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Best Poems Written by Skyler Bayer

Below are the all-time best Skyler Bayer poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Skyler Bayer Poem

The Gatekeeper

You're a curious one.
The same thing that enables us to even live
also makes our blood run cold.
We see you with a heart of stone
and we fear the things we cannot grasp.
A concept of end with no hope of beginning again.
Yet the rest of life accepts you.
The trees fall before you.
The rose will grow long after it knows
that one day, it will wither.
The elderly beast will lay aside,
close it's eyes,
accept the end as part of life.
But we tremble at your very mention,
do all we must to avoid your pressence.
Is this truly the price of intellegence?
In which case, I'd rather be savage.
It's better than a life of fear.
So embrace I shall this bittersweet truth
and keep in mind, I have purpose
even after you've claimed my vessel
and returned me to the earth and sky.
And maybe someday I'll again know life.
No more tears
no more fear.
Just love and understanding
of the job that must be done.
You're such a curious one,
and I will greet you like a curious child,
with an open heart and question.
Show me the true path of life,
my guide and my gatekeeper.

Details | Skyler Bayer Poem

The Good Wife

I've felt essentially
nothing
as of late.

Such a good little girl..

Hide behind laundry;
cooking, and coffee,
and the suds in the sink
while you think of absolutely
nothing.

Such a good little girl..

Do your work,
hone your studies.
And sing about stories
that would emerge from your heart
but you feel
nothing.
Nothing at all.

Such a good little girl..

Child, why are you running?
How cynically funny
it is you think you are
content in knowing
that a stable life is amid
the ashes of your burnt dreams.
The good wife, a couple of kids..
a leash..

Such a good little girl..

You live to please
and in repayment, your life is at ease
with the peace of mind to know
that, really, you're better off.
And you should feel something
but instead, just feel
nothing.
Nothing at all.
But you hide it so well.

Such a good little girl..

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Nina

For my purposes, I will call you Nina
though it's meaning, I cannot say,
more so, I shall not say, it is my own
as my heart no longer is.
You've gone now, my Nina
but are far from forgotten.
I think of you often these days of Autumn
when the breeze holds a remnant of your influence.
Of a feminine grace that once touched my existence.
But you, yourself, grew distant,
and my days have never been so vacant,
nor my essence so distilled.
You've chosen a path, my Nina,
which isn't much to be desired.
And maybe when you've grown, you too, will understand
that your only real truth lies not in what you pretend to be
but who you really are.
This denial breaks my heart,
though you're the one truly dying inside.
So my only comfort is retained in one hope,
that one day our hearts will lie shattered together.
But selfishly, I digress that I am breaking, too.
You've raised me delicately only to throw me down
and for my affections, I am crushed time and time again.
And, curse you, I cannot help but love
in utter opposition to your discourtesy!
You've done me wrong, my Nina
but I still do right by you.
For that, my soul will sing on.
I've found virtue, life, and love in you.
I miss you, my Nina, and part of myself.
For that reason, I cannot say...

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Knowledge

You told me to tell you something
You didn’t already know.
But I told you I’d told you everything.

You called me on that lie.

Opening yourself is to lose part of yourself
And I couldn’t understand how you expected it of me
When you’d build up your own defense
To shut me away.

We sat on the phone in silence
Static
9:10...9:20...
The rain just kept falling
My reflexion on the window downsed by the droplets
As we listened and waited
For the other to
Cave.
Drawing upon each others’ ragged breath.

Finally, I gave.

“I love you” I said, only to be plagued by silence
What a torturous rebuttal to offer
I thought I might cry
I thought I might die.
Then the silence was shattered.

“I said to tell me something I didn’t already know.”
You finally spoke.

I
shuddered.

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Poetry

So I’ve been told to write
Something great.
But who has the time these days
To impress the world?

So I sit and I think.
Think.
   Think.
      Think.
I’m bloody tired of thinking
I want to be
Feeling
Something.
ANYTHING.

This is what I came up with.
What is defined as poetry?
I remember what Robert Frost said,
“Poetry is the kind of thing poets do”.
I’m doing something
But feeling
Nothing.

It’s not about the way with words
It’s all about the interpretation
Comprehension
The reader’s connection with,
Not the words,
But with themselves.

Poetry.
It’s what you make of it
And it’s all about what those words do
For YOURSELF.
Not anyone else.
I don’t have to impress anyone.
This is MY world.

Don’t let the door hit you on the way out

Details | Skyler Bayer Poem

Two Left Feet

“I really can’t dance” I said
But you insisted on it anyway
As I sat with my arms folded
Sulking like a child.

“I won’t laugh, I promise” you coaxed
Your bare feet moving gracefully
On the hard oak floor.
Graceful as that damn dog you loved so much

With the long ears that never could run
   straight.

I grumbled beneath that same breath
That moments later you’d take away,
Standing before you, watching
Your dark locks danced along with you
While I remained motionless.

My arms jerked forward
As your slender cello fingers encompassed my own
How i longed mine to be as musical as yours
But you never seemed to mind.

“Dance with me” you whispered
Inching yourself nearer
My heart skipping beats
my breath became lost
Becoming one with your own.

Then, it was easy to ignore
That we both had two left feet
As long as they moved
simultaneously

Details | Skyler Bayer Poem

The Gift

Music is the flood gate to emotion.
A reflection of the lyrics it encompasses
conveying the sense of anything that comes to heart.
What I wouldn't give for that gift.
That ability that so sweetly stimulates the senses
or what so mercilessly destroys them.
The power to move my world or to shatter it within the sanctity of a piece of paper
dabbed with the systematic stains of hope and love
or of fear and doubt.
What I wouldn't give for that gift.
The gift of song that could bring you to tears
and just as easily lead you to cry on my shoulder,
purging your soul of all it's hatred
and refining to bring your love to me.
How I could touch you and my surrounding humanity
just as the melodies of others have so touched me.
And with that, I could die satisfied,
contented to know I fulfilled my soul's one passionate purpose:
to bring my affections together
just to pull your heart strings apart.
And my inner turmoil will have ceased
and I could finally be at peace with myself.
What I wouldn't give for that gift
to purify your souls with something so innocent
and to close my eyes and breathe my last
with a clear mind and no regrets.