Poems about nothing in particular. Just reflections into self and past experiences. |
Sapphire sunset, Ruby red apples float down thru the mossy clouds I can’t imagine what happened to the other planets As they rotated around Alpha Centauri for a week by mistake A grove of smiling reeds danced in the wind But it was really too cold to smile properly So nothing between us matters Approaching the crumbling stone wall I see that there is a sparkling lake on the other side But I can’t make myself climb over the disintegrating rocks Even though it’s so hot I can see the sun dipping ever lower in the sky, igniting the tallest of trees As I see the wall, I can’t open up to the possibility That I could ever cross it Or walk around it Something tells me that I am stuck, in this well-world of sorrow and missed chances I am sailing in a boat with no mast or cover There are glittering rocks across the way and I am so tired. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ A tank rolled over top of my head And it hurt For a long time Until it grew back and I was afraid to go into the street again So I sat in a room above the garage and watched I watched the days go by Some things never changed But the leaves came, and then there were the flowers And then the wind and rain and the leaves fell Snow covered the ground for a long time But the same people passed below my window everyday My head was supposed to be better, but it really wasn’t Everyone thought I should go out and play – But the bruises never heal. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Painfully... It seemed that nothing would slow. Not the branches, not the rocks, not the frenzied memories. Welcome to the ground, welcome to the land beneath your feet. Finally arrived. Twisting, grossly bending the chance to survive. Nothing would slow. Nothing would register on the eyes. Cloth tape around the mouth, blood on the very corner of the crease. Underneath the cool dirt was madness, cool dirt was madness was madness Nothing would slow...not the afternoon, the afternoon that held the sun drops the sun drops that held captive the imagination, the imagination that would not slow. The dreadful days that imagination made fast. The fast days under the sun, the sun that would not slow, the angry wolf within. The demon that had nine eyes, and the demon, the demon with a cloth tape gag, the demon with the sun in it's eyes, squinting, though nothing would slow. The sun and the demon and the dirt, captive, as nothing would slow. |