A Limmerick

Upon my window sill
Green willows near the mill
To call my home
This watery dome
Like a fish without gills

Randompoeticlines

Something random from my poetry writing class.

Empty as my hollow grave,
songless birds
of silent sounds.

Against the Flow it Seems

I feel staked to this cold ground which has forsaken me. I do not know where to go, what to do. I am totally and completely blank, a lost cause to my own self. I attended a college graduation ceremony today and the speaker's words were a bad taste in my mouth I just wanted to spit out. All lies, nothing they said is that easy. Or perhaps everything they said didn't pertain to me at all. It was like listening to someone speak a foreign language, and only those in the colors of their school could understand the meaning. Those lucky enough to taste sweet success could hear the syllables roll off the tongue and understand every signifcant meaning of their futures. Not me, for as of right now I have none. It is the most frightening realization I have come to know.

People wonder why I'm always a ball of stress ready to explode at any given time. Well, here's why: because all my life nothing has ever gone right. The stress is necessary to cushion the expected disappointment. It's sort of a twisted coping mechanism. It can't be healthy mentally, but I've done it for as long as I can remember.

Happiness seems so distant now, and all I know is self hatred and stress. Will I ever find normalcy? Or is this it for me?

"And I'm lonesome when you're around."

I look at you, looking at me, but you do not see me- I am transparent, pale faced, a white sheet. I move and your ears do not detect the sound. I weep, but you do not see the water glistening on my face. You walk through me and it is unbearable. You used to look, and view me with such light that I thought that perhaps I was the beacon guiding you to me. But such radiance diminished, I think back, retrace- wondering where it went. Is it my flaws? How I've tried and tried and receive nothing in return. There is only so much that you can take before there is nothing left. And I fear that I am at my wits end, for I have nothing left to give. What more then? I am already empty, as deathly as my ghostly flesh. Take my eyes, and my heart too, this sacrifice for dying love is worth it to me.

Thinking Back, to a Better Place

Take me back to the woods of Minnesota. I despise society's constant sound. It's wretched and grotesque, like a screeching devil. I long for crystal waters. The sweet smell of pine trees in the morning. I long for the danger, going head to head with a mama moose and treacherous, stormy waters. I miss the simplicity, the leisure and charting our own course. Time was endless, and my body, ageless. I miss the silky night, which enshrouded me in a frigid blanket. How I completely miss the feeling of being stranded and alone. No people, no buildings, no irritating noise. Just me, in a city of trees and nature's melodies.

Untitled

To me, there is no greater mystery, no greater awe, no greater question of the world with the dying words of a very intelligent man: "happiness only real when shared."