Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Tallow

The candle and I bear witness
to the long, lone, and restless night.
With a match, we bring ourselves to light
brilliant reminders of finer days past.
brought forth out of love but not meant to last

We complement each other in our fading vigilance,
twisting, smoldering, struggling we fall,
exhausted or, dripping
We grow ever small.

Used, they saw the one true answer,
and so it was the only light.
No will, no arms with which to fight,
no rival to the endless stars
a sky that taught the world to dance.
Symbols of hope and knowledge
not brought into this world by chance.


We flicker and hiss and claim our right.
Wax sealed the deed and blinded our sight.

Born to burn and ever so fast.
Brilliant reminders of finer days past,
wrought for one purpose, yet not to last.
Illuminations were made, in shadow we cast.

We sputter and waver,
gutter and wane,
flee before storms, slip from the reins.
Yet from us, the lights still glow,
revealing the truths the Greats longed to know.

Here but once, and once alone.
Is it just once, and all from a spark?
Our essence is , YEARNING
not Dawn, nor the Dark.
enjoy.
 Mar 26 T R Wingfield
Liana
Drink some water
Eat something
Write a poem
Take a walk
Just sit there and exist for a moment

It’s okay
Nothing really matters anyway
Take care of yourself! Kind of ironic coming from someone who’s up at 12:30 writing poetry, not drinking, and not doing homework or anything else I should be. Meh :/
Now I lay me down to forever sleep
Your secrets safe I’ll always keep
I pray I die before I wake
Your past to my grave I gracefully take
As Hell’s fires encase and burn
I hold your forgotten demons strong and firm
While safe at home you rest at ease
Remember this prayer I beg you please
For tribes and races
Borders and fences
Are wholly needed
Keep them separated
America is Babylon
***** of the ancients
Where history is erased
And truth is defaced
She places her children
On pedestals of fame
Then sends them to hell
Where they burn in flames
And she laughs
And shifts blame
America the great
To her its a game
The day I was born was the day of an accident
Parents never wanted me so they tried to destroy me
Yet at the same time ensured I was never free
Ganged up on me
Stood behind a wall I was too short to see
Then kicked me out at eighteen
To be torn apart by wolves
To ensure I fell, what was the point
Never had a place to call home
So full of nerves I couldn't break the ice with the girl I loved
And she loved me, what a pity
We could have had a beautiful life
All this time I lived in misery
They call me insane and make sure I'm drugged
Without the drugs I'd ******* **** all these bullies
For making this **** life even *******
How am I to live when devils surround?
Peace and love are nowhere to be found in this war
Nothing to live for, nowhere to be
No one to talk to, no one to see
Yet I tried to help others any way I could
I didn't want them to feel as low as me
So why am I targeted
Why must I fight Satan himself
And his armies of devils by the skin of my teeth?
Now comes the dark night of the soul
This is the closest to hell I've ever been
And I feel this way every day
I sigh and cry
Why do I try?
I don't want your money or fame
I don't want to play your stupid game
I'm alone and I no longer want to be
Please God put me out of my misery
I put a grappling hook deep up A ******
mine,
yours
the heart of the poetic universe.
Pull you mighty mules !

The whip cracks

The stars themselves strain.

Do my heavy lifting
simps,
peons,
idiots,
brain dead schlubbs wallowing in failure and self doubt.
Stuck non- writers,  whining,
pretending.
**** not the harsh cold
chains
let  them rattle,
rattle like department store birthday cakes
without the little cars you wanted.
Stale.

Where is your fire ?
Is your passion even detectable?
Manageable ?
Intelligible  ?
Like Centralia, Pennsylvania,
I will burn for over 200 years
I didn't ask for this
level of deep
lethal
toxicity.

Let the roses rot and die till all that's left are stinking slimey sticks in drying stagnant water.
Funeral remnants of days lost, uncounted,
let them rot.
Either STOP
or , start blaming everyone else for your sickness and your petty weakness.
The biggest grappling hook
I
could
find  !
 Mar 26 T R Wingfield
Josh
If I had the words,
Then I wouldn't have to write
You'd look at me and hear a song, instead

The notes are what you'd learn
The rhythm, what you'd feel
A signal flare, illuminating overhead

In kind, we'd bond
Words, lost from you as well
Looking warmly, eyes held in hold

In truth, our smiles would stretch miles,
While in the end,
Our stories remain untold
Why does this color feel so familiar to me?
Dreams—visions
bringing serenity into reality,
are present and yet still comforting…

It’s funny how casual symbols
and ephemeral frames together
create a surprisingly good script.

Once my dreams were nightmares,
goodbyes, delayed journeys.
But that night was different.
I wanted to fly in the light.
My spirit levitated
as gently as a bright spring day
in the silver-white flickering shine.

I saw my transparent corporeal tissues
my hands, my feet, my pulsing veins
a glowing surrealistic sketch.
For the first time, I felt deep and sincere,
fondness for my body.

How often have I punished myself harshly
for its perfect imperfection?
As I lay on the floor, wanting to numb the pain.
There is no poetry or beauty in physical,
ugly, unbearable suffering.

That night, I saw the deep blue-indigo sky
flowing through me as a quiet living brook
that I used to meet while walking on summer days
in the green, life-scented forest.

I saw my still-living body
so vulnerable, forsaken by my awareness.
When I woke up, I understood that
loving myself isn’t overwhelming egoism.
How strange that even a silly dream
could give me strength and bring me
to a safe home—to my own body.
Lit tunnels and less lit tunnels
Where is the light at the end?

I want the warmth of the train's headlights
And I want the conductor to feel bad
When his breaks don't work in time

Inescapable Death Upon Impact
You can try and lift both feet off the tracks
Hurl your torch into the groaning abyss
Pry the railway from the ground

Alas

What goes up
Must come down
Every flame that flares in
Must fade out
Tonight I'm remembering and mourning the loss of the great visionary Mr. David Lynch. I sometimes think I've come to accept death as a fact of life and therefore defeated grief, but Mr. Lynch is on that list of people who have it in them to remind me otherwise. It's felt a little like a part of my soul is missing, since his passing. One day (probably fairly soon) that feeling will also meet its end, maybe.
Next page