|Posted by Szayel on November 10, 2012 at 3:15 PM||comments (4)|
My school is having a young authors competition and I want to send this in. Tell me what you think (It uses the poem I wrote a while ago)
For once, your words evade you. You look at the paper, trying to make sense of this. How can this situation, with such familiarity, happen again? How can the words that you pride yourself in leave without their proper goodbye? How can these same words that you love so dearly leave without a moment’s thought? But it’s true. Your words are gone.
You decide to go outside. You slip on a coat and walk toward your door, not even bothering with shoes.When you get outside, the cold wind stings you sharply. The sky is grey, and the woods are silent. You take a step out. The wind is even worse now, not blocked by your back porch. You don’t care though. The pain from the wind feels good. It wakes you up from this numbness. It keeps things real.
You lie down on the scratchy grass and gaze at the clouds. They remind you of your words—lost.
“Clouds,” you ask, “will you be my paper? Will you let me write my lost words on your souls, to be held in your hearts forever?”
The clouds don’t answer. You didn’t expect them to, but the fact that they didn’t makes you angry. Why don’t your words come back? Why do they stay lost, hidden from the eyes that so wish to see them? You want to scream at them to answer you, scream and cry out with everything you’ve been holding back. But you don’t. You hold your anguish in, just like you did before, and lay there.
After a while, you start to think. You think about your words and how they cruelly left you. Then you realize that maybe those words weren’t meant for paper, but that they were meant for her, and the reason why they left was because they weren’t going to allow you to bleed them out on something so irrelevant.
You get up and run toward your house, throwing open the door to get inside. You run across the kitchen and skid into your room. Then you grab your phone and dial her number.
She answers after three rings. “Hello?”
Your voice is steady this time. It doesn’t tremble or crack like it did before. Your voice is also the voice that will be listened to this time. The words flow right out:
“I want to care, I do. But did you care when you drove my heart straight through? Did you care, though you knew, when my tears started to flow, far too soon?
So why is it my love I explain, that I feigned the ability to feel such pain? Do you get the point I'm trying to get across? Or shall my heart remain forever lost?”
She is silent, and you know that she understands.
Eventually she says,“Those last two lines… They weren’t meant for me, were they?”
“No, they weren’t,” you respond.
Because even now, she can still see straight through you. She didn’t need to understand, as she had always understood. Those last two lines weren’t meant for her; they were meant for you.
|Posted by Kumutamos on August 12, 2011 at 10:25 PM||comments (6)|
A bite to the flesh
Attain the power to shift
Power of the wolf.
tell me how good it is!!! hope it isnt that bad!
|Posted by Szayel on December 21, 2010 at 3:41 PM||comments (7)|
this is one of my first poems tell me how it is please.
falling, falling, falling slow
falling into the white snow
watching sadly as it trinkles pass
melting snow into the grass
death has always been unknown
is this how i will go?
or will it go so fast
i will not be able to reflect my past?
will there be any regrets
that i will never forget?
what i am trying to say.....
is that death can happen anyday