Back to GrayStorm clouds rolling in.My treacherous mood returns,As the room darkens.
ProvidenceA lone feather,Caught in a warm summer draft.Where will it lead me?
Incidentialsole morning glory,loops itself through the brass gate,and into mine heart.
Too LateGolden sun drops low,As shadows begin to fade.I couldn't find you.
Reflection PoolWhy will nothing hideThe jumbled distorted truthsI've come to despise?
Realization of DarknessJoyfully, I dance,Until clouds obscure the moon.Alone, I shiver.
EnchantedWaltz lost in the dark,His skin against satin gloves.Cloud of her perfume.
A Walk Homecool sweet wind,fans my hair back.evening.
SeashellsI feel as ifWe are two seashellsOne darkOne lightThat Fate tossed togetherOn the seashore of life
*Possibility*PossibilityLove will flower in summerColour blooms and diesGrey days encroach, love withersMemories sublime.2014 Delice19412nd March2014:iconrosablu:
OneI can remember exactly when i first met you.The slight crease in your face as you smiled.If one thing could say something, then that did.I can remember everything.You shaped me. Made me.We grew into each other. We fell apart with each other.I cannot remember anything without you.I can remember exactly when we first kissed.The way your lips felt soft and curious, against mine.If one thing could say something, then that did.I'd live a million miles away.Another life and world away, with you.If I know what love is, it is because of you.
Broken WordsI am nothing butA crippled heartAnd broken words,Lost forever inA dark empty room.
Stubborn Love (2/20)I'm mad at myselffor not despising you witha burning passion.
WritingI am a writerI write whatI wish I could sayTrapping my feelingsOn paper everydayI am a writerI write whatI see around meMy eyes; wide openHave set me freeI am a writerI write whatI need to doClear and confusedJust give me a clueI am a writerI write what I feelAnd I feel what I writeBut when I stop feelingI stop writingAnd my little worldStarts reelingI am a writerWho writes to find reasonAnd maybe even some treasonIn this worldWhere insanity rulesBehind a piece of paper marked:"Here are the fools"
My DiseaseMy fingers bleed wordsthat my lips cannot say.When they try to trickle out,I scowl and turn away.It may not be contagious,but it is a disease.Holding myself deep inside,it's getting hard to breathe.Lies come so easy,to cover up the truth.It’s like my second nature,grown from my very youth.It’s deeper than conviction,more earnest than a thought.It’s my wayIt’s my lifeIt is my disease.
For YouI don’t know how many wordsI’ve put into poems.Or how many conversationsI’ve had in my head.They’re all directed right at youThough we’ve not met.Maybe once we finally meetI’ll haul them out.Show you the lines of my heartThere on paper.And if we never actually meetThey’re all I’ll have.A life that could have been livedCharted in ink.
The Value of WorkYour art is beautiful, unique, horrid, terrible...What does it take to dignify value?The ability of my mind to comprehendPeoples creations through the lens of my own.We can all demote or praise works made by the peopleBut where does this process come from?A line on a portrait capturing the essence of simplicityOr the detailed work of a landscape settingWhy do we put so much effort into finding the value?Materialistic in natureCreatively hollow.Maybe this is the wrong thing to sayPerhaps anything I say is false.So then, I shall ask againWhy?
DivineI’m wanderingDeeper into the depths of my mindI’m roamingFurther into the darkI’m whispering…Whispers of despairWhispers of agonyWhispers of crueltyVicious wordsA revolting incantationRottenAbominableDiabolicalI’m fallingDeeper into the depths of my soulI’m sinkingFurther into the blackI’m screaming…Screams of revulsionScreams of tormentScreams for bloodSpells of repulsionHymns of the damnedDecayedSpitefulDivine
YouI can't describe you in any form,But you're the sun that waits for a single momentTo shimmer down the warmth that I need.You're the fiery flares that peel off the sunAnd brighten up the darkness that I have traveled through.You're the rippling ocean on a tranquil night,The cyan tides that wrap around me instead of drowning me.You're even the depth of the oceanThat I wish to adventure downward and discover what you hold.You're fire and water interlaced with each other…And yet have a mellifluous personality that shines enough that can give sight to the blind…I can't describe you in any form,But you're the tranquility I oh so desperately need,And the light that can help me exit the darkness.
i'm not good enoughI had a dreamthat I woke up without acneand that you wanted to date melike in the movies but I'm sorrythis is not a dream and I'm sorrythat I am waking up with flaws this timeand I am sorry
Cold CoffeeThere’s a cold cup of coffee on the table by his hand. He can’t stop picking it up and tasting the liquid within, only for it to slide out again with his breath. The man sitting across from him wrinkles his nose at this, but won’t stop talking about the very important Paper in front of him and how everything would be so much simpler if Mr. Staden would just sign, thank you very much and enjoy the rest of your coffee without me.Mr. Staden just looks back at the man and the papers, feeling the pen that he holds loosely in his left hand. It’s heavy, but looks cheap. He scribbles it against the napkin coaster and it doesn’t leave a mark, moving it faster back and forth just tears the paper.“This doesn’t work,” he says, and he watches as the man—the lawyer—reaches inside his bag—his briefcase, where the other Papers are—and produces another pen, this one lighter, blue ink instead of black.“Here, try this,
I Am Lost.I am lost,I cannot feel.Is this sleep,When I close my eyes?Or is it death,When I rest my head?I am lost,I cannot see.Is this real,When I hear your voice?Or is it an illusion,When I see your face?I am lost,I do not knowWhere I am,When I look ahead.Or where I've been,When I look back.I am lost,I have forgottenHow to speak,When words weigh on my lips.Or how to scream,When terror fills my lungs.I am lost,I’ll never be found.No one noticed,When I went away.They can see me,But I am gone.
Tribute to Edgar Allan Poe...The dark daunting whispers ofspectral strangersbounced off the whitewashed walls of mybedchamber.And shook me from my resting-ever-so replenishing!-reviving reverie.And stole my soul back into the world-the rest of the lonely dreaming world-of trouble; chore; of melancholy burden bore.I paced the floor to and frow;my heavy awkward stepsslightly out of sync.My oafish unfacile feet-my entire body!-wanted and wishedto waltzwith the dancing shadows.To twirl in adept unisonwith the tinkling of footfallslightly treading upon the tufted floor.However, my timing was as raw as my talent.And as for my balance-my lack-that!Could not be ignored.And so I weaved ‘round the black withering forms.Profound finesse: a fake façade I worewhilst my lower limbs quivered and quaked,and to my knees-Thud!-I hit the floor.And alas!With faltering fiery flame;altering ardor.I accomplished poiseupon fluctuating knees:Locuson the blanched floor.My will to rise aga
Her burnt Salvationpry open the wall of my past &maybe you'll see what no one else wanted too, a girl who wanted to be saved before the demons possessed the remains of her sanity.But she's cemented to this corner, losing her,where a hundred knocks per hour finally becomes those empty whimpers repeating thank you
SacrificeThe blood trickling down my chestIs the same blood dripping from the bullet on the ground.The heart that was puncturedIs the same heart still beating for you.The world that is so stained and bloodiedIs the same world that you live in.I will protect youWith, regrettably, the only life that I have.
Love is...LoveIs likeA roseSo delicateSo beautifulBut adornedWith sharpThornsLoveIs likePoisonA poisonThat kills youSlowlyAnd there isNo antidoteLoveIs likeGlassFragileBut itsShardsCan killYouIn a briefMonent...
Bright Eyesbright eyes don't you see?that the light is burning right into meyet as my darkness and demons anddevils cower from youyours are staying and they refuseto moveand i've had to accept that youraffections for me wereonly just aonce-upon-a-dream. M.H.
NostalgiaUnworthy of you,All I can hope to possess,Is this memory.