song – Page 5 – Poems by Sam

Beneath the Water

Afternoon, everybody! I’ve got something special for you today after my month-long hiatus. I graduated too! Finished everything I had to and now I’m there. I appreciate everybody’s support on my way. Without further ado…

Beneath the Water

Tick, tock

On the clock…

There’s something in the water.

Do you see the ripple there?

The shadow before your stare?

Bubbles flit atop the pond

and find their place about a frond.

Troubles bared and troubles shared…

Can you spot a thing so flared?

The anticipation almost makes you scared.

Here abounds that thing unknown

that breathes the water

and remains unshown.

Beside that water do you totter.

Afeard and alone,

freezing to the bone.

You rang again.

A dial tone.

Ribbed and Smothered by Light and Shadow

Good evening, everybody. Dark today? Weirdly warm too. Nothing ever makes sense in the midwest. I graduate now in less than a month and I have never been happier to be finished with something. I want to be unconscious for a week. Without further ado, a poem.

Ribbed and Smothered by Light and Shadow

Lights compete for attention,

splayed across those places

where shadows have faces.

Seeing,

that light,

those bands

in all their dreary graces.

Sometimes I wonder

why all that’s made

are paces.

From one,

to one another,

are the faces bound in leather?

Are the faces well and truly weathered?

The door again,

to there again,

I see the light home again.

Then,

I grasp the handle.

Infection, Terminal;

Good evening! I hope everybody is having a good night. I’m locked into a grueling reading session. One day I will be free of this accursed workload. I hope you all enjoy the visuals in this one; I’ve got a midterm for medical anthropology coming up. Without further ado…

Infection, Terminal;

Faded, faded, faded, faded,

all the words inside those pages,

all the words that make those phages

and stalk the boundaries of your ribcages.

There’s a virus,

there’s an infection

that hides inside your introspection.

When you look into the space behind your eyes

and see behind those billowing lies,

there inside you one little eye spies

all those old and forgotten ties.

It is multiplying.

There,

inside you.

You don’t even know it yet

but you feels the signs;

there’s a fever coming on.

Chills,

headache,

a burning sensation.

All the tell-tale signs of some evil dispensation.

It hurts and hurts,

oh god,

it burns.

My skin is on fire.

I can feel it melting,

sloughing off.

I never should have peeled back the lid.

There’s something wrong that I did.

Flatline

Good afternoon! Anybody like heartbreak? No? Shut up and read this poem! It really won’t help but I bet you’ll think twice next time about NOT reading my poems. Let me know what you think in the comments below and don’t forget you can put your email in to get reminders of when i post. Without further ado…

Flatline

It was always meant to be for you.

Those two little words,

I do.

I’d slip the band around your finger,

gingerly,

cautiously,

and there for a moment,

I’d linger.

In your eyes I saw a light.

You’d hear my voice

and see my face,

and they would only get so bright.

Beep, beep, beep, beep…

Only now, I see not light,

but a wight.

Your memory haunts and stalks

with skin as white as chalk.

Why would you condemn me to this?

To dream of you in all your grace

then wake to cold embrace?

I’d almost managed to forget.

You’re thinking of me?

When will you leave me be?

Art and Artist

Good afternoon, everyone! Anybody in the mood for a romantic poem? I would consider this one of my finest, even if its subject no longer holds captive the workings of my heart. I sincerely hope you enjoy a look inside the way I love. Without further ado…

Art and Artist

He stared, then,

in the low light of this cobwebbed attic,

at the weathered painting laid afore him;

there he saw it,

the face.

Taken aback, then,

by the radiance of this face,

he sat down upon a simple chair.

In this twilight,

her twilight,

he continued to look.

He was unafraid.

Beauty and grace in tactical confluence,

he stared so long at the elegant contours of this painting that the eyes began to move,

then the lips,

then the wisps of delicately tended hair,

until finally she rose from the painting

to greet her onlooker with a kiss.

Stupefied, he sat,

as the woman met his lips

and pulled back again

only to look deeply into him with warm, happy eyes.

For what might have been eternity,

the man could have looked,

staring into those deep and smiling eyes;

but he didn’t have that kind of time,

so he asked her to hold him as he fell asleep,

and in the morning he asked another question,

“Why don’t we go together?”