The Wanderer [Poem]That's all he ever did.The Wanderer [Poem]5 months ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
From place to place this man strolled,
Finding new spots to call home,
But leaving when he felt they had become old.
He once stumbled onto a beautiful forest,
filled with life and colour and all things bright.
But he up and left when he realized that there,
Hard work was the only way to do things right.
He then clambered onto a mountainous peak,
Where the stone hills seemed to defy common sense.
But as the wind picked up and nature's music played,
He left this place to its own harmonic suspense.
He happened upon a village of precision,
Being all angles, numbers and circles too.
He was given clothes, a home and a bed,
But left after being told what to do.
The wanderer felt sad, and alone.
He could never fit in, not anywhere he went.
He felt worthless, without meaning,
As if his soul had been spent.
“Do I even have purpose?”
It was on this thought he began to ponder,
When realization struck:
Maybe his purpose, was simply to wander.
The Other SidePart of "Hellengard" - Shard of WondersThe Other Side1 year ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
“Can you hear the raindrops fall
even though the sky is clear,
Can you see another world
reflect in the smallest tear?
Have you ever smelled a rose
with a scent of dandelion?
Have you ever noticed the
footprints when there should be none?
Do you sometimes feel the wind
stroke your skin and curl your hair?
Pleasant touch from far away
and whispers softly fill the air
Of voices gone and people dead
and songs forgotten long ago
Of tales and lore you almost heard
and probably will never know?
So did you ever feel afraid
of horrors that you couldn't see?
And have you ever glimpsed a shape
of things that surely cannot be?
At times you even felt the ground
trembling under forces great
As if the earth was being pound
by something with enormous weight?"
"What does it mean and is it bad?”
You're asking me suspiciously
“Well I can only tell you that
It never has done harm to me
And if you're feeli
Abusers and ButterfliesLet's make you sensitive to pain.Abusers and Butterflies3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Let's take your mind and implement
a new autonomic system.
One where you flinch from raised hands
and one where you submit to angry voices.
We'll make you sensitive
and we'll make you dependent
and we'll bury you in the dirt until you soften up.
We'll make you into a lawn ornament
and we'll crush your hope in a garlic press
because we like our women fearful.
You'll get to play outside once your wounds heal
(we don't want the neighbors asking questions)
and we'll distract your sorro
Another DayEating goosecherriesAnother Day1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
with the saccharine slipping down our chins
we gouged out the pits
and flicked the stubs into the bracken.
Mosquitos idly drifting
between sticky fingers
and the glossy punnets of our teeth
inset in stains of lobsterous lips
with the excited intent of all the words
and of all the amber-glass days
still left to be shared.
until our bodies are heavy-ripe
and oversaturated with a syrupy serenity;
another day, joyfully squandered in sun.
DeathDeathDeath1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
He is over there, smiling a joyful smile at his Brother, his brown hair freshly wind tousled and his blue eyes sparkling. His loose, light brown Young Brother’s robe is also crumpled from the winds, but it never seems to bother him.
And yet, I know who and what he really is. I know the power that drives him internally. I’ve seen it personally.
What a terrible power it is.
To all appearances, he is around the age of 25. The truth is, by chance, nobody ever asks him his age. They simply don’t think to. I didn’t, either. He told me that he is somewhere around 100, but lost count around a decade ago. Age doesn’t matter to him anymore. Not the way he is, with that power.
Despite how he looks, every few minutes, something would be off. His eyes wouldn’t be looking in quite the same spot as the moment before. Or maybe his lips wouldn
a tribute to robert frostI have been one acquainted with the night,a tribute to robert frost2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
and that has made all the difference.
one aged man--one man--can't keep a house,
but I am done with apple-picking now,
and miles to go before I sleep,
so now and never any different.
"you'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen,
like two kinds of jewels, a vision for thieves-"
can't a man speak of his own child he's lost?
like pearls, and now a silver blade,
and dead wings carried like a paper kite,
nothing gold can stay.
something there is that doesn't love a wall;
truth? a pebble of quartz? for once, then, something.
the clever eyes of my wandering child,
heart not averse to being beguiled.
always searching for souls in the dawn,
but I shall be gone.