Submissions by augustwind
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Knives.
As I have been told, time and time again,
all good things must come to an end.
Some crash and others burn,
some drown and others learn.
Sleep with one eye open child,
grandmother wind whispered into our ear.
The others with knives
disguised with lies
with intentions to hurt you
are near.
They aim for the back,
but never the heart, because that way you'd see them approach.
They entice you with lies and fake empathy in their eyes
only to hurt you when you can't afford it the most.
But we never understood,...
all good things must come to an end.
Some crash and others burn,
some drown and others learn.
Sleep with one eye open child,
grandmother wind whispered into our ear.
The others with knives
disguised with lies
with intentions to hurt you
are near.
They aim for the back,
but never the heart, because that way you'd see them approach.
They entice you with lies and fake empathy in their eyes
only to hurt you when you can't afford it the most.
But we never understood,...
737 reads
1 Comment
Broken Faced
A white noise could blanket the world as we fall asleep in the wake of all of our mistakes.
No matter how profusely we pray to a God with a broken face and deaf ears, nothing softens the blow of the realities that come to chase us at night, when we thought all was what it once was and we were safe.
But safe is just a shadow.
A shadow cast by standing in the wake of a sun that burns and bleaches the color and livelihood away from our lives;
lives that don't even mean as much as they were once supposed to.
not even to ourselves.
And in the wake of this sun, this...
No matter how profusely we pray to a God with a broken face and deaf ears, nothing softens the blow of the realities that come to chase us at night, when we thought all was what it once was and we were safe.
But safe is just a shadow.
A shadow cast by standing in the wake of a sun that burns and bleaches the color and livelihood away from our lives;
lives that don't even mean as much as they were once supposed to.
not even to ourselves.
And in the wake of this sun, this...
608 reads
1 Comment
Alone
I have a big notebook, but nothing to fill it with.
Like a big house, with nary a family to live in it with.
Not even a dog.
Just a bookshelf with lots of books,
and furniture that gives off just enough contemptment that people can pretend that the rooms aren't empty.
As I roll a purple ball point pen across the floor and wish it to roll back with ideas on how to fill the void,
I think about all the ways I could pretend I'm not alone.
I have the stars in the sky and the rays of sunlight that find their way to me to comfort me in my solitude, like an old...
Like a big house, with nary a family to live in it with.
Not even a dog.
Just a bookshelf with lots of books,
and furniture that gives off just enough contemptment that people can pretend that the rooms aren't empty.
As I roll a purple ball point pen across the floor and wish it to roll back with ideas on how to fill the void,
I think about all the ways I could pretend I'm not alone.
I have the stars in the sky and the rays of sunlight that find their way to me to comfort me in my solitude, like an old...
733 reads
4 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by augustwind
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