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Category: Poetry for the Weary Traveller

A Rather Pallid Piece

A Rather Pallid Piece

It was pale;

Pale all around.

Pale through the windows,

pale in the pallor of her skin.

She glanced around her pale house

that reflected her pale life, and

the pale coldness in her heart

from years of pale loneliness in her soul.

 

All of it, pale.

 

Her pale living did not satisfy her,

and so she did what all pale people do;

She walked out her pale door,

took her last breath of pale air

and glided to the water’s pale edge.

 

As she descended,

the paleness turned to darkness;

A smile stretched across her pale lips,

and the darkness turned to black.

Numb

Numb

Numb.

That’s what I am on some days – I may even venture to say it’s who I am on some days.

It’s a dull, empty feeling, and in these moments, I’m void of emotion.

My face is slack with unintentional apathy; my body is uncoordinated and weak, as though I have hollow bones and muscles of wet paper.

Easily broken. Easily torn.

On these days, neither my body nor my mind are my own.

I am, instead, a trembling ghost of who I was before, held prisoner within the walls my own personal hell.

I lay helpless and weak, like a distressed damsel on a silk-strewn bed,

When I’d like nothing more than to be the hero, and slay my captor on my own terms.

Instead of words rising valiantly from my lips, they catch in my throat and choke me silent.

But I have a story to tell and I want to scream!

I fall into an exhaustion sleep cannot fix – it’s not that kind of exhaustion.

It’s a vast abyss filled with the long-since dead pieces of my soul.

The loss of time leaves me breathless and self-loathing –

They tell you to make your time meaningful, but how can I when it takes the most time to dress this corpse in a smile?

Silent War

Silent War

The bones ached in her skin — the splintering past of moons long gone, and chilling end of suns long set.

Ghost-like threads of empty dreams and silent screams were left to hang in broken windowpanes.

Her mind lay blank and cold in shadows strewn with shattered glass, where stars shown after morbid wars.

Though still, whispers lingered and murmurs breathed the promises of long before,

when vacant souls were foreign, and famined hearts were unknown.

Broken

Broken

Coffee stains, faint and ghostly, ruined the long-since virgin wood of the table beside her. Powdery ashes settled like smoldered dust into the crevices of the scratched surface. The skeletal remains of cigarettes lay cast aside amidst the war-torn ashtray.

Mindless sketches lay strewn across the table, though most abandoned months ago. The graphite was smudged on many pages, a few bearing sign of an angry cigarette burn. There was just emptiness in those pages, just blackness among the white.

She was lost. She had found her way before, but her little strength was ebbing. She wished this was the last time she would ever feel so alone. Though she knew it wouldn’t be.

Love, Death and General Advice– Your Personal Hell (A Collection of Short Poems)

Love, Death and General Advice– Your Personal Hell (A Collection of Short Poems)

I.

I’m not one to live a life

just “one day at a time”–

But, then again, it does not good

to reason without rhyme.

 

II.

The kiss of sorrow winters fool

the blades beneath our feet–

though not until the darkness falls

do shallow voices speak.

 

III.

We talk about freedom,

we wish about love,

we sing about peace–

or the lack thereof.

We discuss all the tension,

the truth and the lies,

we question all life

and the men in disguise.

Love, Death and Ghosts–Your Personal Hell (a collection of short poems)

Love, Death and Ghosts–Your Personal Hell (a collection of short poems)

I.

Lost spirits appear in my wake

And ask if they’ve done well.

I assure them that the only way

To walk is straight through Hell.

 

II.

Within the shadows, ghosts still haunt

And sing an eerie tune.

Turn around and find, my friend,

That you’ll meet Death quite soon.

 

III.

I’ve a song for the starving soul.

Sweet melodies will play in the ears of the broken

And harsh clangs will beat in the heads of the unworthy.

 

IV.

Midnight frightens all that pass.

Nothing’s beyond the looking glass.

I can’t see you, you can’t see me–

It’s just how it’s supposed to be.

 

V.

Do not label me as naive–

I’ve seen the ways the natural spirit engulfs

The world in water and flames

As blood washes over fate

And freezes like ice.

 

VI.

Remember all those memories, Love?

But you’ve left me, afraid of fear.

Though I happen to not miss you at all,

And I’m quite glad you’re not here.

 

VII.

It’s a game to them, they don’t understand,

They think that all is well.

But Earth is falling and Heaven is crumbling

Down to the depths of Hell.

 

VIII.

Ghostly silhouettes, fair maidens dressed in white. 

Ghostly, cunning ghouls dance in candlelight.

Bind all your secrets with my soul, I’d gladly take the fight.

But leave them not too long, or else, they’ll soon be out of sight.

Cease the Dawn

Cease the Dawn

I’ve yet to tell the dawn

To cease its glowing ascent.

The moon, still in its presence,

Falters in glory.

Blushing, it recedes into the

Wisps of air and mist,

Though not as rosy

As the Sun that captures

The majesty

Of the world.

The moon dares not challenge

The Divine Radiance.