dream – Page 9 – Poems by Sam

Entombed

Good afternoon, everybody! I’ve got another little piece today. Something sadder than the last one. Without further ado, please enjoy.

Entombed

The writing, my dear.

Scrawled there on the wall;

can you see it?

Those old runes…

What could they mean, my darling?

Chicken-scratch, sure.

But what if?

What if there is something to them?

What if it’s about us?

What if it means something?

All of it.

Can you read it?

Interpret for me the symbols of antiquity?

You always were smarter than me.

I am confused.

Something you’re all too familiar with.

It made me angry before.

Now?

A hollow sadness.

Memories and dreams reverberate through old and decrepit halls.

Could you…

Could you help me remember?

What am I doing here?

Where was I going?

Who are you?

Who…

Who am I?

Oftentimes, I feel as if I live behind a mask, one made from all those things which obscure the things that lie behind. I feel as though my heart would break at the very sight of my own face, not to mention those of others. My mind is addled, rife with holes, ripped apart and sewn back together time and time again with each passing day that feels like a year. It is not even two o’clock yet. I am told that time goes faster as you age but my own experience has been one of aching deceleration; my sense of time continues to slow down. Each passing second threatens to become a lifetime, lest I find some way to lose myself. A devastating cycle, truly. Without further ado…

Back, Behind The Mask

There,

in darkness abounds

on that far side of the moon

a face from brass

and eyes from glass,

and in this face

one might see

something seldom seen

in reflections past.

Lights that pass

betwixt the stars

time and time again,

illuminating

and

elucidating

those things

so seldom seen

in times that have passed.

Entombed by iron in steely visage,

behind this mask lies an unspeakable image.

Every garbled word

and metal clang

belies a gentle soul

caged and shackled

in alloys unkind.

Happy Webiversary!

Good afternoon, everybody! Today officially marks the full one-year anniversary of my first post on poemsbysam.com. I don’t have anything in particular planned for today, but I have a short and sweet poem that I wrote a while ago I think you might like. Without further ado, please enjoy.

Lost Planet

Shining there upon a far flung beach,

two suns and three moons

that illuminate

twinkling gemstones under an emerald sky,

reflections of those things that lie above.

She looks up at those stars,

those heavenly bodies,

and waits for one to return.

The only one.

Perhaps they’d sit under green skies

upon that red-tinged grass

and look out at the spear-whales

flying overhead

and great striders

crossing those shallow,

green seas.

Maybe they’ll have croissants.

Low Tide

Lordy, Lordy, have I been busy. Very tired, very busy. More to do today and more to do tomorrow. I have a piece that I hope will bring you the peace you need to continue marching on. Without further ado…

Low Tide

Sunlight sprays and sparkles

as if it crests the wave

you see down there upon that beach.

The seas come down,

the tides recede,

and leaves are heard in trees behind.

The wind,

it blows,

and finds your every crease

and crevice.

Like the sun,

it illuminates

those hidden things

beneath your beautiful wings.

Harder days

have come and gone,

but end the day,

it’s you who’s won.

In times will be,

oh, the things you will see.

Certainly,

In times that will be.

Spiders Dare Not Spin Their Webs

It’s a rainy day today. I hope everyone is staying warm and dry. One hell of a season, this winter. One minute cold, next minute less cold but also wet. When will I be able to wear one outfit the whole day without changing? No one may know. Without further ado, please enjoy.

Spiders Dare Not Spin Their Webs

Teardrops fall

on an aged turntable,

one that creaks and winces

at every drop.

Once upon a time,

its exquisite design

and joyous notes

filled halls with envious glances

and raucous applause.

Gilded then,

much like the age,

in silver and gold

now tarnished and old.

Like porcelain and glass,

now precious vinyl degrades

as its uses and users too fade.

I remain by its side,

this sweet and beautiful turntable,

until the drips form stalactites

and I myself subside.