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Another high school poem, this time from senior year ELA. The first of three poems in a final project assigned during the poetry unit.
ITS ALL COMING BACK TO ME NOW How can I ever refrain from Memories of our school age days Days when our world was wild I remember the anthem of claps And the rhymes in our voices The care free of our minds
What could this all be about? You creep into almost all of my dreams. I just thought that I forgot about you again, or so it seems. I honestly haven't seen you in years. However, forgetting you never comes near.
Autumn flowers Flowers withered by the march of time and season Yet I find it very vivid to my heart and reason Displayed in plain, on the table - a craft made Where the wandering of my pen is inlaid
stumbling in fields of elsewhere makes me suspiciously sated, stubborn, and sad.
It still lingers, dispite the time flow Your sudden presence, dissipating the closing darkness, with your brilliant glow
Time travel, baby, Set me free, Time travel got a hook in me, Time travel, baby, Set me free, Time travel got a hook in me, In disguise as a young man in the city,
You're leaving The broad expanse of your back is the gallery where I 'II hang my dreams. Always on your way Out When will I go with you? I'll behave like you want
You're leaving The broad expanse of your back is the gallery where I 'II hang my dreams. Always on your way Out When will I go with you? I'll behave like you want
After all you've put me through I still want to see you in printed photos, I keep little gifts from you in my special box And I like to listen to your voice in the one message I have saved, sometimes
The first thing I noticed as I slipped my arms into the sleeves, aside from the size, much too large for me, was the smell.
It began during my weekly writer's workshop on a Saturday afternoon and as usual, a new prompt; this one was to pick at random two words from a box passed around... My words were
There is a gift Deposited upon your doorstep Waiting just for you, Open it if you will Take that chance at regret Its contents are calling to you, Or leave it outside Go clean your home
that night felt like a memory. one locked in the deepest corners of a mind left to years of dust and deep-seated heartache. it was a ripple, sent to announce some
For all actions logical or senseless, there are consequences. And at times I'm offended and become defensive, since this extensive, fundamental lesson is intended, to be a comprehensive theory that is essential.
strange, the number of girls’ houses that i slept in, memorized. that still pop up in my dreams as part of malls or mansions or schools, somehow,
I love to look back on the simple times. The simple wonders of life. The lack of fear, anxiety; the lack of responsibility. A total freedom to run around and smell the flowers, play in the trees and messy up my clothes.
Buck teeth and bright eyes I was eight years old, I spent my days out on the playground all alone in the cold right by the fence where I would watch traffic behind the monkey bars
words spill out of my mouth and ooze from my skin at the sight of a july day spent in the sun admiring the light slipping through the trees and onto her skin
The turbulences of Winter, Spring, and Summer pass Enthusiasm swells as home can now be viewed In the distance yet on the horizon Though I am advised to exercise caution--
This place is always a little lonely At the weekends...no noise and life; I like solitude, But not in places Where there’s recently been A lot of people. Reclusiveness protects you
The day I blossomed from my mother's womb I had two blue eyes, ten pudgy fingers, ten tiny toes, And 300 bones. But as I’ve grown up, day by day, year by year, person after person,
I hesitateTo admit that I tend to put things off until they absolutely must be dealt with I was born here.I’ve moved between neighborhoods butThese mountains have watched me grow up.
O how Ruefully I pine For mi pueblito perdido, What I wouldn’t give, To be young again, And happy as I was back then. Maria, full of peace, Do you remember
I was driving home the other day, Down the same old streets like always, I passed the school, the church, the cemetary,And I started to think of the old days.
Seeing your parents kiss every day, happy, proud of what their growing babies are capable of Remember that?
I realized I wasn’t a kid anymore When my heart sped up From the mistakes that I had made. A moment in my life, Where I realized There was a price to be paid. A price for every action
There is something I know now that I didn't know then... Back when recess existed and kids ran To play games of tag or house or kick-ball Back when I thought there was only right or wrong
She went back to her room where her favorite song was just ending at the best part. The little twinkles that faded with a high D flat that made her emotions fall apart.
I am from forgotten songs, From distorted guitars and double bass. I am from late night TV (Loud, blaring children shouldn’t be watching).
I moved to this neighborhood forty-two years ago today.I moved here six months before Elvis Presley passed away.Crosby Park is the name of my neighborhood.I've been here for a long time and I'll be here for good.
The music echoes still inside my head, The bright colors still dance before my eyes, And memories are fresh within my mind, Though it’s been so long. I look through old albums and reminisce,
I come to the realisation that I can’t remember those winters, the winters of my childhood. It was really good at all times, and it was really bad. Now it’s bad all the time.
I could hear the wind, rustling through your veins, when you opened your mouth and the gnarled wings of a hummingbird fell out. I could taste the regret,
deep breath, deeper, deeper yet, deeper than the ocean of your eyes that keep calling me home, calling me back back to the
Years of lost time Quietly echo Sentiments of regret, Remorse, And a vague sort-of hatred. I wanted to tell you,
(god, i thought i would have to be drunk to write this, but i don’t feel pain anymore. not really.) There is a place I used to call home.
the air redolent of childhood nostalgia hits like a freight train, my chest feels like it's being pulled tighter tighter tighter. memories of that time flood back,
I hurt from a pain I can’t find and I bleed from the blow I don’t remember. I miss the memories I never made and I long for the love
O Julia, do you remember elementary school Where every one of us was a young fool Drunk on youth although we couldn't drink yet Free from the constrains of student debt Gee, Julia, elementary school ruled.
Waves Mama, I’m sorry. I could say those words so many times
Nostalgic melodies cause me to rise, from the safe white, billowing sheets, and the shared warmth of surrounding arms. Aimlessly, I sway unsteady, on the forgetful memory foam, legs wobbling, arms bending,
We were almost brother and sister— Sharing inside jokes that left others befuddled, Matched in both wits and passion for our craft… Now I barely recognize you.
Reminiscing to learn from the past, to live in nostalgia, it doesn't last. The world's a stage, you're a part of the cast, they say have patience, but the world is so fast, to live in nostalgia, it doesn't last.
When you kiss me the taste of that ginger ale you’ve been sipping at invades my mouth along with the smoke of that
am I proud of who I've become or do I disappoint my past self the one I shelved, the stone I sanded down
Line to the surface of bliss, right above the crowd I was floating, electrified with enjoyment,don't you ever fall please, now let me drown right in deep.
i slip into a dream it's sometime between late and early and this is where i find you the bugs sing at their own tempos as we walk a steady pace down the longer of the paths
who are we now sometimes i don't feel like we're the same souls whose eager teeth met by the brick river on days like this i wonder what it would be like to be us again-
i still sleep with the light on in hopes it will travel through my ears into my dreams faster than the train did
Dear Class of 2018, R. D. Wilson School is where it began. I remember like it was yesterday— Talking about princesses and Batman, Looking forward to lunch with Mr. K.
Whomever it may concern, Grab as many chairs as you can- six or seven- create a square space bordered by the chairs-backs evenly together- It won’t work if the chairs are too far apart.
To my mother I imagine that before my mother was a woman, she must have been a girl. It's an odd thing, this imagining. My mother was once an unfinished human,
I wish I could melt memories of rainy Moon Township days with the newer ones, in which I see myself drinking watered-down beer (and hating it)!
I open the door and get whipped in the face with the playful autumn breeze The skies are gray-blue and the air chilled with oncoming winter; the Sunday of summer is here
I was born in two halves: Red and Gold Our colors mixed in the wind of our laughter our tears our screams our shared stories Colors flew when we hurled words at each other like vocally loaded bullets
I thought I was ready Sat back with my window down The radio loud, going seventy an hour Heart a hurricane Mind a comet But the most beautiful things end you see
To yearn for happiness will bring aboutAn emotion that tears at my weak heartNo wisdom here found in deadly black artThe seeds of dissent this feeling will sproutPure happiness this seedling will wipe outOnly sadness and fear will it impartWithin
you creep into my mind like fog in the morning light I know you will stay with me today or at least, your memory the memory of you and I
Down grape vine hill Just by the old shop But not quite the pasture They sat there rusting Their eyes fogged Their color faded By tiny cat paw prints In the dust
a Taxi to Jerusalem - for Dinna Dinna of Denmark you were my darlingWalking in your leather sandalsDown the dirty Via Dolorosa
Intact in my eye are a five year old's streets I peeled oranges bored in Sunday-School pews Seldom a shoe on my naked free feet Never my knees without blue bruise The table clothed mountain ,
Your absence is not my best remedy. It doesn't help me, it doesn't make it unbelievable. The aching assures me of your existence, but memories are fading as if we never happened, as if we never existed.
Remember dancing, tasting the present, It as fleeting as our movements and our feet Remember hugging, each other on days of sorrow, Freeing feelings caged underneath Our skin
Spoken Intro: “All of a sudden, it’s like you’ve become aware of your own existence, how unwhole you are. And you’re constantly being reborn... Again... And again... And again... And again.
A part of me feels guilty.
Love, E. What love did I have to give But the letters L O V E Strung together with threads of Indifference?
The place where my mom's cold hands touched my forehead And the place where cool misty breezes kissed my cheeks. Take me back. The place where I fell asleep on the carpet
This is a shape poem; start at the very top and read from left to right. For simplicity's sake, I uploaded the poem as an image.
Early morning-when darkness has not yet been chased away by the fury of light-I look to the stars.In their magnificent realm they are the rulers,but in ours,they are subtle sings of hope.
I wake up trying to wash yesterday off of meOr out of me..All the thoughts, twitches, and goofy tears...
Rita June, staring silent at Indiana snow, robed up in a worn, old, pink throw lights her cigarette by the kitchen window. She squints and she licks her thin, blotted lips,
Maybe one night when we are together it will be 3 a.m. and the walls will ricochet laughter and we will not be able to stop until our stomachs hurt and our vision blurs. Because in this past year
How did this come to be? Like the bird that forgets to fly, I am grounded, without purpose. I shout below, why? To know again,
I still hear the children playing, They have their own homes now. I still hear the horses running, They have passed away now. I still hear the rain falling,
They lined the station like tchotchkes placed in careful disarray, Here between F and 13th, Red cheeked and frosted breath, Bare porcelain angels waiting on the shelf of a Goodwill.
I remember feeling so odd. We were laying in bed and you somehow felt nostalgic. Nostlagic? This had never happened before. I had never leaned into the contours of your body, fit perfectly into your arms as we watched the
Sliding, sliding, sliding down the yellow slide Back to when I was only five Back to the sandbox, wooden swing set and towers so high. Moments fill my head when I was a kid, playing imaginary games with my brother.
It's been a while since you moved away... If there was a time I'd wish to have back It would be the year before you left I didn't realize how much you mattered to me Until you were gone And even when you went
Your first day at a new schoolThe first time I turned around in class to ask you a questionThe first time I gave you a ride to soccer practiceThe first time we went skiing in Colorado together
A snatch of song, behind a door: a melody I've heard before. Forgotten but familiar notes: Of lost dreams and abandoned hopes. An eloquent dismay.
Palms drenched in sweat andA little bit of anxiety, it's naturalIt's your heart, boy, she's making you feel a certain way
Short note: the following poem is in Villanelle style. As words that infuse life into a dark place, Poetry gave a face to the tangled mess in my mind, As strokes on a page that probe a soul’s triumph and waste.
Abroad I battle challenges with hope Despite the nightly toil and days alone, The songs of poetry to soothe my soul The world of words to make me whole once more. Left I the motherland four years ago
In the dusty suburbs of a forgotten Mississippi town, An old man waters his lawn- Watching Watering Watching The neighbor kids, how they run with such agility. Coveting Craving Coveting
Once upon a time in the lavender fields shone a sun in the deep blue sky. But even deeper was the blue that shone in that sun's ocean-deep periwinkle eyes. As it kissed my face
I kept Looking back For a familiar Face and voice That smiled And cheered me on It hurt for so long When I looked back To see hesitance And eyes looked away It pained me
Drifting in a languid landof singing prairies and crystalline lakes,I wander toward a jeweled tree, radiant sapphire and ruby in a halcyon dream.
Breaths puff out In the cold chilly air Frost dies underneath And you don't care You try to breathe You lift your feet To take a step On that very long Staircase And you're gone
March 17, 2016 at 6:40 AM Last night was the first time I had seen your smile in months
So I sit here surrounded by acquaintances, friends, and best friends i've made over this short but arduous 4 years
You need to stop Stop trying to build bridges out of ashesYou spent so much time Setting things a blaze Did you ever consider the reasons You left everything back there And you rebuilt Moved forward
the girls are going missing. i hear voices in convenience store buzz and see a crime scene in the cherry pie on an empty shelf. eastern hum; the sound of
I taste the magic when it begins to seep, heady, sweet; the soft slip into darkness. You are so beautiful-I don’t know what it is, but your wizened trees and your sweet
Biting back tears Holding in gasps Choking on sadness And sorrow Falling in traps Knowing it would happen Faking joviality But in the end It was hopeless Your heart is breaking
An ache in your chest Dunno where we stand Happy memories ablaze Standing hand in hand Where it all began Nobody can say The end was unexpected A world fell apart
Can this just be the present That everyday is Even with a nemesis Or without even saying Wanting the same Even if it's in different shades Or different context
A note sounds Harsh and beautiful Light falls around a room Dust floats in the air A piano stands by the window
I finally poured the concrete And solidified the past Into neat little paths Of "Remember when..." And "Life was simpler then"
And the deities of my being discussed why only one person was fit to receive their devotion. "The way he runs his hands through me, with idle care and adamant presence.
I don’t live in the light I am consumed by darkness My heart is shattered My mind is fragmented What more can I do? I can’t save myself The only person who stood with me Has left…
She's gone. Nostalgia comforts as I'm consumed by my thoughts By her lingering aroma Sage, sassafras, and cinnamon drifting in the wind As I sit by our favorite willow tree
Illuminated by the infinite sublimity Of the seemingly half-real form of this man’s body weighing her down, She sinks beneath His solid shadow,
my heart swells with memories of everyone from my past everyone i hated everyone i loved my throat is closing up and i want to go back and i wouldn’t change any little thing
We cry adieu, the red-haired vulturecrys not a tear, for all is spentits heart is rent, all hidden treasureNevermore to gleam in warmth of light
I am the voice In the back of your mind Telling you to make a mental note Of how your first sip of coffee tastes The morning before your first day at a new job. I am the friend
Like sand On the coast, I watched you Slip through My fingers Beautifully. Now I am Shipwrecked From the Most perfect of Storms. Alone on
I let the lightning strike
Lately, The truth has been pouring out of me. I'm breaking through the barriers. I know you're not listening, But I pray you hear me. One of these days, I'll get through to you.
Nostalgia, She’s a cold hearted beast That seems to instigate the tantrums of the clock As soon as she strikes 2 am Suddenly she realizes she’s unfulfilled with the standards of time!
I remember sitting on the swing, mid-summer With my head in my mother’s lap And a slight breeze tickling our cheeks As the cotton candy skies faded to a navy hue
The Fall is a feeling, not a time or place. It is orange and brown, and the nips of wind blowing. It's broccoli and cheese, and the rustle of leaves
Im from Fudge From long games of hide n' go seek
Scared and hurt, feeling like that vulnerable girl
Pardon me if I regret this Father, these are my confessions I'm selfish, reckless, and restless Pleas fall on deaf ears from friends that once were mine I suppose that's just how time flies
Please tell me it was I who made you leave I do not want to believe that you meant to walk away I want to blame myself
Your like a hot coal in my hands A gift from life thanks life I set you down and I pace around what the fuck am i supposed to with this? If you had any idea the trouble you caused
Well I reread your letter... Funny how things change- lovers go from loving, everything usual feels strange.
Here I am, sitting in the middle of your house. I notice the things you would
Citrus Sit. Rep.April 7th, 2014Track and field thoughts – you’ve been running through my mind all day,and it hit me like a shot put when I watched you run-the-fuck-away.
I dreamt of the sky Angels caressed harps As my mother had once caressed me
Before you kn
January 24, 2010 at 12:24am Maybe I will come back in May Hopefully I will know where to stay...
Slow motion it's what it looks like to live in a life full of music music in my vains, music in my ears, music in the rain, and in the warm summer wind. Only do I feel like my life is a movie, not only a movie no,
She pushed in the knob and turned up the volume. Her heart recognized the first sound and latched on before her ears caught up. In that moment, in that space of pure recognition
Nostalgia hit me like a wave of nausea And it ain't goin' away So I thought I'd call just to remind ya Of the good old days Don't you miss 'em, oh I really miss 'em I really miss you, too
Flashback to the simple times Your skinny jeans black, your t-shirt white ‘Cause now you're covered up in layers and lies It seems you've forgotten we had one hell of a ride
Esther May is old and grey She's gone forever Not here today In photos that are still and dead She'll still be seen But nothing's said Close by, but far, she seems so clear
In a silent night, In front of the cold computer's screen,
When I was younger all I could think about was going back to Chicago but now I see it's just because of the memories I had there.
When you ask “How was camp this year?” my mind freezes.
I don't read you Not anymore I haven't forgotten The joy I got Whenever you opened Nor the adventures I am just too old now But my memories are pressed in you
I will remember these nights like the tide remembers to kiss the shoreline--
sometimes, I like to walk out side and let my mind become heavy with pictures of this never ending setting. things get a little foggy, when I can't seem to absorb that one day this won't exsit any more.
How? How do I rid my mind of your presence? You linger like the scent of incense, drifting through my thoughts.
On a gloomy, humble, rainy day, I venture into the garage for batteries, the garage that slurps in cars, burps out trucks, and spies on the swimming asphalt outside.
Silver ribbon Assiniboinea sash for a city--a ceinture fléchéetied into the Red just off Highway 1 You leak into the topsoil in the place you call home and come back up a street map
Trust me, you don’t want to know The thought that just flew through my head A game of quid pro quo with the status quo This cache of nostalgia makes my dread drop dead I keep craving for resolution
The only memory I havent yet blocked from my mind
Hoodies on and
I planted you a rose; sat and watched it bloom the rose didn't feel me watching, or notice that I was trying to forget you. Who do roses grow for? Surely mine for you,
He called me a siren today.
If anyone has listened to the words of a song One will surely hear a time long gone It comes quite swiftly too fast to avoid the feelings of the past both of sorrow and joy
As I watch the sun come up each dawn; As I watch it set each afternoon;
The early morning sun would rise overthe dirty glass horizon, and hitthe rear-view mirror of that old red van.Slip-sliding with ease through small empty hands,dust and pollen danced like constellations
You see I don't want to grow up and I don't want to leave you I don't want to leave behind my memories.
The doors in this house stay closed. Rusty hinges form land bridges between
There when I wake, There for me to take. Tuesday will be here long after I go away. It's a measurement of time, Fifty-two pass us per year, but only happens once a week.
It seems as though I'm often taking steps backwards,
So often I accuse myself of being a selfish person but I think that it is false accusation because it's something I want to be, and there's a difference between what you have and what you want. I want to tell you to stop hurting me.
Stranger is someone among us. Silent with the thought of his Hands around the little caged Pulse. Once he soaked the wrought iron With golden memories and charms. He is intolerable.
I feel a change occuring In my mind, my soul, caging My thoughts, my affections This emotion is raging I feel these connections In my neighbors, I can see aging In eachothers' faces,
I want you to see all of my happiness I want you to see my friends And my grades I want you to feel like you screwed up Because you did But I forgive you
The rain glared through streak-ridden glass; dappling light and grey. Long it's been since my bag was packed, and long passed has the day. The walls bent and frowned some, and sagged stood the door,
I use to remember you That way you move your hair from your face it strikes me down with nostalgia Like being struck with the badge of honor from an epiphany
I left you by the riverbed In a place where none can see I'll never forget what you said as I watched you drift out to sea We began our journey together tethered by our fates
Identified by the marks of her own fingerprints, the places where she had gone, and where she had left, blurred into one and became all the same.
What happened to that pink toy house? The one that you could sit on the roof? And it would wobble like a Weeble but never fell in?
I miss the way the summer air filled my lungs.
"Breathe in as I light it, I know it seems counter-intuitive."
I. You write him a postcard. "I don't know how to tell you but I'm finally letting go," it says. The postcard is from Paris and when you finish writing it, you slide it back into the drawer with all the other words you never said.
I collected in a box all the things I left behind,
You’re so maybe, just maybe
When I was six years old I sat in a darkened closet hugging my knees to my chest.
Like I do… My eyes are finally dry. The thoughts of you don’t hurt as they once did. They only seem to burn worse. I have no more tears to shed,
In my mind's eye, I do not shed a tear for the meek The meek so trite Enveloped by spite Lapping up mouthfuls of melancholy Food for the souls of the misbegotten and bleak
Snow-capped mountains looming over the cool, blue, rippling water. The peaceful sound of water hitting the sandy shores, the wind rustling the leaves whispering words in my earsof memories past.
Ignorance was bliss Back when our mothers picked our clothes And we rarely brushed our hair And we carried around cartoon pasted backpacks Not a care in the world No knowledge Never having to worry about rumors
As i stared out into the ocean, my feet covered by the sand, my rope-twisted hair danced gently in the breeze. Then I remembered how this beautiful expanse of royal blue and green had been....
It wasn't you, it was me. I shouldn't had left you. It's just that, things weren't working out. You know it's true. I was miserable and unhappy. I found myself aching to get away.
A young girl plays in the warm sunlight. Tag, you're it. Running, Laughing, Living. Hours pass. Like all children, the girl in the lavender dress is restless. Dusk.
Tonight I’ll sit on thecold sands of a deserted beach,looking out over the sighing waves ofa black ocean,the sky subtly blending into the waterlike a camouflage—they are one in the same.
No homework on Friday nights Over the summer bugs masquerade as light Soda pop on the porch Terrible heat, outside we scorch All to soon I grew up Lost from me my sippy cup
His head was always propped upon mascara-stained pillow cases,
Do you remember when we first met? It’s okay. I don’t either.
A few weeks ago I walked into an abandoned house in my cul-de-sac, It was new yet rotten, tagged and trashed, violated mutilated desecrated dead, dying and forgotten… This wasteland of a property,… is a magic location, a haunted plantation, haunte
pitter-patter like little feetraindrops tapping on mine pane bitter burns hiss and slitherremembrance dismantles my sane moist summers and eerie chimesfingertips lost within your mane
Hidden deep underneath Sheets of paper from the past Intermingled with artifacts A time not so ancient But twice forgotten Is eternally retold. Closing my eyes, I think
Poetry is the Pacific. Bubbling foam caressing my toes, At the edge of an outgoing tide. Wooden shutters painted cobalt blue, Adorning a nearby cottage. An aquatic symphony,
Tough feet, hot cement, cracked lips, drug tongueMy bones slithered down my back as I greeted the Texas summerChinese pear trees with seeds like stones and frozen lemon cubes were my mealOh childhood nostalgia!
Why do I write?Because it is the thing that lets me be creativeWhy does anyone write poetry?It's a song one can sing without knowing the correct notes
I thought my heart was breaking, I thought the day was done I thought that time was taking too long for me Now I see Love is infinite And you just need me to be here Dry your tears, I'm here
sometimes i wonder what things would have been like if i had forgiven you a little sooner if i had kept my mouth shut if i hadn't fallen for the wrong guy
Darling you left my heart in pieces on the floor So tell me why The inner Machinations of my mind are an enigma Because I saw your face and wow
What become of the Beauty gone astray?What happens to those who have no time to play?No one sees the Silent agony,and if they could,what would they really see?
As I drink my sweet tea, I remember my Southern upbringing. Running barefoot through the fields with my half-naked cousins and trying to avoid getting a whooping for playing in the mud.
I hate remembering how perfect things were How when I was small I could run free Free But now this world can swallow me whole And the monsters I thought were under my bed Actually do exist.
You say I lie I clearly can't remember Everyone forgets about me in December Friends quickly turn into enemies toward me No one seems to be talking about anything but me In a cruel way nothing but hidden laughs
My head hurts. Counting days. I run dripping paste, more exaggerated than Pollack, to spread on converse and heels. I begin to open jars in June classes, and April locker rooms,
I don’t know how to feel about the day to come Mixed feelings of nostalgia and anticipation overwhelm me I go back to that musty school yard field The field I thrived on and learned who I was on
Fashionably late. The old and white nostalgia descends upon my door. Nervously- perhaps anti- cipation draws me like an artist struck by deja vu- I walk out to greet her and
Tick-tock goes the clock as the time passes by Everybody dressed in blue smiles and cries The day of graduation was finally here It was time to celebrate the end of senior year
The songs we heard under the wooden porch Are still carried in my ears – ringing something awful. Sighing anger is dead when we’re away and the Great, wet blue is hanging above – judging
I love when poems rhyme It reminds me of a better time I was young, the world was bright Playing house, telling moons goodnight But as I grew, the world grew too
Life is moving faster then a speeding bullet Tell me where does time go remember when i used to watch my favorite cartoons nowadays my only motive is a paycheck time is working against us.
We were convinced our paths were written in the stars And promised we'd never be apart To only realize none was as different as ours So we parted ways with all too broken hearts
I watch her shimmer and dance from the shoreline While the sunset adorns her in gold she’s calling so sweetly, my Aquamarine For our friendship is many years old
Sit at the table, the booth that was only whimsy, fiction until this moment, smooth the java with single servings of nostalgia and laugh a laughter deep, nourish me for a lifetime.
I try to catch fireflies in summer, keep them in a jar. Watch them lighting up. When I miss, it's always a big bummer. Firefly-catching is not that grown-up. I dream about fireflies in Winter,
The books never once opened on the shelf crack their pages to reveal thick-jawed beasts or the few remaining craters of ghost-towns or a sea of people shielding me from you and you from me
Remember the times, hopefully still vivid, Possibly now incoherent, maybe vague, Every detail a trap, every smile a plague, Never has the past turned the present so insipid.
Agony Shared My Face
Over such a vast expanse of suburban sprawl a warm aura of sunset orange radiates from each roof, Houses, just actors in the scene of their surroundings, A distant city as the backdrop.
Dimly lit and falsely advertised The Cafe stands on the foundation of what existed yesterday, The faded glory that used to flow freely is now dormant, Hindered and shrouded by years of aging.