It's been some time since I've last written, staring at the sky while the clock reads 12:37.
My eyes wander, jumping cloud to cloud through rays of moonshine,
noticing holes in the floors of heaven with gleaming eyes.
Stars that twinkle.
Rip Van Winkle? The Time Traveler's Wife?
Thoughts run through my head.
Another ponderous night,
while crickets play music under the moonlight.
Government owls generating hooter calls
as I lay here in the dark.
The wonders of God keep my soul in His Light.
She is a walking juxtaposition:
Amicable qualities dressed in futility, far-fetched pictorial in a living illustration, painstakingly carefree—a telltale tribulation.
Ambivalence irks aptitude.
Foreshadowing scurries in a frenetic gambit, a stratagem of the devil himself.
This oddity is a fleck, resurgent in its nature—a drop of dew, a grain of sand.
Do all you must to bait her,
debate her.
Commotion, admonish, plaudit.
The audacity of her tacit agreements.
Such abysmal fervor could be the making of a luminary.
the voices are overwhelming
I can hear so many conversations in my head a few good mostly not
all pointing to one subject
her
they talk about her life choices
making mentions of her checkered past.
Just another junkie, might as well throw her in the trash.
I'll say this line I just heard is classic
she is like problems you stuff in basements and attics.
An addict in an attic well that's a new play on words.
one voice cuts through all these conversations with three simple words
She has God.
He has seen every wrong and every wrong made right.
He walked with her in darkness and still brought her back to light.
He has watched every moment when she thought she was alone.
The nights she cried herself to sleep, in the car she called her home.
He seen all these things and still sees her for who she is.
All voices now stopped.
Thank you to the Father
my Savior, my Rock.
Isaiah 55:8-9
"For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,” declares the LORD. “As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts."
can I ask for just a moment
don't want to take up much of your time
you asked how I was doing
I lied and said I'm fine.
thoughts have taken me outside of myspace.
into my Facebook, tick tok banned and erased.
ig stories tend to be staged
then Twitter went an X'd itself out of the page.
I open YouTube music begin floating on icloud.
Google drive my way with passion.
Pandora cruising windows down.
vibe check with a mixtape wins my heart 10 toes down.
The enemy knows the power of a hook.
One verse repeated got your whole world shook.
Because your ears are the gateway to an unseen realm.
Lead in a pencil becoming the ink from a well.
Escape room within the confines of a mind bass ackwards.
Sea horse in a bubble, Jessica Rabbit past her prime.
Thoughts cruising down dead end streets and round abouts for no apparent reason or rhyme.
Letting it flow in the changing of seasons.
I've sat within darkness, led by light back to freedom.
Brain set ablaze, while stumbling within a self made maze.
Thankful to the Lord my God, after how far I strayed.
Restored a mind which had become lost in the hallways of insanity. The mind itself had made.
Writing to find the keys of the rooms I've still no access.
Lead leading the process of imagination on paper.
Art.
A
Release of
Tension
squiggles make me smile, looks like dancing in ink
line sketched zigging or zagging on purpose, leave room left to think
eraser shavings from every Mark drawn. where your mind said,
"no such thing as happy accidents"
having learned a real artist,
makes friends with freshly painted trees.
whispers to the babbling brooks, as the water trickles down.
Relaxing under the shade of the tree that you just drew on your notebook
putting yourself out there with squiggles and zig zags
a
release of
tension
art
waded in waters waiting out the storm
weighted thoughts try to wait me out
weightless while wading in waiting waters.
waters waiting in wading while weightless.
paradoxal
the wait of the water becoming weightless while wading through it.
The weighted thoughts wade in the shallows
waiting for me to just float away
sobriety is what it means to breathe life back into the Dead
shame having filled their lungs with toxic fumes
living unalive while the sky is fifty shades of Blue
through self-indulgent deeds the devil let himself into the house without an address
squatters rights in your mind
I'm sorry no I don't get that context
this is the power of economy versus innocence
hurry hurry step right up get your tickets here
obscured unstable thoughts playing out within the furrows and crypts
reflection in the mirror
pupils dilate as I focus
but either way you spin it I'm spun
UFOs—
unidentified flying objects.
But flying objects
are often man-made.
So does that mean
our government is alien?
The big deception:
alien life forms in space.
But alien life forms
aren’t humans from other countries.
Aliens are monsters—
monsters are predators—
corrupt entities
hidden within a nation’s trust.
Citizens believe
in current events
while real threats
remain hush-hush.
Maybe we need a system
without division—
multiplying solutions
by removing opposition,
until cooperation
becomes the thing
we recognize
as human.
I was born inside a house with no address.
The black SUVs that sit outside are numbered.
The walls keep moving.
The mirrors started showing reflections
I can't recognize,
whispering names
of whom I do not know.
The lawn in the backyard is AstroTurf.
I rolled my ankle twice while outside.
Digital warfare remains at an all-time high,
yet I still have trouble putting down my phone.
7:00 p.m.
Is that a bird
or a drone?
The clouds leave me in awe,
counting sheep
And I'm jealous of the birds—
the way they spread their wings
and simply fly.
They're free.
I wonder if the birds ever look at us
from somewhere above
and think the exact same thing:
What would it be like
to be free?
Bird Brain
Jealous of the birds—
the way they spread their wings
and fly.
They're free.
I wonder,
if a bird could look at us,
what would it think?
Funny how we're insulted
with “bird brain”
for the very mention of thought.
Writer's block
at 9:33 p.m.
on the clock—
being that the time I'm in,
we should talk
while we have the chance.
Let me off this
tax-and-roller-coaster
within this mind.
Make it stop.
Take these thoughts
growing legs
and let them run.
Drop the rock.
Breathe the air.
Get some sun.
You're in shock.
Don't fall off.
Live.
Lost train of thought—
too many cars.
Remember why you left, leaving behind what you left behind.
Smoke getting thicker with each passing breath in this line.
Weight becomes heavier, close to crushing one’s chest.
Slowly it happens; time passes with no rest.
Glancing at the clock, screaming, “I got this all wrong.”
Doors close when shut and open once received.
Barefoot is the one who stands on hot coals and refuses to leave.
Stagnant is the one who was given the tools but did not receive.
Washing up like seashells often do upon the shore,
most are similar to another.
But the rare ones are able to whisper unspoken secrets to the waves,
having the sea return answers only an ocean would know.
The constant pull, the true ebb and flow.
The instrumental foundation of lyrics being revealed to the soul.
A frequency within, decoding the heart.
When one track ends, the next track starts.
Making repetitive decisions.
Stumbling once more
into this drug-addicted trap,
lost thoughts begin bleeding out
on paper.
While those forgotten run overtime
beneath the subconscious,
in attempts to illuminate
what my eyes cannot hide.
This never-ending shift
in the revolving door of emotions and morality
leaves me without breath,
somehow still breathing.
Cut open is my flesh,
as rogue thoughts crash like waves upon the shore.
Restless is my mind,
while eyes lock in a steady haze.
The dryness in the air
causes blinking eyes to wonder
how most lose their sight.
Not many stop to ponder.
To live faceless
in a blinding world.
Hearing the pain
in another's song—
we must be related.
Having poured out all of oneself,
questions remain.
Was it ever love?
Or always lust?
Voicing these realities
becomes like a temperature
too hot to touch.
Unable to unsee
what has become fragile,
while I became careless.
Late night revellers passing by
Enthralled as they look to the sky
The stars are twinkling, the moon aglow
And nightingales sing in sweet tempo.
Arm in arm lovers swoon to their tune
Hearts entwined in a boom-giddy-boom
Songsters join in happy rejoicing
No doubt they have well oiled voicing.
Some girls rushing homeward in haste
Knowing they’d be getting home far too late
Parents anxiously walking the floor
Waiting for daughters to knock the door.
Slowly pavements become barren, bare
Nothing stirs, bar from the cool night air
All is peaceful as the revellers retreat
And only the wild life pace the streets.
nothing lasts forever
your love for me
infinity
even your endeavor
those stolen kisses under the moon
those late-night strolls in June
because when September comes
our love is only an ember
when we can only remember June
and those moments
under the moon
nothing lasts forever
those long looks
peering at our books
under the moon
when it shone on your hair
nothing can compare
to those late-night strolls in June
nothing lasts forever
not the leaves on a tree
like the whispers of never
the leaves that flow free
eventually have to fall
those things we see
those leaves we came to be
when you can only plea
for those late-night strolls in June
Sub Categories
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.