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A Lost Understanding
You handed me a rose,
But I could not distinguish its soft red petals
From the ghastly thorns which were coating its spine.
For how many sleepless nights have the maddening echoes,
Which bounce aimlessly across the corridors,
Been my only companion?
Every aching second has been a blade,
Cast deep into the flesh of the future;
Puncturing holes through the fluid membrane
Surrounding love and acceptance.
But if I could measure my life in minutes,
Each hour would chime the death of a memory
Disintegrating into ashes of nostalgia;
Merely increments of time
Which hold no true sustenance.
In an attempt to feel what has been forgotten,
April 23rd 2014, 10:00PM
I will never look back. All day I have been deeply contemplating my life and I have come to the conclusion that I do not want any possessions, I do not want a house nor a car, I don’t need anybody…I’m free. The road is my home. Owning a “home,” is more of a burden than I can handle. I don’t wish to take off and feel obligated to return to any one particular place. I just want to go and keep on going…no strings attached. Find temporary shelter, live without boundaries, survive somehow and escape a “normal” life. And guess what? I’m not crazy. I’m not insane. I’m not hop
Yellow Morning Romance
I heard the sleepy sigh
Of the melting sky,
Vanish like a misty spirit,
Cloaked in shades of red.
And I watched the mellow shadows creep,
On the grainy floorboards,
Like a slinking cat with astral eyes,
Warping into existence.
All the while,
Red murmured to Passion,
Whispering "sweet nothings"
Into virgin ears.
Piercing the veil of my mind,
And spilling the contents
Of my heart.
His light blue morning love,
And my grey night sky eyes,
Contrast the humble force
Of the moon and sun,
And as the sun caresses the moon,
He create a song with his hands,
Touching the light for but a moment,
Plucking galaxies from above;
An
Descent Into Madness
There is a valley within the mind,
Orchestrating a melancholy symphony,
Only I can hear.
It radiates a bittersweet tranquility,
With velvet tears,
That shimmer flecks,
Of schizophrenia.
And although it may comfort you,
It does not care to hear,
Your internal song of solitude,
Plucking away like a melancholy creek bed,
Under the cover of obscured tides.
It was born of crimson indignation,
With deep red petals,
Spikes and thorns,
Soft to the touch
But drenched in poison.
And it listens,
But then repents.
Drowns you,
Then revives you with pleasure.
It is the lone call of a crow,
Bleeding through the bars of a bared soul,
Pointing a pistol,
© 2012 - 2024 MeishkaBokeh
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Thank you for including my work!