Submissions by innileika (Silvja Weiss)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
just the average run of the mill person. i just spend too much time writing incomplete processes of shorts and too many song lyrics to do anything with.
LOVE POEM
Published
8th Jan 2012 9:49pm
8th Jan 2012 9:49pm
the flip book
lets take it back
to the get go.
we are 8.
we are going to meet at a park
for the first time.
i will push you on the swing,
and you'll share your snack with me.
now we're 12,
and we are best friends.
you are having a hard time
with your family.
you still go through every hardship
that has made you you,
because i love your identity,
but i'm there
to take away the pain,
to sedate the beast that is loneliness.
we're 16.
you tell me you love me,
and i tell you maybe 5 years from now.
i'm still having fun,
i'm...
to the get go.
we are 8.
we are going to meet at a park
for the first time.
i will push you on the swing,
and you'll share your snack with me.
now we're 12,
and we are best friends.
you are having a hard time
with your family.
you still go through every hardship
that has made you you,
because i love your identity,
but i'm there
to take away the pain,
to sedate the beast that is loneliness.
we're 16.
you tell me you love me,
and i tell you maybe 5 years from now.
i'm still having fun,
i'm...
830 reads
8 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
2nd Dec 2011 7:10am
2nd Dec 2011 7:10am
the parting of ways
that day
i was flooded with emotions,
so many
that it was not possible for me
to hold them all at once.
however it was at once
when our arms had fallen
that i felt
the collapse of them all
as they too
fell at my feet
as we parted ways
and my feet took their steps away.
"apres moi les deluge"
after me comes the flood.
after you
there was not a spire in this city tall enough
to keep my head above water.
i was flooded with emotions,
so many
that it was not possible for me
to hold them all at once.
however it was at once
when our arms had fallen
that i felt
the collapse of them all
as they too
fell at my feet
as we parted ways
and my feet took their steps away.
"apres moi les deluge"
after me comes the flood.
after you
there was not a spire in this city tall enough
to keep my head above water.
884 reads
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LOVE POEM
Published
4th Nov 2011 10:49pm
4th Nov 2011 10:49pm
the autumn ghost
you left today,
i shant know when you will
be back
until i see your back again.
it has always been your worst side;
cold and unforgiving.
it snowed for the first time
this fall...
and once again im back
to square one,
haunting your footsteps
that walk in the opposing direction.
you are unprehensible,
and you always will be.
such is the curse of being the autumn ghost.
i shant know when you will
be back
until i see your back again.
it has always been your worst side;
cold and unforgiving.
it snowed for the first time
this fall...
and once again im back
to square one,
haunting your footsteps
that walk in the opposing direction.
you are unprehensible,
and you always will be.
such is the curse of being the autumn ghost.
609 reads
1 Comment
LOVE POEM
Published
18th Oct 2011 8:47am
18th Oct 2011 8:47am
trapped in an indecisive metaphor
plagued by incertainties,
just lifeless battles
between what is
and what it could have been,
held back by the what if's,
back being kept straight by
"this is it".
by and bye,
bye and buy it all again,
we will pay the price for it all
in the very end.
And the beds still made
just the way you had left it,
a lonely grave for me
to lie an and accept it.
but if the truth be told
well i'd still reject it,
lies are an art
that are lived and perfected.
i've seen this room before, ...
just lifeless battles
between what is
and what it could have been,
held back by the what if's,
back being kept straight by
"this is it".
by and bye,
bye and buy it all again,
we will pay the price for it all
in the very end.
And the beds still made
just the way you had left it,
a lonely grave for me
to lie an and accept it.
but if the truth be told
well i'd still reject it,
lies are an art
that are lived and perfected.
i've seen this room before, ...
1845 reads
1 Comment
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
31st Aug 2011 4:15am
31st Aug 2011 4:15am
a halt on axis
to stand still
for any other
is like to let the other
become a wall,
in which you refute
ability to climb,
deny
capability to drag
each stone
along unbeaten paths
and to you yourself
become the beaten.
to stand still
is to lose
even if
you merely shackle movement.
for any other
is like to let the other
become a wall,
in which you refute
ability to climb,
deny
capability to drag
each stone
along unbeaten paths
and to you yourself
become the beaten.
to stand still
is to lose
even if
you merely shackle movement.
734 reads
0 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
24th Jun 2011 7:28pm
24th Jun 2011 7:28pm
the black cap
the little black cap
likes to bite me,
yet like all auspicious lovers,
sings his affections to me all the same.
likes to bite me,
yet like all auspicious lovers,
sings his affections to me all the same.
640 reads
0 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
1st Jun 2011 6:27pm
1st Jun 2011 6:27pm
Pieces in the Dark
I aimed to tear my life apart,
because like clothes
it looked better on the floor,
now there is nothing left, just
flesh,
blood,
and bones.
We dressed ourselves in ideals,
wearing our hearts like marker on our sleeves,
never failing to cast aside morality
when we washed them off to "sleep".
Turn off the light.
Shut the window,
lock the door.
Each moment, every bated breath,
lacking more composure than before.
In the dark we moved forward,
unafraid of the conflicts that lay ahead.
The war waging...
because like clothes
it looked better on the floor,
now there is nothing left, just
flesh,
blood,
and bones.
We dressed ourselves in ideals,
wearing our hearts like marker on our sleeves,
never failing to cast aside morality
when we washed them off to "sleep".
Turn off the light.
Shut the window,
lock the door.
Each moment, every bated breath,
lacking more composure than before.
In the dark we moved forward,
unafraid of the conflicts that lay ahead.
The war waging...
837 reads
0 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
30th May 2011 7:31pm
30th May 2011 7:31pm
The Barrows
I had told you, sweetly
"we can set the world a flame."
but in lieu, I handed you a loaded gun and implied
"Well, lets rob it instead."
Silly words and paper cups,
both filled with alcohol and pure intent
will cease to matter much.
For when all we love
is reduced to ash,
there will be you and I
at very last.
There will be nothing left,
just papered daylight
and affirmed regret.
In truth I lie, and lies i bed,
its easier to live falsly
than live in truths dread.
Could we ever be?
Could...
"we can set the world a flame."
but in lieu, I handed you a loaded gun and implied
"Well, lets rob it instead."
Silly words and paper cups,
both filled with alcohol and pure intent
will cease to matter much.
For when all we love
is reduced to ash,
there will be you and I
at very last.
There will be nothing left,
just papered daylight
and affirmed regret.
In truth I lie, and lies i bed,
its easier to live falsly
than live in truths dread.
Could we ever be?
Could...
723 reads
0 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
26th May 2011 7:53pm
26th May 2011 7:53pm
fill in the blanks
The bullets are loaded,
like words-
the things we have said
and the things we've heard.
Finger
on the trigger,
I doubt we have the courage
to pull the thing...
to finalize and discourage
this romantisizing.
Now, I myself admit,
these are crimes of passion,
an all to willing hit
and an all to eager miss...
For what you have never had
you never must give up,
a band-aid for a bullet wound,
i know,
and its just not enough.
So when you put the pistol
to my temple,
to my brain,
and use te barrel as a...
like words-
the things we have said
and the things we've heard.
Finger
on the trigger,
I doubt we have the courage
to pull the thing...
to finalize and discourage
this romantisizing.
Now, I myself admit,
these are crimes of passion,
an all to willing hit
and an all to eager miss...
For what you have never had
you never must give up,
a band-aid for a bullet wound,
i know,
and its just not enough.
So when you put the pistol
to my temple,
to my brain,
and use te barrel as a...
698 reads
0 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
25th May 2011 8:50pm
25th May 2011 8:50pm
two years of shutter vision.
A call on the phone,
a bottle down,
two to go-
i called you again,
and your taking me home.
A coffee table,
a spill down the stairs,
you tried to help me in
because no one was there.
I held my breath
as you held my tongue -
too late, things said
cannot be undone.
Oh, I remember
the first time we met,
I kissed my last boy,
how could I forget?
Seattle was to return to the sea,
and you remained a stranger
right infront of me.
A year passes, one more to go-
two years since we first met,
a month left...
a bottle down,
two to go-
i called you again,
and your taking me home.
A coffee table,
a spill down the stairs,
you tried to help me in
because no one was there.
I held my breath
as you held my tongue -
too late, things said
cannot be undone.
Oh, I remember
the first time we met,
I kissed my last boy,
how could I forget?
Seattle was to return to the sea,
and you remained a stranger
right infront of me.
A year passes, one more to go-
two years since we first met,
a month left...
768 reads
1 Comment
SELF POEM
Published
23rd May 2011 10:39pm
23rd May 2011 10:39pm
to tell a lie
to tell a lie
is awful
for no good can come
from deprivation
of honesty.
to stave the truth
from the lungs of conversation
is to stave the nature
of conversation itself.
i do not lie
for thieves
or liars
in my like,
but only for
beggars
and those
who need words
to help save them
from the truth
in the preservation
of the things that deserve
a dishonest chance.
and to tell the truth
i would always rather choose to be the martyr
than ever play the role of the saint.
is awful
for no good can come
from deprivation
of honesty.
to stave the truth
from the lungs of conversation
is to stave the nature
of conversation itself.
i do not lie
for thieves
or liars
in my like,
but only for
beggars
and those
who need words
to help save them
from the truth
in the preservation
of the things that deserve
a dishonest chance.
and to tell the truth
i would always rather choose to be the martyr
than ever play the role of the saint.
675 reads
0 Comments
NON-FICTION PROSE
Published
19th May 2011 8:08am
19th May 2011 8:08am
a glass half full
I remember seeing the pessimist down the street. The night was cold, and I, soaked with tears and half-wit regret of a painstakingly calculated end to a romance not even a quarter of an hour before, walked down the quiet rode, frozen by both the ghastly temperature and atmosphere of fear that worked to disable my joints. He stood alone about 5 meters away from the curb, uncaring of the cars that may not see him, completely indifferent to the shadows that shrouded his body and face, only observing the ones that I knew enveloped his face and heart.
I remember walking towards the...
I remember walking towards the...
1127 reads
0 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by innileika (Silvja Weiss)
