PenAndPaperPoets

i remember that morning drinking tea constantly in the corner with savoir-faire i slaughtered some slaw there polished applause broke the air i attempted to add another dimension fairly early in the proceedings speedily i was back at even keel feeling a sureness and breathing meaning into fleeting pain the suspense left me alone just dreaming in the darkness like a mushroom in the rain

All around Winter's Lane rings the old song of candy canes. That tells a tale of long ago where elves spent their days playing in the snow. Instead of working side by side in little doves making toys for all the children around the world. They ran and played throwing snowballs and eating candy canes until the sunset came at Winter's Lane. But then a jolly old man came oh so they say and swept their fun away under the guise of eternal fun and games. Making them work for the rest of their days no time for fun no time for play. So when you gather under the tree think of those who suffered for your selfish needs.

There once was a poet who didn't know it as words begin to flow. That from their pen a marvelous word would spread inspiration around the world. Causing others both big and small to feel a light that would guide them all. To create their own worlds and stories untold causing joy to be felt around the world. So those at their lowest would feel a wondrous glow that lights up their very soul. Giving them the hope that would allow their soul to continue fighting while their hope was low. So to the writers and the artist across the globe don't discredit the impact you hold. For it may create an effect that can be felt around the world.

Trapped. The feeling that swallows you whole As the plane touches down. No colour, no sound, Even the screeching of metal A whisper that settles Defeated on white mountain snow. From forever to endless A shattered horizon Impaled by the clamoring crags. It is cold in the valleys It is dark in the forests Where the pines steam foggy and ragged. A lurking, a prowling, A dread in the trees, In the spaces that lie in between. Do you see it? In shapes unkind and unlikely, At once both seen and unseen. Trapped. And knowing that no-one can reach you Where the ice fractures bright Under haunting green light. See its teeth white as bone Its tartarean groans From woods old since the sunrise was new.

Horns pierced the air. The shrill of the fallen beating, bruises, broken limbs the shards of the grenades tearing, cuts, unseen splinters the excitement of the man bashing, smashes, hot temper. The floor is red. The knife is red. The body is red. And the body leaks its life, in thin red brooks which are forced out of the body, with every beat of the weakening heart. And then—silence. The war was over. Only the victim left, The victim of domestic violence.

A long time ago you told me "Child, we are made of starlight, And you and I are atoms That have lit the endless night." A thousand heartbeats later I wonder if you knew Whose atoms made our bones and blood and breath I wonder what you meant. Did you feel the supernovae in your soul? You were every spectral giant, Every pulsar, gamma bright, A tapestry of threads spun of the void. And now that I remember I know you could not see me. You looked into my eyes And you saw the endless night. But I am so much smaller. My darkness is not blinding, My atoms were not born in fusion hearts. I am so much lesser. My fingertips have known the mountain roots. I am bound in every fragment To the cold, impassive ground, To mud and ore and planetary clay. I was never stardust, I was not born of void. No vast and noble galaxies for me. I rose from sand and ocean, I was built of oak and pine A thing of earth is all that I can be.

I didn't want everything on earth with him. I only wanted his heartbeat pulsing through my fingertips— tangible and trembling like the soft wind snaking through my unkempt hair. Fingertips cradling my moistened cheekbones; teardrops glistening under star-spilled skies. Cheekbones gently pressed into the sturdiest shoulder blades— starkly silhouetted by budding moonglow. Barren feet slipping down unrippled lakewater, the moon's reflection shivering from our delicate touch. Entangled legs floating in cerulean lakewater; starlight dimming under rippling waves. Drenched arms reaching towards cerulean morningtide, wet fingers skimming through the frothy blue residue. Clear skies disappearing into navy blue backgrounds, fireflies glowing feebly above unravelled hands. Sunrise unravelling beneath fallen moonlight, bright gold spilling between unfurled fingertips. Pale rose trickling down gold-colored skylines, tiny droplets drying upon sunkissed limbs. Tanned limbs dissolving

Oh little pup my sweet little pup how is it that you're so old yet I am so young. It seems like yesterday that you were just a pup so full of vigor that I found it hard to keep up. But now you're old and slow but don't you fret for I still love you so.

I am a writer who tears up pages of words and scribbles mounds and mounds of meaningless dribble. I am a writer who builds and shapes characters and faces like a sculptor a part of a heart-wrenching race. To get you out of my head from the pages of which you bled yet every character and every face mirrors you in every way. I am a writer whose heart has been shattered by you who was my chisel to my meaningless dribble. I am a writer who when I had doubts you would say Allons-y and lift me right out. Yet now you're gone faded away yet in my ink you still remain you still leave your stain. So on my knees I plead to the pages and words that was my retreat to get you out permanently and rid you from my memories. Oh why won't you leave me be?!

Imperfections A tainted rhyme Imperfections What a crime. To not be perfect And fit in the mold To not be a perfect thing That you would love to hold. Don’t lie and say To my imperfections you are blind Don’t lie and say You love them all in kind. No one loves All of my flaws No one could love Me and all my claws. Everyone wants Their one little doll Everyone wants A perfect little doll. You may lie And say to imperfections you are blind You may lie But if I slip I know you won’t be kind. It happened many times before One say they’ll love me flaws and all It happened many times before And each time I was left in the mud. So don’t bother and tell me You don’t want me to be your little doll Don’t bother and tell me You don’t want to play dress up. Go give your “unconditional love” To some other naive doll Go give your “unconditional love” To someone who still believes in that stuff.