Poetry Blogs (2016, time)
A Soul In The Clock
-for the ones whose pillow is the moon-
Just the ones who are wearing the night
On themselves and walking on the stars,
Filling the empty streets with thoughts,
And who are sitting alone in their houses,
Breeding the clouds and turning to a breeze,
And just the ones who are missing their
Losted sun but not looking for it,
Shining in their mind but...
Saturday 29th October 2016 9:00 pm
If only it was that simple.
I'm at the supermarket,
Looking at a can's expiration date,
And I can't help but to think that in reality,
Life does not work out that way.
If only I knew the date of expiration,
The amount of time before the disintegration,
Friday 21st October 2016 2:59 am
Eight o'clock looks better with blue tinted sunglasses.
The sunset is redder, the sea loses its grey,
People become mere shadows in the softening light.
It is calm.
I sit and wait for him.
Curling my bare feet into the sand.
Shadows catch their reflections in my eyes
Seeing only themselves and a lonely girl.
The waves melt away the metal casings of my heart;
Tuesday 11th October 2016 10:20 am
Its so much easier
not thinking for yourself
To not be yourself
To not care for yourself.
You hurt less people
You don’t get in the way
You make people happy
Your feelings just go away.
Deep down inside
You know you are screwed
That one day soon
Someone is going to wake
Something inside of you.
Confusing how its not yourself
That opened up t...
Wednesday 21st September 2016 5:31 am
As if sloughing off a skin and emerging
After a painful rebirth, and yes, there were tears.
Emerging into the light after months, years of being in the shade.
When caught in a grey void, time slows, and I fear I will fall with no one to catch me.
Running into the headlights, I fear I will run too fast and fall, spinning into a white void.
I do not fall but stumble, and carry on stro...
Sunday 3rd July 2016 7:57 pm
Tear up the calendars,
Tear down the clocks;
For the evil that they do
is written in the faces
Torn to shreds by the hands of time
In a frenzy of the workaholic’s pantomime.
Tear up the calendars,
Tear down the clocks.
Slow down the days,
Speed up the lives.
Boot out deadlines;
Bring in lifelines,
Then sigh at the oxymoron
That is “quality time”.
Time is the...
Saturday 11th June 2016 6:05 pm
And now I must recover myself
Left, after centuries of fearful neglect
Washed up to dry on a sunless beach.
And now I must plait my hair
Dull, after nights of washing in grease
The guilty searches for lost affection.
And now I must return home,
Home, where I’ve never been
And sit a while and say sorry, I’m sorry, to me.
Wednesday 16th March 2016 3:27 pm