I am doing better.
I see my friends, I cook.
I laugh, I talk.
Must I always feel like this?
Alone and restless
In the dark hours of the morning
Through walls of glass, the
naked daylight streams,
Exposing rooms where quiet
shadows rest.
Two lonely souls trapped in
forgotten dreams,
Each locked inside a cold,
separate nest.
The crystal palace lets the
world look in,
Yet blocks the warmth of
any healing word,
Beneath one roof, the
distance starts to win,
Their silent grief remains
unseen, and unheard.
The husband watches night
fall from his bed,
The wife lies staring at the
ceiling high,
The tender language of their
past is dead,
Replaced by echoes of a
heavy sigh.
This fragile fortress offers no
defense,
Where transparent walls
build a fortress wall,
The love they harbored,
once so deep and dense,
Now shatters softly as the
dark hours fall.
It is what is coded on my DNA
It is the rhythm of my heartbeat
It is what is engraved on my soul
It is what is written in my anthology
It is my medicine
"MEDICINE "
Yeah, I think that is the perfect word to describe what art means to me
For all the times I felt the urge to down my anti-depressants with alcohol
But chose to bleed on pages instead
For all the times I wanted to curse God for all my pain
But decided to turn my prayers into a poem instead
For the time art kept me company in the midst of my dark hours
For that one time when music bandaged my wounds
And when Phora's album made me feel like I had a companion
Like I an not the only one experiencing this hell
Art saved me
Spiderwebbed folds hang
from thin arms.
A circle of lamplight
is his exercise yard.
Daylight is a brief fluttering wing
against closed eyelids.
Night floats above him,
and in those dark hours
he feels a light-headed immunity
from the gravity
of open graves.
Outside in the hard-wired clamor,
buses and trucks growl up droning hills.
Sink holes open and shut
within a rushing sky.
Order and chaos are ushered in and out
of crazy-eyed cats.
Sometimes his mind
is a wheezy colostrum
of milky effusions.
He paints himself with one finger
in the air.
The dying man hitchhikes under a hand,
feels the warmth of anything in full bloom.
He sighs, then gurgles like a coffee pot.
The wispy guy remains,
always sinking ever upwards
toward what - he knows not,
however, it’s not here
so, he doesn't care.
We live;
To be the ones who sing and dance.
We love;
And do in variety and kind.
We cry;
In pain but also out of joy.
We envy;
That denied, forbidden us.
We eat;
To fill or just for pleasure's sake.
We speak;
With words but also with an art.
We build;
Creations that define ourselves.
We hunt;
To find the basic truth in us.
We teach;
To set examples for our kind.
We strive;
For better versions of ourselves.
We yearn;
To be or simply not to be.
We believe;
So in dark hours we find hope.
Now some ignore, do fail or will not see;
However complex we evolved to be;
A simple truth refined us naturally;
We are and will remain a family.
It now sneaks up within the grey
And brings the Arctic air our way
Its evil spell is taking hold
So we must brace against the cold.
Celsius degrees hit sub zero
And small mammals burrow below
To escape from the worst of times
And most birds fly to warmer climes
The sky that was a joyful view
Now dreary grey replaces blue
Each day we see no sign of sun
That pleasure now is surely gone
We suffer shortage of day light
And shiver through each day and night
But we endure and we pray
That long dark hours go away
We dream about the coming spring
When daylight then is lengthening
And bringing joyful springtime skies
And then we see the snowdrops rise.
"As water flows down when a faucet is turned on, thoughts and feelings pour out into a journal cleansing the heart" ~ By Poet
I keep a journal, a treasure chest of memories.
Where I record each day’s activities
Where I divulge my innermost secrets
As my feelings overflow into each blank page,
I get the therapeutic effect of unburdening my heart.
Though I scrawl down in messy hand,
It is a slice of my heart and I treasure it,
More than any other document I have.
Every day I empty my heart into its pages,
My pen bleeds words in red.
I paint me as I am, honest and truthful.
I don’t want to be a sham.
Here I lay bare my life,
Fraught with aches, dotted with smiles.
My longings and my heart aches
My expectations, my disappointments
My triumphs, my defeats
My search through every nook n’ cranny for success
My plunge into the nadir of despair on defeat
My moments of escalating joy
My dark hours of crippling distress
Everything I want to be,
Everything I fail to be.
Journaling, poetry, and prayer fill my day.
They help me keep all my boredom away!
I was assaulted last night,
sleepless gray hands
attached to an insane mind
kept me on the edge
of delirium.
Mind attacks are never real
but when the dark hours
cling to you like spiders
you follow those crazy thoughts
believing it is you who thinks them
but it is the spiders, the
neuronal web-weaving spiders
that talk and talk and talk
as they walk up and down
your cringing spine.
Sitting on a chair at the front door,
wishing for cars to stop by the road,
waiting until the dark hours of the night;
Night would be bright if their shadows would show.
Holding my wife's hands as I look at her face,
trying to measure the depth of her thoughts,
trying to fill the cup of her emptiness,
as tears from her pretty eyes slowly fall.
Filling the empty rooms with memories of the past,
like those sweet moments were just like yesterday.
Sounds of their noises echo through my ear,
as the toys that guard the empty rooms crave for their touch.
Oh! I miss them so much, as I miss their memories.
How I wish they're just near to be held.
How long shall my eyes crave for the light of their smile?
How long shall my heart miss the warmth of their embrace?
May 1, 2023
Empty Nest Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Cooper Etheridge
I have emptied my heart into these pages
My pen has bled words in red
You can look straight into me
I have painted me as I am
Honest and truthful
I don’t want to be a sham
Here have I laid bare my life
Fraught with aches, dotted with smiles
My longings and my heart aches
My expectations, my disappointments
My triumphs, my defeats
My search through every nook n’ cranny for success
My plunge into the nadir of despair on defeat
My moments of escalating joy
My dark hours of crippling distress
Everything I wanted to be
Everything I failed to be
Loaded with imagination,
Some are purely fictional, I admit.
Yet how a poet unveils himself/herself
Through the tone and timbre of one's verse
Please have a peek into it
Read the candid chronicle of my life
And tell me if my soul is black or white
____________________________
November. 6. 2022
A Freed Verse Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Brian Strand
I have mirrored the whole of my life
On this mercurial surface
I have painted myself on this glossy canvas
My pen has bled words in red
You can look straight into me
As you see my reflection on a mirror
I have sketched me as I am
Honest and truthful,
Sans distortion or contortion
I don’t want to be a sham
Here have I laid bare my life
Fraught with aches, dotted with smiles
My longings and my heart aches
My expectations, my disappointments
My triumphs, my defeats
My search through every nook n’ cranny for success
My plunge into the nadir of despair on defeat
My moments of escalating joy
My dark hours of crippling distress
Everything I wanted to be
Everything I failed to be
Please have a peek into my porous heart
Assess this candid chronicle of my life
And tell me if my soul is black or white
Sometimes I feel I am a life boat without oars
Floating aimless hither and tither
But I see light houses of joy in between
To pilot my way over shoals and breakers!
May. 5.2022
Placed Third
In the Mirror of Life Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Anoucheka Gangabissoon
Shrivelled day,
Mottled charred desires,
Still pursuits,
Dying hope,
Shadowed duty engagement,
We fall and rise still.
While we wait
The terrace of our flat is a place for retired kings
the sun shines humbly not burning my nose and
the sea is calm as a full glass of water left
undisturbed in the kitchen during the dark hours,
outside in the streets, the pest is raging, closed
shops and full hospitals, death is aggravating,
caused by people refusing to wear masks or go to
parties and illegal revelries, the pest is demanding
payment, nothing is free if you are not prepared
to dance with death not dressed for the occasion.
In the interim, we sit inside and wait for the vaccine.
You are the sea
that shelters me
and welcome when in you
my soul and body dive ...
You are my safe harbor,
when I anchor you
with my anxieties
and sadness ...
You are the
comprehensive light
that focuses my guide
lines when I perform
in the saddest and
dark hours ...
How lucky i am
for having you !
You are the sea that shelters me
and welcome when in you
soul and body dive ...
You are my safe harbor,
when I dare you
with my anxieties
and sadness ...
You are the comprehensive light
that focuses on the paths,
when I enter
in the saddest and
dark hours ...
How lucky i am
to have you ...!
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Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.