Tag Archives: tragedy

Nearly The End (Of Summer)

Good afternoon, friends and new visitors! It’s been a while since my last post, trust me, I know. I’ve been working on a few things that may make up for it once finished. We’ll see. I hope you all enjoy the poem today. It’s the first one I’ve written in a couple weeks now. Without further ado…

Broken Mind

Forsooth,

it is so

that one becomes

Mired.

Mired in muck and mud.

Choked and stifled

by the hands that reach

up through the silt and grime

to wrap themselves around a throat,

but for the first

and the last time.

Asphyxiated

by the rising tides

that seek to be the end

upon the coming of March’s ides.

So does it swell,

this sea,

and overtakes

all those who would dare to wade

in that from which all is made.

As murky waters fill my vision,

panic is roused from sleep

before I realize

that never before

have I been this deep.

I have already drowned,

but it will not stop,

for my heart beats,

and so does the gavel.

Before The Morning Comes

Good morning, friends and all. I have not been especially prolific as of late, but I hope that means the quality of my work is increasing. Please enjoy the poem today. I like it quite a bit.

Shut Eyelids

Oh darling,

my love,

it is not you that i love any longer,

but a refraction, a mirror image,

one mark of a great love lost and gone away,

but one that I see and make real every time I close my eyes still.

You are not the one that haunts my dreams.

You are not the one who stalks my memories,

the one who flits and flutters under shut eyelids.

You are not that one.

Now they are gone,

forever lost to those greats engines that grind the sands of time.

I only wish that when it was you,

in that body of yours,

that you had decided to stay.

It could not be so.

Cannot be so.

Forever lost,

to I and yourself,

that love of ours

that made me so sad.

The Sleep

Good morning, all. I’ve got a short poem for everybody today. Let me know what you think and please enjoy!

The Sleep

The light of his eyes

escapes

and wanders through you,

venturing through all those many layers

of your most precious soul,

finding lamps that light the winding path

that leads around a gentle knoll.

It searches along

meandering paths

into all your nooks and crannies,

working your mistakes

and knowing all those things it takes

to truly see the heart that breaks.

You rest with him in sleep that wakes.

Rustling Leaves

Good morning, everyone. Today I’ve got a more narratively focused poem that I think you’ll like very much. It’s about a dream I had, something hard to place. Please enjoy.

Dreams of a Forgotten Place

I find myself in a forest,

the crunch of heavy footsteps rising up from fallen leaves.

I am searching,

following tracks in the muddy, refuse-laden path that lies before me.

I do not feel cold,

despite the wind howling and biting around.

Coming upon a small clearing,

painted by smears of red and gold,

there to the side stands an old television set

up on a cart,

something I remember from a memory once.

There is static as the wind has now stopped,

a single little note rests there at the cart’s base,

same as where the boot prints seem to stop and watch the screen for a moment.

The note only says, if I may trust my mind yet still,

“Not today. Come and find me.”

I’ve almost forgotten what I lost,

now not so sure if my quest’s purpose is for the faint imprint that remains

or for the finding of it again.

I see more footprints at the edge of the clearing, leading off into another winding path that slinks along beside low hills and abscising trees.

I know I will not find what I am looking for.

I only know I must carry on,

searching for that which I’ve forgotten.

I move to venture onwards,

my sight fading to black again with every step.

Much Ado About What To Do

Welcome back! My first post in July. A crazy month, it’s been. I have been busy at work and trying to center myself which of course are both massive time-sinks. I hope everyone has had a wonderful few weeks despite my absence from that little corner of your mind I usually occupy. Please enjoy the poem today! This one is a new favorite of mine.

A Real Boy

Falling through into the floor

and open there below, a door

that lies beneath the writhing ground

all atop the burial mound.

Inconceivable,

a child

never born

and never made

without a mother,

but some other.

It haunts and taunts,

lies and cries,

hears and speaks

as a child would,

as children do…

Eyes of glass

and flesh of polymer,

but listen as it speaks

for it opens the door that creaks.

Listen as its blood,

from the windows of its soul,

leaks.

Believe the truth.

The boy but says

those things which are his.

All those things

which have always been

and will always be

His.

Perhaps you’ll show him some compassion

as you listen to his story?

To know the things that you can know

as you sink down deeper and deeper below?

He only wants to help.

He does not know who you are!

…

Perhaps you are the monster in the dark?