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Sway into Eternity
Submitted by Wellsy on Wed, 05/15/2013 - 8:02pm
The candles have all burned out,
and the wine has been drunk.
Cheeks have been kissed and at last
the party has come to an end. Read more »
Let's Talk
Submitted by Wellsy on Tue, 03/19/2013 - 5:31pm
Sometimes it’s the meaningless conversations
that are remembered the most.
The trivial chatter
An Ever Burning Candle
Submitted by Wellsy on Wed, 02/13/2013 - 9:45amThe wind blows swiftly,
yet the light doesn’t glimmer.
The cold bites fiercely,
and still no heat comes.
Indomitable light
in an ever growing darkness.
False truth in a form we can all sympathize with.
Read more »
A Rainstorm
Submitted by Wellsy on Wed, 02/13/2013 - 9:42amI’ve something to say
but no words to say it with.
No combination of letters,
commas
or dashes
can capture the unfinished image
echoing around my mind.
Read more »
Relative Silence
Submitted by Wellsy on Fri, 10/05/2012 - 7:26pm
All I could hear was the quickening beat of my heart, and the shouting. The little girl was staring up at her mother with watery eyes and cheeks flecked red with anxiety. Her mother, who looked as if she’d already been quenching her thirst that morning, was throwing insults and curses into the little girl’s face and shaking her fists in the air. The little girl could only sniffle in reply. Every inch of my body was screaming to stand; screaming to help. Despite my rising anger, I found that I couldn’t even look in their direction. Littered throughout the room I saw other observers acting just the same. They were staring into space but listening intently. The expressions on their faces ranged from mild annoyance to true empathetic pain. Read more »
London in Fog
Submitted by Wellsy on Sun, 09/09/2012 - 2:35pmHeavy mist muffles the sun’s
setting rays.
All throughout the winding streets
and the lush green parks,
London sleeps.
Fog swirls across the Thames,
as it slowly laps upon its banks.
Under this darkness,
this mysterious
and beautiful fog drenched darkness,
a different London comes alive.
A London where ghosts
of days gone by
emerge from the rolling fog,
to tour their majestic city once more.
One can hear a distinctive clopping over bridges,
the distant whistle of a bomb...
The thrum of a steam boat
and the tolling of the clock tower.
The clock’s amber glow colours the abundant fog,
illuminating the bustles and pocket watches of those
ghostly men and women of long long ago.
Thus is the night,
of the ancient
and stoic
London Town.
Known best by those who lived through it all;
The river,
the tower,
and the fog.
