i wish the lights were gone
so there wouldn't be anything
to scare away the stars
dreams and hopes
smothered by a feeling of loss
reality flashing back into our minds
what does it mean
to really, truly be alive
is there even a meaning? a reason?
digressions and mistakes aside
the moon still shines
casting long slender shadows down an empty street
the sun still burns
even when it disappears under the horizon
one could chase it if they wanted
everything is said to be possible
and i wasn't sure before
but maybe i'm not as much a sceptic anymore
..... who do you think first tried to do something
crazy, outrageous, unfathomable?
i think we all can, if we trust ourselves
build yourself stronger
with the friends you have-
fortify these walls you've gained
you never know what you have
until it's gone
..... if i've not lost anything, why do i feel so empty?
time and space and thoughts
are truly endless; magnificent,
how the world works around us
sometimes it's nice to sit
ponder what it means to breathe
and relish in your existence
while it's comforting, it's disheartening
to think the only time i'll be warm in my blankets
is when i'm thinking of you
alone, yet wrapped in heat
i have to leave you
but we know i'll return to your warmth
cold tiles beneath my feet
a stiff, starchy shirt in my hands
lazy weekend afternoons spent doing laundry
clear, fresh, clean;
soap and bleach and detergent-
i promise i'll be good. we know i can't do anything like that
as scared and prepared i think i am,
i know i'm not. i'm tired
and i have too much to fall back on
how is it that i've saved you
what could have possibly brought you down
that i've managed to lift you up
drifting, space, a void of nothing
my eyes close and it turns to gold
light dances behind my eyes
unseen, undiscovered, unexplored
the depths of my imagination leave their thoughts at the door
and pick them up when i fall asleep
what do i call you, [evil man]
who's face i do not know
the voice inside my head
the killer of creativity, the thoughts and hopes and dreams
is this reason who speaks to me?
or just a lonely conscience
the ideas flash by in an instant
almost too quick to catch
but with fast enough reflexes, you might get somewhere
12 nov 16 ; 3:17 am
YOU ARE READING
Anthology of Me and other various poems
Poetrythe first 6 chapters are the original project I did my junior year of high school, the rest are other poems I wrote at varying times from then 'til now.
