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.in.the.storm.2 by ~xXdr0psXx:iconxXdr0psXx:

Categories Literature > Poetry > Human Nature > Open


The ocean
the sunrise,
the sand after walking so many miles, a
pitstop

I'm sitting lonely.
I lost my companion not so long ago.
My eyes burn. My chest stings. I
never told him of the way some times I feel
I cannot breathe without crying, but I
manage this. I always do, but
he is gone now and I cannot tell him
of how he's what kept me
from this act, this act, this act will
push me back from reality [which I am
currently stationed] again and
all of these thoughts will leave, the day will be
what he considered happier, what I am considering
unbearable

For the time being.

I hate the way the waves keep moving,
sloshing, groaning boats to the shore without occupants

My insides make this same motion

How does the sand keep sparkling
through a loss such as this? How
will the world live without him?

No one knew. No one will.
He was my orphan and my everything.
I took care of him.
How can the sand keep fucking glistening?

Eyes closed now.
Breathe now.
My world will not go on and this is the last bout of reality I will ever receive and I know this without vengance and without hate for the above.

My pages have been ruined. Faulted.

My knee bones are bruised and I can't breathe without crying
and I cannot take baby steps without the stinging pinches, but
I do not want to end-
I will work backwards to face this sea again and I will not relapse
when I think of him, I will
keep walking to the buildings so far away and I
will survive that world without falling,
alone.

But eyes cut me.
The last sentences you breathed had wounded me
deeper than I can explain because I knew, then,
this would be the end. You told me it would rain today.
It had to, and it will.

The sand's starting to fill and I should probably go on.
They are staring at me like I am an apparition.
A dirty ghost of a girl.

The trees hum for me to stay and know secrets.
Like I will never see nor speak of palm trees again.
Like the blood on my hands is not my own [nor his because
he was my own]

And they scream as I walk away
as if to chase me northward, as if to say
good.
bye.
Creative Commons License
Some rights reserved. This work is licensed under a
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Submitted: May 18, 2007
File Size: 2.5 KB
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Comments: 2
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Author's Comments

i think this is beautiful for how much this is about and the true feelings lodged in this,
in her devotion. in my devotion.
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Comments


~BloodY-CatalysiS:iconBloodY-CatalysiS: May 30, 2007, 1:03:54 AM
I don't usually like love poems. But you are a clever girl.

--
Principiante.
~xXdr0psXx:iconxXdr0psXx: May 30, 2007, 7:32:00 AM
thankyou

--
hold on to me darling, I've got nowhere else to go...
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