faces
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autumn reflectionswrinkled leaves wrinkled facesmourning dead leaves....Mark Toney © 2021.9/25/2021 - Poetry form: Haiku (for you)
How does one survive
When he doesn't care to try?
When he's run out of time
And is overwhelmed by lies,
In whom can he honestly confide?
How could one suffer
When his family loves one another?
My train is always speeding; thundering down the track at full speed.
It heads nowhere in particular.
Whenever it stops to unload a thousand passengers, a thousand more board.
Most are unwelcome.
a ten-second tears falls
from bleak but truthful faces
with a poultice-like mask
from mistaken-youth places
what are the choices to change,
stop for 30 days, complain
there is a face
behind my face--
there is a frown
behind my smile--
there is a life
beyond this hell--
there is a place
that does not wait--
the ribs that stick
My mom said monsters were not under my bed,
Just in my head.
They aren't bad but I'd rather have some friends instead.
Growing up I saw monsters in school,
Monsters at work,
Monsters who were cool,
They say a mirror breaks
Into a thousand pieces
When it is hit by
By anything that contains
The force to shatter it
And crack the glass,that
Might have been immaculate,
Or might have been dirty,
Day, it is the day where I hide myself
Light reaches for every dark spot, nothing to hide
Talks are short, superficial, lacks any personal substance
Talks are loud, ornamental, giving no inclination in anything
I dream amongst the stars
Yet live with buildings and cars
Two different places
Two different faces
Both have freedom, both have bars.
I sing amongst the stars
I dance along with Mars
He said this
She said that
You come to me asking for help
because you know
you know that I will
even if I'm ill
don't question it
but when you leave and talk behind my back
Shapeless as the shadowthey creep,they lurch,they change,from the bright dayjoyous and gay,or the dim twilight,melancholy and grievous,to the black nightraging and grim.
The faces fade to ash
Photographs discolored to the sickly yellow
Of rotting buttercups and stagnant sunlight
Captured in dust-coated rooms
Disintegrating into something less than nothing
It covers everything
It is our friend and enemy
It shields our faces
Our emotions and devestations
It knows our fears
It creates our fears
We tell it everything,and we we tell it nothing
As I walk down the street I see all the faces;
The happy, the sad, the downright mad;
Some might believe they are always this way;
Soon you'll know that's just not true;
The mad man at the bus stop,
When you see me you would think,
There goes a strong young man.
Never close to breaking him,
He feels as much as a tin can.
And if you asked me now,
this is what I'd tell.
I've never shed a tear
You know the meaning of stop and think,
You know the meaning of filtering,
You know the meaning to breath after each sentence,
Even better not externally thinking out loud,
Or even being blunt.
Snapshots, glimpses,sometimes mirror images of faces reflect in my brain.
Once familiar people and namesare now distant and fading ghosts.
New faces bring new thunderstorms
The smell of fresh rain on pavement shows change in the air
The lightning flashes a bright sky for a split second
The moment rips away as thunder claps the same old darkness back
