Forecast: dusk till dawn Another poem? Yes, pour a round for the table... It is decadent to the taste. We are rocking back and forth Our glasses clinking together Intoxicated with the promise of more The twinkle in our eyes suggests We know something we shouldn't Another verse? Sure, one more for the road Then I'm headed home But it’s no use I'm driving under the influence Of Rhyme and Coke My steps are stumbling Or maybe everyone else is crooked I see colors no one else can see And the roses stop to smell me My words are blurring together And I think, Icouldstaylikethisforever But every now and then I go too far And wind up on the floor Composition book still clutched in my hand I am split in half and can no longer walk Another piece? It is here when I am about to descend into a deep sleep Deadly and sweet The kind you never want to end, that I find my feet And say no. No more. Until next weekend... ...
For whatever reason My best intentions were not enough to save us For whatever reason We have only a short time on this earth Before we turn into dust For whatever reason My meticulously laid plans all became a bust For whatever reason A 30 year-long grudge died suddenly without a fuss.
I thought he liked me. I planted the idea in a field, and the field became a forest... Filled with bubbling brooks and sunset overlooks. I collected clay at the banks of the rivers and made pottery, The pottery became a museum of grand works and art displays From the cedar trees I built cities Giant feats of architecture, Parks where we sat and read literature Libraries full of historical texts and ancient mythology Science fiction and poetry That turned into schools and colleges Dedicated to the arts and varied knowledges Then, a society with cultures and cuisines, Distinct languages and colloquialisms Then, struck by war, disasters and famine Alien invasions and a zombie apocalypse Yet somehow we still survived. We rebuilt ourselves from the ashes Stronger this time, able to withstand the fire Gunpowder and brimstone But in the end, the end of our world was oh so simple. It was a seed I hadn't se...
"I tell ya what Sam, I think you're plenty inspirational when you're not trying to be..." The past few weeks I've struggled to share a poem I wrote. Over and over again my hand hovered over the send button and I talked myself out of it. It's not pretty, or flattering in any light. And even though I don't completely believe it, there must be a little part of me that does. You know, the part that wrote it... But somehow I got it into my head that I was meant to inspire others with my words. But it feels like a lie, the need to present myself as well-adjusted all the time. I think about the nights I soaked my pillow and when I was all out of cry, I'd write. Nothing pretty, nothing that made you smile. Pain wrung me dry, but it also inspired me. I reckon you need this too, my personal broken. Unsure, uncertain, insecure, scared out of my mind, lonely...so very lonely, weak, disappointed. A hand to squeeze in the dark if I cou...
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