Tears welled up
Behind copacetic eyes
All smiles and high fives
Yet inside there’s a man who
Just wants to cry and hide
From these ugly dark things, he
Can’t help but feel
Are they made up or can it be
These emotions are real?
Is all love lost, or with effort can
His heart be healed?
Tears stay stuck behind those battered
Eyes
His heart yells silently, stuck here
He knows he’ll die violently.
-SpkN
Tag: Poetry
Eloquent Kisses
Ever so eloquent you stand with your back to me
Quick as a kitten, silent as a whisper
I entangle you in a warm embrace, my lips attack your neck
You push against me, melting into the strength of my arms.
My lips finish their gentle assault and softly
I say, “I love you.”
Axed
I am finally alone and in my head. Like looking around a room with familiar walls but unfamiliar furnishings. I do not know these thoughts. This is my space, I should feel at home instead of a lost voyager drowning in a sea of unspoken creativity.
It is a stuffy place to be, with no mirrors to show reflections of me, no windows to let in what I need to breathe. How can this be? Who took an ax to the root(s) of my tree—I had named her Life and Longevity.
I want to tell you world, that I turned 32 today, but no leaves of reflection can fall, this breeze sneaking through my window, tickling my toes, melodies cascading through my headphones—yeah I am 32 today, and for the first time in quite a while I am in my dome, reshuffling, reclaiming it as my own.
Break
In the midnight rain
Fast feet stepped and
Stomped—busy perfection
To blue notes.
Wind whipping through
Raggedy coats,
Wet hair clasped
Around bare throats.
Dancing feet reacquainted
With the concrete
Under a tearful sky
Sharing her sorrow
But only at midnight.
–SpkN
Off Centered
Off the dome I go, mind ready to roam Down winding roads in Rome. I cannot sleep, wide eyed Waiting for the annoying 3:45 beep Ideas invested in interesting Endeavours … Continue reading Off Centered
Beautiful Belongings
Similes are pretty things-
flowers on a window sill of
a decrepit apartment building.
Metaphors move with violent
passion-
like a boxer dancing
in the ring.
Blue is cliché but
every color is pink.
Commas are the yellow
lights of literature
a semicolon’s shape
is a red-white
octagon.
Like butter on toast,
we belong together.
-SpKn
