S
literature

SOS

harlita's avatar
By harlita   |   Watch
2 5 422 (1 Today)
Published: March 6, 2007
…It’s something more than that
-Sublte
Taken like a pill to subdue the franticness
…It’s something  just like that
-Scheduled
Met right on time to suspend my disbelief
…It’s based on made up fact
-Skeptical
A dream world I drift into hiding myself again
…It’s listing all the things I lack
-Surreal
Judge and jury of my lifetime, enemy still a friend


I’m collapsing under the weight
Always the strong one, always so strong but
I’m submitting to this fate
My pulse is a song, it’s made up-sing along


Dragging.    My feet.   
               Always dragging.  Like sleep.   
  Flagging.  Down help.
I’m in distress. This is my SOS.
                                                 Snuff the candle out.
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1. The Black Rose
Out extended the unwelcome arm, for my soul to take... My shadow, with me, trembled, knowing no way away, from this inevitable ending of my own. The pillars of my legs crumbled, and down I fell... ~ The arm hesitated, and to the side tilted the head, from which came its orders. Of golden bone was it made, and its base disappeared into the caverns its sleeve.... Shying from my sight. ~ The Robe was black with a fine woven silk. I beheld none but black, and only by will was any other sight begotten to my terrified eyes. ~ Eyes of sapphire gazed down on me, as my back fell to the ground in terror... Paralyzed was I in
p
poet, breathe now.
                                                                           you                                                                           are                                                                           the                                                                           rain                                                                           fall                                                      i anticipate       to      moisten my                                                  arid arroyo. you     re     fresh me and i                                                 confess oh, ho
E
Eulogy
The dream-catchers are handmade but each bear the same mark of boredom. On the reservation, the dirt is red and separated from the turquoise on sale. The tops of the mountains have been scraped off like whipped cream from pudding cups of beautiful alien rock. "Plateau," my mother says. I am not sure if it is a name or a command. The lightning storms are brighter in the desert. I sit perched on the horizon, the edge of one loss to another— given up my love, all my bottled water. The mountains carry their own babies in the muddy puddles, against the wind they huddle, but their semi-circle somehow is just one great smile.
© 2007 - 2019 harlita
im sleepy
Recommended Literature
T
1. The Black Rose
Out extended the unwelcome arm, for my soul to take... My shadow, with me, trembled, knowing no way away, from this inevitable ending of my own. The pillars of my legs crumbled, and down I fell... ~ The arm hesitated, and to the side tilted the head, from which came its orders. Of golden bone was it made, and its base disappeared into the caverns its sleeve.... Shying from my sight. ~ The Robe was black with a fine woven silk. I beheld none but black, and only by will was any other sight begotten to my terrified eyes. ~ Eyes of sapphire gazed down on me, as my back fell to the ground in terror... Paralyzed was I in
p
poet, breathe now.
                                                                           you                                                                           are                                                                           the                                                                           rain                                                                           fall                                                      i anticipate       to      moisten my                                                  arid arroyo. you     re     fresh me and i                                                 confess oh, ho
E
Eulogy
The dream-catchers are handmade but each bear the same mark of boredom. On the reservation, the dirt is red and separated from the turquoise on sale. The tops of the mountains have been scraped off like whipped cream from pudding cups of beautiful alien rock. "Plateau," my mother says. I am not sure if it is a name or a command. The lightning storms are brighter in the desert. I sit perched on the horizon, the edge of one loss to another— given up my love, all my bottled water. The mountains carry their own babies in the muddy puddles, against the wind they huddle, but their semi-circle somehow is just one great smile.
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Comments (5)
harlita's avatar
why didn't anyone tell me I spelled subtle wrong !?

gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!! *deflates*

haha
Reply  ·  
moejo's avatar
moejo|Hobbyist Photographer
this is so personal and i dont think anything i can type will do it justice. the final line is so distressing just...gah, you know?

wonderful. you need to post more often love :heart:
Reply  ·  
xSwEetxBlAsPheMyx's avatar
wow i really i like this. at first i was busy trying to work out what you were writing about, and enjoying the repeated use of s. i never figured out what you were describing but to me it was walking to meet a good friend to make an apology i didn't deserve to be accepted.
x
Reply  ·  
harlita's avatar
*blushes*
Reply  ·  
xSwEetxBlAsPheMyx's avatar
tehe :giggle: i didn't mean to embarass you
x
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