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2010 Hits
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2129 Hits
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i've never been good at letting things go
at night i clench my jaw
teeth rubbing hoping to turn me into dust
it took me ten years to remember how to
let my shoulders release


i am stretched always between
past present and future
hands rushing to hold each one just
right
i want to answer perfectly
while never knowing the question
so i hold on
death grip knuckle white


but now, i see only questions at
this madness
no answer that's good enough for
all these tension headaches
all these scars and calluses
all these years of remembering


slowly out of this bad yin pose
i release, i release,
falling into my present humanity.

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742 Hits
17 Recommends
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1820 Hits
59 Recommends
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1982 Hits
66 Recommends
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945 Hits
34 Recommends
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Artgirl-1114539

(2013 watercolor & gouache, Bella Harris)

by artgirl
1538 Hits
89 Recommends
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Isle: "Herbert, where did that gash on your faceplate come from?"


Herbert: "This damage occurred on the battlefield. An enemy gave it to me, many decades ago."


Isle: "What is a battlefield?"


Herbert: "An area where war takes place."


Isle: "What is war?"


Herbert: "When two large opposing groups fight"


Isle: "Why do they fight?"


Herbert: "... You ask many questions, Isle."


Isle: "You have seen many things, Herbert."


Herbert: "And yet...I have learned most from you."

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626 Hits
27 Recommends
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Days to
weeks to
months to 
years approach 
and depart before
I can catch a breath,
hanging on
to your red 
cape with 
heels dug into
the ground, a 
futile attempt
to slow down
time and
hold today
close, for 
just 
a bit
longer.



poem a day/time

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1743 Hits
63 Recommends
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Flying well below the whole world's radar


Unlikely to pop up on anybody's mind


But the heart, it feels haunted by a sabre


A whole country's worth of sin, sharpened,


And destined to bring about my end.


 


A treecreeper hidden behind the ivy,


I am praying this ill feeling just blows away.

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745 Hits
32 Recommends
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Artgirl-1590881

Happy Easter, everyone! 

by artgirl
1584 Hits
67 Recommends
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Time stood there waiting,
in the busy streets,
waiting for your arrival.
It hid behind an orange umbrella,
and surprised you as you stepped out
of the flower shop.


The look on your face,
when you gazed
at your glass reflection.
You are no longer a little girl,
no longer clutching
your mother’s skirt.


Your cheeks are stained
and discreetly matched
the confessions of
your Russian Red lips.


Fingers caressing a cigarette,
like limbs. You have the infinite sadness,
that sway on your hips,
the wispy hair that catches
sunlight momentarily.


You are burden by the weightlessness
of this floating dream,
and the knowledge
that this will end too soon.


~~ i went back to this prompt, i think it missed this one.


 

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by mushr
487 Hits
21 Recommends