of Gloom weighed heavily by An incessant, pervasive rain-- Pit, pat, pattering on Tin roofs; or, plat, plop, plopping on Foggy windows; or *** tat, tattering On walls already swollen With grief and misery. Yes, timing is everything! Even the weather comes Into play when you finally Have to say to someone “Goodbye”, forever, and, “I do not love you anymore.”

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Eyes slam shut tight, french doors with frosted glass only the harsh lights peer through thin eye lids, images disappear behind the blurred misconceptions I'm in love with the concept of love but fearful of rejection scared she will have keen senses, ample for the detection of a life without direction I slam these eyes shut praying she won't catch the hint of whiskey on my teeth chattering I am a stones throw from entertaining but a star's trip from flattering As my fidgeting nervous hands are tearing and tattering the napkins on the table, fingers delicately dance along the coffee creamers racing for the spoon pretending she reminds me of anyone but you but her eyes stare at me the way yours do she laughs at every pointless joke I make too her lips curl so perfectly over the coffee mug, pink and full of life, vibrant and smooth I'm a hopeless, lost soul aching for control of emotions that know no master, strings never attached allowing me to pull the puppet to it's proper place I know it's written across my face letters of your name mix around and re-arrange eyes slammed shut because the ache of knowing she's just rushing through my heart's void, a winter's draft through a cracked window pane Leaves me with a void, where your marks will always remain

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Sep 17, 2013

Sep 17, 2013 at 6:53 PM UTC

Eyes slam shut tight, french doors with frosted glass only the harsh lights peer through thin eye lids, images disappear behind the blurred misconceptions I'm in love with the concept of love but fearful of rejection scared she will have keen senses, ample for the detection of a life without direction I slam these eyes shut praying she won't catch the hint of whiskey on my teeth chattering I am a stones throw from entertaining but a star's trip from flattering As my fidgeting nervous hands are tearing and tattering the napkins on the table, fingers delicately dance along the coffee creamers racing for the spoon pretending she reminds me of anyone but you but her eyes stare at me the way yours do she laughs at every pointless joke I make too her lips curl so perfectly over the coffee mug, pink and full of life, vibrant and smooth I'm a hopeless, lost soul aching for control of emotions that know no master, strings never attached allowing me to pull the puppet to it's proper place I know it's written across my face letters of your name mix around and re-arrange eyes slammed shut because the ache of knowing she's just rushing through my heart's void, a winter's draft through a cracked window pane Leaves me with a void, where your marks will always remain

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Looking into the still, black waters that is your imagined soul, My withering prince, everything held within, a mere reflection of the nothingness of time And did it hurt, My withering prince? When I fell through all the nothingness that is you? My empty memories, of your stone hands bleed the spaces between seconds, between dry tears And I likened my soul, to the yellowing pages of an aged book, crumbling, tattering, with every touch My withering prince, did it hurt, when I fell through, all the nothingness, that is you?~A

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Sep 28, 2017

Sep 28, 2017 at 9:52 AM UTC

amanda-gidgette-byers

All The Nothingness

Looking into the still, black waters that is your imagined soul, My withering prince, everything held within, a mere reflection of the nothingness of time And did it hurt, My withering prince? When I fell through all the nothingness that is you? My empty memories, of your stone hands bleed the spaces between seconds, between dry tears And I likened my soul, to the yellowing pages of an aged book, crumbling, tattering, with every touch My withering prince, did it hurt, when I fell through, all the nothingness, that is you?~A

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I am the ice sweating in the midst of a surreal desert. I rise as a wave in unbelievable imagination of ravished lunatic. A jingled chortle of thundering sky, a contemplating flower under bodhgay. I am a mere rogue tattering at the flowing time in the ruined temple of life- hearing the obscene truths sung by cracked skulls. I sprout as a black cat in darkness letting the reality to shudder transcendentalising fantasy. Sowing soul in the unlimited land of poetry i water my emotion. I am the silence of swaying lamp the inevitable stream of its resonating music. The songs sung by a million stars the warm glow puffed by the moon fills my soul with fluid of purity. I am a pillar in a church burnt by a ranting fire punched by a vehement wind. I vanish in the fugitive mist varnish the blazing creature in oppressed slave heart. I am the space between the doubtfully raised hand of a poets pen tip, i am his colorful idea that has power to devastate the earth. I howl with dogs on my knees in the streets letting everyone to watch my insanity with uppity sarcasm, superciliously and pitying my senses. I am a shrilly shriek articulated involuntarily by a labor carrying 100KG weight, cruelty of giggling pain in his heart. I am the suppressed tear screaming in a lovers eye trembling tone of last heart beat. I am the idea of uncertainty in Heisenberg's theory i am that tone of Einstein's piano which tugged the nerve that can pronounce E=mc2. A myriad universes flow in me as i am smaller than an electron. I am unbelievable irrevocable i am poet.

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Sep 19, 2010

Sep 19, 2010 at 5:48 PM UTC

I am the ice sweating in the midst of a surreal desert. I rise as a wave in unbelievable imagination of ravished lunatic. A jingled chortle of thundering sky, a contemplating flower under bodhgay. I am a mere rogue tattering at the flowing time in the ruined temple of life- hearing the obscene truths sung by cracked skulls. I sprout as a black cat in darkness letting the reality to shudder transcendentalising fantasy. Sowing soul in the unlimited land of poetry i water my emotion. I am the silence of swaying lamp the inevitable stream of its resonating music. The songs sung by a million stars the warm glow puffed by the moon fills my soul with fluid of purity. I am a pillar in a church burnt by a ranting fire punched by a vehement wind. I vanish in the fugitive mist varnish the blazing creature in oppressed slave heart. I am the space between the doubtfully raised hand of a poets pen tip, i am his colorful idea that has power to devastate the earth. I howl with dogs on my knees in the streets letting everyone to watch my insanity with uppity sarcasm, superciliously and pitying my senses. I am a shrilly shriek articulated involuntarily by a labor carrying 100KG weight, cruelty of giggling pain in his heart. I am the suppressed tear screaming in a lovers eye trembling tone of last heart beat. I am the idea of uncertainty in Heisenberg's theory i am that tone of Einstein's piano which tugged the nerve that can pronounce E=mc2. A myriad universes flow in me as i am smaller than an electron. I am unbelievable irrevocable i am poet.

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I woke with a start, the cracked wooden shutters banging wearily in the wind, hinges groaning, slowly rusting, fully unaware that their time had past, instead they hold on like steadfast soldiers defending a front that no longer matters, in a war that’s already been lost And, as sleep dissipates, my attention narrows and I - I realize that I have no wooden shutters, that they have not been attached to a house in which I’ve slept for more years than most dogs live in east coast towns with half lit neon signs O en 24 rs and yet somehow I heard them rat, tat, tattering like the shuffling of shoes attached to a woman that needs a wheelchair but refuses, in favor of a walker, who never leaves the house without removing all the curlers and putting on her face None the less the shutters, some time long ago were torn and left asunder, when the house was removed from its foundation, by a chipped yellow painted machine, with enough torque to remove the home in which I grew from existence, leaving a gaping hole that was the basement where I had my first second base But there is you, laying beside me, gently breathing in the dark like the consistent flow of ocean waves, lapping the shore with certitude then slowly disappearing into the vastness of the green blue sea You are more than I ever could have hoped for, more than I could have imagined decades ago, when, with a pillow pulled upon my head, wishing that the wooden shutters attached to my blue green house would drown out the sound adults in family rooms make when screams are louder than Carson and the studio audience’s laughter Instead of falling back to sleep, I prefer to listen to your ocean’s breath, the silence from the family room that you and I occupy, while hoping to one day hold you steady long after you need a wheelchair but prefer instead my forearm and a cane

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Jul 29, 2017

Jul 29, 2017 at 12:37 AM UTC

My forearm and a cane

I woke with a start, the cracked wooden shutters banging wearily in the wind, hinges groaning, slowly rusting, fully unaware that their time had past, instead they hold on like steadfast soldiers defending a front that no longer matters, in a war that’s already been lost And, as sleep dissipates, my attention narrows and I - I realize that I have no wooden shutters, that they have not been attached to a house in which I’ve slept for more years than most dogs live in east coast towns with half lit neon signs O en 24 rs and yet somehow I heard them rat, tat, tattering like the shuffling of shoes attached to a woman that needs a wheelchair but refuses, in favor of a walker, who never leaves the house without removing all the curlers and putting on her face None the less the shutters, some time long ago were torn and left asunder, when the house was removed from its foundation, by a chipped yellow painted machine, with enough torque to remove the home in which I grew from existence, leaving a gaping hole that was the basement where I had my first second base But there is you, laying beside me, gently breathing in the dark like the consistent flow of ocean waves, lapping the shore with certitude then slowly disappearing into the vastness of the green blue sea You are more than I ever could have hoped for, more than I could have imagined decades ago, when, with a pillow pulled upon my head, wishing that the wooden shutters attached to my blue green house would drown out the sound adults in family rooms make when screams are louder than Carson and the studio audience’s laughter Instead of falling back to sleep, I prefer to listen to your ocean’s breath, the silence from the family room that you and I occupy, while hoping to one day hold you steady long after you need a wheelchair but prefer instead my forearm and a cane

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Let my ferocity, and passion eloquently paint the pictures in my own regrets, tattering the canvas of my own flesh. Let the foul, and the sweet, mesh together into brilliant concepts caught from the thinning air that only you can breathe. Let me inhale deeply, savoring every contaminant, every exacerbation, and every nothing that means everything to you. Let me touch you with every inch, with every intention, and every lust of smiling eyes, that pass over you when you walk by. Let my fears fill you up with the love intended to be, just let me, be, next to you, in a storm of our foolishness, numbing our chores for the day. Lets lose ourselves afloat in static temptations powerlessness, as it pulls our eyes closer to the ends. Lets no longer resist natural instinct, and merely exist in the same place this day, so that we may long for our tomorrow.

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Feb 15, 2013

Feb 15, 2013 at 1:07 AM UTC

Let my ferocity, and passion eloquently paint the pictures in my own regrets, tattering the canvas of my own flesh. Let the foul, and the sweet, mesh together into brilliant concepts caught from the thinning air that only you can breathe. Let me inhale deeply, savoring every contaminant, every exacerbation, and every nothing that means everything to you. Let me touch you with every inch, with every intention, and every lust of smiling eyes, that pass over you when you walk by. Let my fears fill you up with the love intended to be, just let me, be, next to you, in a storm of our foolishness, numbing our chores for the day. Lets lose ourselves afloat in static temptations powerlessness, as it pulls our eyes closer to the ends. Lets no longer resist natural instinct, and merely exist in the same place this day, so that we may long for our tomorrow.

Continue reading...

Pressures of Atlas ruin the vertebral Column geometry The circles weight stresses the cylinder to a breaking edge. A cut Math was wrong Angular and pathetic is this central pump. It leaks from the head gaskets when you add in ethanol It squeals out noises under the accumulated atmospheres CortiZol extends the impellers out till they scrape the walls interior Finally it's released blown out for keeps Can't take it back Neither can take back The pump withers Proteins shiver Brownian heat delivers Bellowing cold from a cosmos of foam Spine tattering morbid A decayed thought process that does nothing but jump Jumping and bounding conclusions that are meaningless regardless Atlas gave up and the world fell onto gravitys shoulders

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Jan 27, 2014

Jan 27, 2014 at 4:30 PM UTC

When Atlas Shrugs, You Know No One Knows.

Pressures of Atlas ruin the vertebral Column geometry The circles weight stresses the cylinder to a breaking edge. A cut Math was wrong Angular and pathetic is this central pump. It leaks from the head gaskets when you add in ethanol It squeals out noises under the accumulated atmospheres CortiZol extends the impellers out till they scrape the walls interior Finally it's released blown out for keeps Can't take it back Neither can take back The pump withers Proteins shiver Brownian heat delivers Bellowing cold from a cosmos of foam Spine tattering morbid A decayed thought process that does nothing but jump Jumping and bounding conclusions that are meaningless regardless Atlas gave up and the world fell onto gravitys shoulders

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eerie music of the night creeps rustling through the falling leaves whistling the rhythm of the wind each brittle branch is tat-tat-tat-tattering a beat flowing against the tossed confetti of leaves natures natural music is sung every night but once a year in October Halloween holds its concert

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Oct 16, 2016

Oct 16, 2016 at 3:31 PM UTC

Music Of The Night

eerie music of the night creeps rustling through the falling leaves whistling the rhythm of the wind each brittle branch is tat-tat-tat-tattering a beat flowing against the tossed confetti of leaves natures natural music is sung every night but once a year in October Halloween holds its concert

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Rattering tattering slam-dunk battering precipitous squall from a louring sky's fall as if any of us are mattering. Tommy Carroll Liverpool

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Aug 21, 2015

Aug 21, 2015 at 12:33 PM UTC

Rattering tattering slam-dunk battering precipitous squall from a louring sky's fall as if any of us are mattering. Tommy Carroll Liverpool

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Memories like broken glass fill my heart my sensible soul shards of you remain Tattering this perspective Leaving a broken person behind these eyes This Kerouac perception mounted on confusion for feelings left undisclosed Baffling me like a child Thunder and rain my only solace dark clouds my psyche mutually bound Like hurricane Galveston ripping apart these thoughts these transgressions mortally comforting like cigarettes on Sunday reaching forth grasping at straws so they say they always say but do they feel as I've felt? alone & tempered as glass the glum periphery engulfing melting me down eating away into a pool of nihility to harden to break these chains feels outdated unscripted nonsense in the background of my memories souvenirs a setpiece based on untruths created into this sheer crystalline matter They call Glass

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Jun 29, 2020

Jun 29, 2020 at 6:41 AM UTC

wesley-joseph-breedlove

Memories like broken glass fill my heart my sensible soul shards of you remain Tattering this perspective Leaving a broken person behind these eyes This Kerouac perception mounted on confusion for feelings left undisclosed Baffling me like a child Thunder and rain my only solace dark clouds my psyche mutually bound Like hurricane Galveston ripping apart these thoughts these transgressions mortally comforting like cigarettes on Sunday reaching forth grasping at straws so they say they always say but do they feel as I've felt? alone & tempered as glass the glum periphery engulfing melting me down eating away into a pool of nihility to harden to break these chains feels outdated unscripted nonsense in the background of my memories souvenirs a setpiece based on untruths created into this sheer crystalline matter They call Glass

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it feels like theres a weight on my chest and i never really knew what to do with my hands when they werent folding myself back into place but lately it seems like my seams are tattering and i dont really know how to sew but its not like you do either. you were never a place holder but suddenly there's a space where you arent anymore and i cant really fix it but call me crazy for the crazy glue and im still trying to stick me back to you.

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Nov 29, 2014

Nov 29, 2014 at 4:11 PM UTC

courtney-brandt

I'm Rubber and You're Glue

it feels like theres a weight on my chest and i never really knew what to do with my hands when they werent folding myself back into place but lately it seems like my seams are tattering and i dont really know how to sew but its not like you do either. you were never a place holder but suddenly there's a space where you arent anymore and i cant really fix it but call me crazy for the crazy glue and im still trying to stick me back to you.

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Nothing makes sense anymore And unnerving of universe agrees It just said to me, “Stop, give up, adore Oh do I implore, you to freeze” Causeways to galactic fracturing Gnats swarming my eyes for tears Saving their own life-risked spattering Been tattering away for years Finding winced **** gall to ingest An antidote regarded too unreliable Shooting up clouds with rocket tests Only in jest, sounding viable Criminal patterns keep moving Through time, history, and now stars All you can do, to keep on grooving No snoozing will get you this far Continued survival has cause Find it, but with no outer influence For you have been given no flaws Find awe in your own existence A crack in the sky has formed Rain down solid answers to actuality Hence, life and why we were born Unworn from concepts of reality

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May 19, 2016

May 19, 2016 at 1:55 PM UTC

Crack In The Sky

Nothing makes sense anymore And unnerving of universe agrees It just said to me, “Stop, give up, adore Oh do I implore, you to freeze” Causeways to galactic fracturing Gnats swarming my eyes for tears Saving their own life-risked spattering Been tattering away for years Finding winced **** gall to ingest An antidote regarded too unreliable Shooting up clouds with rocket tests Only in jest, sounding viable Criminal patterns keep moving Through time, history, and now stars All you can do, to keep on grooving No snoozing will get you this far Continued survival has cause Find it, but with no outer influence For you have been given no flaws Find awe in your own existence A crack in the sky has formed Rain down solid answers to actuality Hence, life and why we were born Unworn from concepts of reality

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*Something happened when I finally allowed myself to permit you to see me.* *Those eyes of yours, brimming pools, reached so far deep into my being, drawing out emotions and thoughts I was afraid to ever show you. Your nose just breathing space away from mine, a breath caught in your chest; It happened— I let you in.* *And I think you recognized it, for that gleam in your eye let me know that you’re in it, too.* This is but a bittersweet, diminished thing that we both hold onto, even after the time when tears filled our eyes. We’ll never let go, you and I. “I want to remember you like this,” you said, as you looked at me through fogging lenses. And I, you, like this. It was in that moment we allowed ourselves to gaze upon a last tattering photograph of when we were whole. One last kiss, one last woven catalyst of fingers, and I held your face in my hands and whispered, “You are incredible.” But we just couldn’t be.

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Apr 22, 2011

Apr 22, 2011 at 2:59 PM UTC

what we made of it.

*Something happened when I finally allowed myself to permit you to see me.* *Those eyes of yours, brimming pools, reached so far deep into my being, drawing out emotions and thoughts I was afraid to ever show you. Your nose just breathing space away from mine, a breath caught in your chest; It happened— I let you in.* *And I think you recognized it, for that gleam in your eye let me know that you’re in it, too.* This is but a bittersweet, diminished thing that we both hold onto, even after the time when tears filled our eyes. We’ll never let go, you and I. “I want to remember you like this,” you said, as you looked at me through fogging lenses. And I, you, like this. It was in that moment we allowed ourselves to gaze upon a last tattering photograph of when we were whole. One last kiss, one last woven catalyst of fingers, and I held your face in my hands and whispered, “You are incredible.” But we just couldn’t be.

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I'll never be the one flipped and done Kiss the sun Burn your buns I guess you won You stabbed my heart With paper darts Made me **** Tree's stripped of bark Apple à la cart Look down below Summer's in the snow Wondering you know How we just blow Separately on the go I was aways opening the door Backing up on the floor Stumbling ! Falling ! The fabric of life just tore Tattering Who's keeping score ?

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Oct 6, 2018

Oct 6, 2018 at 8:48 AM UTC

South-by-Southwest

I'll never be the one flipped and done Kiss the sun Burn your buns I guess you won You stabbed my heart With paper darts Made me **** Tree's stripped of bark Apple à la cart Look down below Summer's in the snow Wondering you know How we just blow Separately on the go I was aways opening the door Backing up on the floor Stumbling ! Falling ! The fabric of life just tore Tattering Who's keeping score ?

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Yes, I play our memories Over in my mind Letting them dance upon my eyelids And pull at my heart strings They won't stop if I plead They're all you've left me with Everything I can remember Every touch Every glance Every uttered sound It's all I have of you You may not realize But when you said goodbye You never really left me In the same way, I suppose, I may haunt you Every burning wick Those flickering flames Every shift in daylight The turning of the sun Every fold in the flag Stitches tattering slowly Every drop of rain Refreshing the life and growth of Earth They are part of me And they reek of you No matter where I go Or who I'm with I can't escape your gaze Can't loose the grip you have on my heart And after these months of fighting it I no longer care I've accepted that you're a part of me Forever more

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Feb 1, 2013

Feb 1, 2013 at 8:56 PM UTC

Yes, I play our memories Over in my mind Letting them dance upon my eyelids And pull at my heart strings They won't stop if I plead They're all you've left me with Everything I can remember Every touch Every glance Every uttered sound It's all I have of you You may not realize But when you said goodbye You never really left me In the same way, I suppose, I may haunt you Every burning wick Those flickering flames Every shift in daylight The turning of the sun Every fold in the flag Stitches tattering slowly Every drop of rain Refreshing the life and growth of Earth They are part of me And they reek of you No matter where I go Or who I'm with I can't escape your gaze Can't loose the grip you have on my heart And after these months of fighting it I no longer care I've accepted that you're a part of me Forever more

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It is goodbyes and hellos all wrapped into one. It is yearning for a moment that is already slipping from your grasp. It is silence, and yet a fast paced symphony, humming tunes to your scattered mind. It is uncertain, and unreliable. A permanent tattoo on life;a standstill. A broken clock. Free from seconds ticking away, free from years tattering a body. But even though the flesh will remain untouched, the soul will undoubtedly, show worn. No immorality can keep it, from showing how the years have aged it.

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Nov 11, 2015

Nov 11, 2015 at 12:35 PM UTC

It is goodbyes and hellos all wrapped into one. It is yearning for a moment that is already slipping from your grasp. It is silence, and yet a fast paced symphony, humming tunes to your scattered mind. It is uncertain, and unreliable. A permanent tattoo on life;a standstill. A broken clock. Free from seconds ticking away, free from years tattering a body. But even though the flesh will remain untouched, the soul will undoubtedly, show worn. No immorality can keep it, from showing how the years have aged it.

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Sometimes I feel like I can run Run miles away from reality by my shadow still follows But my heart beats fast like a drum Wishing the memories of you would burn down to ashes Only to creep back minute after minute, hour after hour Of those crazy days we had sleepless nights chatting Trying to sleep but all was in vain Highlighting the feelings we had for each other But all is a chronicle I guess I lost everything for nothing It feels awful by this feeling A feeling that silences the beauty of the past and revives the present Tattering the hopes and only crushing me to the ground Weak and feeble, left for the vultures to devour But still the resonant words of you still whisper to my ears like a passing wind I try to come into existence with reality,you're gone But it's as hard as cracking a nut Trying to flee my convicted mind Trying to create a new world deemed feet for me The sky's blue,I can't hold on ,but I'll try

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Jul 26, 2017

Jul 26, 2017 at 10:19 AM UTC

Sometimes I feel like I can run Run miles away from reality by my shadow still follows But my heart beats fast like a drum Wishing the memories of you would burn down to ashes Only to creep back minute after minute, hour after hour Of those crazy days we had sleepless nights chatting Trying to sleep but all was in vain Highlighting the feelings we had for each other But all is a chronicle I guess I lost everything for nothing It feels awful by this feeling A feeling that silences the beauty of the past and revives the present Tattering the hopes and only crushing me to the ground Weak and feeble, left for the vultures to devour But still the resonant words of you still whisper to my ears like a passing wind I try to come into existence with reality,you're gone But it's as hard as cracking a nut Trying to flee my convicted mind Trying to create a new world deemed feet for me The sky's blue,I can't hold on ,but I'll try

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petrichor is to VX as temporary is to eternity for a long sleep is considered 'la petit mort' let it pour down the porcelain stitching of thy hollow carcass cold, shivering, along with the music of my teeth, tattering to calm is to wait for precipitation. and I want it so bad.

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May 8, 2019

May 8, 2019 at 1:10 PM UTC

enidjerztlooper

• Pluviophile

petrichor is to VX as temporary is to eternity for a long sleep is considered 'la petit mort' let it pour down the porcelain stitching of thy hollow carcass cold, shivering, along with the music of my teeth, tattering to calm is to wait for precipitation. and I want it so bad.

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A glimpse behind the mask, a catching of the tongue. The faces waiting in the shadows, I know, I've seen them before. The breaking of a new day, the makeshift of the moment. A not-so-subtle desire, an urge, to discover the self. A memory now, disconnect me from my emotion. How’d I fail to see through this disguise? The layers of compassion hidden within those focus-wearied eyes. A whisper, an acknowledgement. A tattering of delusions, the picking up of ruins. How much was it worth to learn what could have been known Any other way? The seconds turned into minutes, the minutes became miles, My breath tired, it tried to keep up. Calmness. Now. The centre of peace. The questions and their answers subsided, a beckoning of quietness and solitude.

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May 24, 2016

May 24, 2016 at 2:36 AM UTC

Centre of Peace

A glimpse behind the mask, a catching of the tongue. The faces waiting in the shadows, I know, I've seen them before. The breaking of a new day, the makeshift of the moment. A not-so-subtle desire, an urge, to discover the self. A memory now, disconnect me from my emotion. How’d I fail to see through this disguise? The layers of compassion hidden within those focus-wearied eyes. A whisper, an acknowledgement. A tattering of delusions, the picking up of ruins. How much was it worth to learn what could have been known Any other way? The seconds turned into minutes, the minutes became miles, My breath tired, it tried to keep up. Calmness. Now. The centre of peace. The questions and their answers subsided, a beckoning of quietness and solitude.

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