Poetry

What is shown on the stage,

For the whole world to behold,

Is a forever advancing phenomenon,

And what a tragic story it holds.

The horror of your war and your hate and your grief

Is being taken out on me,

Darkness falls quickly now,

the feeble sky overpowered by the black pull of eternity.

Snow turns to rain, rain turns to mud,

and every month, I bleed and I cry.

It's almost Christmas, but

Somewhere between a flower and a coffin
lies the colorless sunrise outside your windows.
I am devoted and still breathing like the Elin.
You are innocent and still sleeping like the Pothos.

I hardly knew her at all, wasn’t expected to.  She was just a kid at the High like anyone else, who had no car.  She was sitting stubbornly on a bench, determined to get a ride.

The lovely Lady of Summer is carefree and beautiful, she swims in lakes and dances with flowers as her long hair floats in the warm breeze 

my heart so beating

soft in my chest where there is

waiting a place 

unfinished

here in the forest, there is a-waiting
a little bird, quiet and sweet
she does not quite understand
how they could have born her

these foreign beasts

once in the darkness
where i was thinking
i saw a light
oh deep in my soul
i did not question
where it had came from
i simply sat
in its embrace

winter wages her war outside
angrily beating her ice-hands on my doors
thrashing branches she sends through the air, 
a flurry of soft snow not far behind
she screams her wind-scream, rage filling the storm.

I love the sound of 

your voice,

your laugh,

And when we can giggle over nothing.

I love it when we sleep over, 

acting like dorks past 2 am.

I know that words are so hollow

I feel hollow words

Everyone's words

Are hollow

To me

I think that I am sorry

I ruined something

Bright and lively the feathers surround

Everyone’s keeping their head up so high

They expect the young fledgling

To join them the glory and pride