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Literature Text
You are the one
I will always remember,
through my darkness and toil
and although we both fade out
the signal is strong
You are the one
I'll never forget.
You disappear amongst
your sea-breeze
foreign sunlight, clutter
strange looks from non-strangers
next door's cat
and nuisance-making
and art class, paintings on walls
but I know that you carry me
with you,
though our lifeline
seems to be cut.
I feel your arms around me while I sleep...
as softly as I murmur your name,
I feel you near.
I will always remember,
through my darkness and toil
and although we both fade out
the signal is strong
You are the one
I'll never forget.
You disappear amongst
your sea-breeze
foreign sunlight, clutter
strange looks from non-strangers
next door's cat
and nuisance-making
and art class, paintings on walls
but I know that you carry me
with you,
though our lifeline
seems to be cut.
I feel your arms around me while I sleep...
as softly as I murmur your name,
I feel you near.
Literature
Wish for Privacy
I live behind a locked door,
And no one has the key.
It has been years, maybe more
Since someone talked to me.
The solitude was nice at first,
The quiet let me think.
But soon it took a turn for worse—
Now all I do is blink.
So be careful, my dear friends,
When you wish for privacy.
Count to 5 when patience bends
Or you'll end up just like me.
Literature
Dear Poetry,
I am trying to cover my sadness with words.
Tape them against my scars
& wear them like worthy paper cuts.
My tears are alcohol swabs, burning & cleansing
wounds of my own making. Sometimes,
I wish I could hide behind them forever.
But not even this journeyed flesh can stand
castle strong against speechless ink stains.
I know the code. This body does not deserve
a warriors death. & poetry, you're a monster—
a creative monster, but evil nonetheless.
I wish to string you into knots, force feed you
down the throats of others. De-format you
& leave you empty; freeversed-
to hang loosely along the heartstrings
of strangers
Literature
Alzheimer's
His house is made of crumbling slats
of rotted knotted oak
peeling paint
and weakened joints.
The wind blows unfettered
through unshuttered apertures
dragging fresh sunlight in
and memories away.
Even on the clearest days
he visits the front porch
less and less often.
He prefers to explore
those rooms further in
where tide and time have yet to reach.
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© 2012 - 2024 MelodieRox
Comments5
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It never fails to make me smile when I find the time to read your works, it always finds a way to remind me that I'm not the only romantic left in this world. Great job as always 