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Autumn Matthews Poem
His psychedelic dream,
Her open canvas.
Passion exploding in colour.
Striving for beauty,
Throwing colour into empty air.
Each stroke on pale unsullied skin,
A masterpiece.
Vivid colours, bleeding souls
No romance, not making love but
Making art.
Pure raw emotion,
Giving each other everything.
Exposing their flaws.
For it is colour that is dangerous,
Provocative,
Creating a mural which can
Never be forgotten.
Copyright © Autumn Matthews | Year Posted 2015
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Autumn Matthews Poem
This is just a note to say,
Thank you, all of you, for looking my way.
As you may have guessed, I'm new,
But I'd really like to get to know you.
But first, a few words about me
(I don't want to pay for a biography).
I read more books than is healthy,
I don't go out much, I drink tea.
I paint and write and play guitar-
Maybe this rhyme has gone too far...
Anyway, it's great to have joined the group,
You'll hear more from me on Poetry Soup!
Copyright © Autumn Matthews | Year Posted 2015
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Autumn Matthews Poem
The season of hope, the season of giving,
The time to reflect on the life you've been living.
Children innocent, gleeful, jolly,
Masquerading in magical midnight folly.
Token gifts exchanged with teary eyes,
Sentimentality to make up for expressionless lies.
The streets lined bright with twinkling lights,
Amaretto, giddy to dispell never-ending nights.
The anticipation is welcomed into their chests,
The disillusioned only waiting to end their direst.
Simply a day if you've no one to share with,
Only a waiting game, until it is over with.
Just one day yet it's been another year,
Rejection was always your biggest fear.
Melancholia swelling in your heart, loneliness growing more,
Then Christmas is over and it's all back to how it was before.
Copyright © Autumn Matthews | Year Posted 2015
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Autumn Matthews Poem
The sun rises,
Bloodshot red sky.
Tainted by blossoming bullet holes.
Can I ever return
To the naivety of ignorance?
Whistling and explosives echo in my head.
Fade to black. Again.
The inky night,
Spreads like infection
Over the horizon like whispers,
Tendrils of numbness.
Can you ever return,
From your fragmented slumber?
Don't make me face my demons alone.
Copyright © Autumn Matthews | Year Posted 2015
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Autumn Matthews Poem
I contemplate often,
How everyone seems to be going a little mad.
But then I think: It's not possible for everything to be crazy,
So perhaps it's just me.
Sometimes I hear things they don't hear.
They say it's not normal.
But surely the voices inside my head
Are asking me to listen.
You lose track of the days here,
Whether it's morning or night,
Just a lonely red dot in the corner, blinking,
Monitoring, observing, intruding.
I wish the walls were more colourful
So I could feel a little less like a corpse in a white coffin.
It's suffocating.
I count (but what for? I don't even know when the days start and end) down with marks on the wall,
Lines,
In one of the corners.
There are a lot of lines.
Maybe one day they'll let me out and the voices will stop.
Until then, maybe I'll ponder a little more about whether or not I'm just a little crazy.
Copyright © Autumn Matthews | Year Posted 2015
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