"unrestful" poems
Sometimes it starts
It's faint, but quaint,
Whispering across your skin
A breath, the fog
There's no need to talk
Silence is all you need
In your conflicting state of mind.
You sit, it speaks
Volumes to me
Words can't quite convey
Your thoughts, your feelings,
The rushes of contrary
Swirling in your contradicting states of mind
You hesitate, and take a little light step
Making a mockery of grace
But then you taste the rain in the air
You decide that life's never fair
Pretty or just, both seem to rust
Leaving you with the unrestful state of mind.
Jan 7, 2017
Jan 7, 2017 at 11:35 AM UTC
Oh, how I wish that I could fall asleep
But sleep won’t come when loneliness prevails
Along with voices of the scars that run so deep
And memories too much like living hell
Trying to forget the past and all regret
But they scream their where although they’re dead and gone
The present, like the past, I wish I could forget
Lying here alone, the nights are just too long
This bed is far too empty, just as I feel inside
Despite so much that weighs upon my soul
My heart longs for a love that always proves denied
Each time I fool myself takes such a toll
My dreams become the nightmares in each unrestful hour
This broken heart just never seems to mend
‘Til hope that once sustained becomes the monster that devours
This love that burns within me will destroy me in the end
Won’t you come and lay my broken heart to rest?
I’ve tried a thousand times to no avail
I’m dying here alone
This is my last request
Prove to me that love can still prevail
I’m sitting here with just myself for company
Rewriting words I’ve said too many times
Still, they go unanswered as they echo back to me
In every word I bleed
In every line
Professing my emotion is my darkest curse
And yet, I find I’ve still so much to say
My silence or expression…
I don’t know which is worse
When these sleepless nights are much too long to make it go away
Won’t you come and lay my broken heart to rest?
I’ve tried a thousand times to no avail
I’m dying here alone
This is my last request
Prove to me that love can still prevail
Won’t you come and lay my broken heart to rest?
Speak the words I long to hear you say
I’m dying here alone
Please grant my last request
Prove to me that love will find a way
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 9:29 AM UTC
grey
the sky is
the fields are sometimes, too;
it is England, after all
view upon view, an expanse of
dusty hues -
the sorts of colours you might find
locked up in an attic, unused
for years
the grey is a stillness, an unrestful quiet
that stretches out across the country
like a tapestry of disdain
we feel nothing here, because
the grey has taken it - well
has dimmed it; perhaps
it still exists somewhere
beneath the sombre sea
of colour, or a lack of it;
and i can make no sense of it, nor it
of me
because, you see
the grey pervades
it turns everything the same shade,
and impossible to pick out hues
it blends in one
leaving but an impression
of a world no longer clear
yet artists, poets, lovers and children still hope
and they stare expecting to suddenly see a sunburst of colour
across the grey.
Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 5:59 AM UTC
Her arms are covered in ink,
doodles of barbaric things sprouting forth, like venus fly traps ready to pounce.
and words are branded on her arms like red scars.
Ink stains that scream hateful things
Not a single shred of skin is left untarnished
the ink is a cover up of her identity.
hiding her flesh with poisonous writing
the thoughts inside finally on show.
she covers her arms with long sleeve tops
to hide the hateful ink from the world
trying to keep some dignity of her own
yet still drawing childish hateful things on her arms
her face is blank, her eyes are emotionless
as she scrawls poetry and images on her arms till she draws blood.
she is just an emotionless zombie, an empty shell.
no longer existing in this world or belonging in it.
and thats how she'll always stay, forever here in body alone but never in mind or spirit. and always the unanswered question 'why do you do this to yourself?' floats around like an unrestful spirit.
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 7:05 PM UTC
Last night I got lost
in the vast expanses of myself.
Who knew there was so much of me?
While the shifting realities
churned before my black eyes,
changing just after I named them,
I drifted, eyes closed, on an unrestful sea
made of the most chilling noises.
Thrilling voices
soaring from the television,
as I light another cigarette.
My friend, Nicotine, seems colder
tonight.
Unreasonably less vital,
woefully less communicative.
The couch refuses to speak with me as well,
and the only voices are those of the television,
masked and muffled by the dense,
strangely spinning, parallel homes
of the dead, of the living,
of everything but me,
for I am become POET
the describer of worlds!
Laugh now, kid. It's okay.
Blame it on the television, or the acid, or a joke you could swear someone made.
But laugh, because I never knew there was this much of you,
and the things coming out of the deeper waters
are beginning to make me uncomfortable.
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 12:06 PM UTC
You there sitting in that window aimlessly thinking
Like the thought bubble in a comic you sit
You there with the darkened eyes
That show your soul bright as day
You there with the shaking leg
Take a break from what ever your doing and think
You there speaking to the class
Stand up tall and don’t be afraid
No one can judge you by the way you talk or your opinion
Because what you say is yours and you own that
You there sleeping all day
Get up make your restful life unrestful
You there listen to these words
That I say for today might be the last day you hear
You there open your eyes
For today might be the last day you see
You there with the sewn mouth
Speak up for today might be the last day that you speak
You there holding the hand of your child
Tell them you love them For today might be the last day you hold their hand
You there with the depression and sadness that drowns you
Smile like you have never been hurt and nothing matters
For today might be the last day that you smile
You there with the excuse for everything
Just do it because today might be the last day you do anything
You there yes you
Everyone of you live life like it was your last day
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 8:47 AM UTC
In sleep sings memory,
abnormal, eclectic melodies,
impressing to me what needed attention,
because, today was successful,
until the latent rears its unrestful head,
friends deceived, belief left dead
could I dispense such blatant injustice?
apparently so,
for, deep in the throes of these old unknowns
lies knowledge uncovered, under errors disowned.
Aug 10, 2019
Aug 10, 2019 at 3:02 AM UTC
— for Síneánn
We drove to a lost, lonely isle,
If only once to find ourselves
Again belonging to the strands
That tided us in beads and wave,
The sea new, aloft and birds moved
As we flew, sailing under cascades,
What breathtaking strides to make
And the sun was dripping and swept
Away to us on the gentle crests breaking
We spoke soft nothings, as to know things
So simple to be kept wanting nor ever said,
The lonely star of day was sleepy, dimmed
By sparks, the shimmer to our eyes, so clear,
Shall be the hills of the isle to us, will always
Remain cast with new lamb and crowned deer,
By thorn and thistle and rimmed with broken shells
Strung on a beach so singular, before innocence
And grace, by two ****** lovers aloft in only sky
To be joined, with hands of the long night stars,
Finally reached, by the glass in the running grains
Untouched, ingrained, stained into ocean salt
Always by the seas of joy and given to each
Ever to be moved on the high tune eternal,
In stations of grass and stray wood drifted
Among wings by the slip of tides monumental,
Till when we drove away, this time, in a carriage
Old of unrestful sleep, crossed, beyond—
A bridge of sighs.
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 11:05 AM UTC
At times, I believe I am more than just my own worst enemy
At times, it seems I am incapable of finding peace
No matter how I struggle to find comfort in the fact that my day will come
There are too many days where everything seems like nothing
And far too few where nothing seems like everything
Maybe it is just this depression that I can never quite shake
Or maybe it is the fact of so many years holding to the words I speak to others
As the comfort they provide finds no home in my own endeavours
For it is getting harder to hold to hope more often in the bad times
When the bad times come more frequently, with no resolution but unrestful sleep
And the dreams that have finally returned to me
Bring more often than not what I cannot have and cannot hold
As if living ghosts, too impatient to wait for their demise
There are so many in the physical world who seek my words and advice
When that very advice fails me time and time again
And I cannot understand how such a thing can be so
I have waited so long, and have held to hope until my fingers have bled
But far too often it seems hope is all I get in return
Until even my poetry, which is so often my salvation, begins to seem monotonous to me
And every day that passes waiting for things to improve becomes a little harder
My words become more struggled and strangled
And the only consolation is that they may help others, even if not myself at times
Maybe it is just so many years of waiting, with no change or relief
Maybe it is just my depression finally getting the better of me
Maybe I am just not as strong as I used to be
So weary and tired from this repetitive journey
Travelling so many weary miles
Only to find myself at the beginning time and time again
Until even when there are smiles and laughter
Even when there are shoulders to cry on and friends beside me
Even when the storms of mind flee and the world seems beautiful
Even when I know things can't stay like this forever
The seconds drag on like hours
The hours seem as days
And the days seem eternal
And the only hope left to hold on to
Is that hope continues to hold on as tightly as I do
Until my day finally arrives
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 9:55 AM UTC