"weapt" poems
I call myself a Professional Sleeper
Because I was convinced I could sleep through
any type of sadness or any type of confusion.
I was convinced I could sleep after
any argument or any type of disaster.
Yet, for the past two nights I have weapt myself to sleep
as my brain swells against my skull and makes my thoughts feel like cymbols in a marching band
I was convinced I would be able to sleep off even the worst of times
and that would be how I coped
But once you try to sleep when your heart is breaking, and your head is screaming, and your eyes are too sore to shut,
It's impossible
I promise you.
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 2:10 PM UTC
The General rarely stood still
Sworn to be unloved
The Geshia the artist to all
Sworn to be unloved
One loyal to one
One loyal to all
When the armor and mask fell
They swore to always love
At dawn she left with her mask
And the General weapt in his armor
Forever unloved forever loved
Jun 30, 2017
Jun 30, 2017 at 12:46 AM UTC
There is music that will play on,
when we are gone.
When we have slept,
And when we have weapt,
moving away
to a another day.
The music will still play
on for it's own
And for no one,
As when we are gone,
The stars won't be done,
They blink
They shine like a golden ink,
They will never leave,
They'll dance,
And we'll greave
And leave.
Just as we have always done,
And they will never do.
Jun 13, 2025
Jun 13, 2025 at 7:28 PM UTC