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...

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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,

Of life,

Of love.

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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;

U...

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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...

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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...

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Timelessness

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...

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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.

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