Tag Archives: poem

Lost Away

Good afternoon! I’m feeling a bit down today, like most days this year, but I’ve much work to do and the toil is never done. I hope you enjoy this little poem about being lost. Without further ado…

Lost Away

In the dim evening light,

hastily scrawled vines

crawl up the old brick

that lies before me.

Above,

leaves.

They gently twist in the wind

as the smoke from a man’s cigarette

drifts across the aged timbers of an old deck.

In the dark,

only with my eyes

can one see

the twinkling of ancient stars

and the stones they light beneath them.

Does it make sense

that I am here,

and yet,

lost?

I would seek to find my way

through the labyrinth.

Were it not for Ariadne,

would I be so lost?

The string seems to lead

further and further

into the dark

with no end in sight.

I do not remember treading this path.

It is lost to me,

the way home.

The way out.

Looking up,

I see the stars

and hope they’ll lead me away

but tonight,

like most nights,

I feel I am led astray.

The Old and the Lost

Good evening! I usually don’t post this late but uh… it’s my website. This one’s about another dream I had. Have not been sleeping very well, unfortunately. I hope you all like it. Without further ado…

The Old and the Lost

In my dreams again…

Old friends,

I like to say,

knowing that we never were.

~

They are kind in this place,

much unlike the way I remember.

There’s a comfort here,

a mentor,

a lover,

a friend.

~

I hear the din of distant dishes

like wispy echoes

of a kindly kitchen.

~

The mentor speaks,

in the way a grandfather would,

with a gentle and firm german accent,

“Are you trying to win her back?”

No, I respond in my head,

I’ve already got her.

~

An old friend sits down at the table.

“Can I get you anything else?”, I ask with sincerity.

“No, buddy. We’re here for you!”, the old friend says excitedly.

The scene fades to black.

~

I awake again to the dark.

Sadistic Assemblage

Afternoon, everyone! I should be reading the hundreds of pages I must read for my classes right now but instead I have decided to bring to you a delightfully terrifying piece that I’ve just written. Call it a gift from me to you, my darling readers. I do so value your affections. Without further ado…

Sadistic Assemblage

My heart aches.

I am beckoned

by hands I do not know

into the dark again.

They,

and the appendages to which they are attached,

would seek to hold me,

to constrict me,

in their warm embrace.

These hands would not allow me peace.

To them it would some great affront,

some catastrophe,

were I to be released from this gentle bondage.

I struggle to understand the reasoning,

despite knowing the impetus.

Perhaps,

for some,

it is the torture they find appealing.

Beasts and sadists that lurk in the shadows,

why should they not let me be?

Am I so magnetic

as to attract their undying attentions?

“Leave me be!”,

I scream in vain to the shadow.

It only advances,

for I am trapped by its gaze

and now its embrace.

Muffled screams bring me to wake.

Ladybug Dreams

I lived a little dream today as I watched a little ladybug atop my bathroom mirror. It comes by when I am feeling down. I have seen it quite a lot as of late. I hope you all enjoy this little dream of mine. Without further ado…

Ladybug Dreams

As that little ladybug trudges idly by,

I watch its little form.

By the mirror,

all the nearer,

I watch its little form.

Now, I go

down to the park

to run away

from the dark

and listen to the sound

of little bugs that gnaw at bark.

So at home

in the woods

and by the water,

you’d almost wonder:

Whatever made me travel farther?

Cicadas beat their little drums

and birds find time to scream,

while I myself will wonder:

Could it all just be a dream?

The Devil’s Hands Do Idle Work

Good afternoon, everyone. I’ve got a pretty solid little poem for you guys today. Little sad, little whatever. I hope you enjoy. Without further ado…

The Devil’s Hands Do Idle Work

Beautiful there,

as it was,

there at the end of the tunnel,

bleak as it is,

a glimmering light.

Fingers trace,

in the dark,

the cool, dripping walls

on the way to the light.

I am surrounded by a calamitous black.

I cannot see the etchings,

nor identify that liquid which covers them.

I am alone here,

unbidden,

clawing my way forwards unto that little hope,

that distant light.

The darkness drives me.

It is not the light that I seek,

but the dark that I fear might take me.

I listen to the droning footsteps of the cavalcade that follows me,

their pacing only feet behind.

My heart has long since stopped racing.