Three things:
He is there.
She is here.
There is an ocean in between.
These three things
are insignificant to me.
(But what they must mean
to he – to she.)
Author: Mary
Things and such.
robert browning
the face of the flower always follows the sun
in the constant strive
the need for its nourishment
“a man’s reach should exceed his grasp
or what’s a heaven for?”
there’s a dream of
something
so far beyond
the tips of my fingers
it seems an impossibility
but the important part
is not in finally reaching it –
it’s in the reach.
Or else what’s a heaven for?
coals
It was a slow burn.
A coal warming somewhere
in the seat of
the throne of love.
A complete surprise
yet natural
like a breath.
It grew to a flame
that burned itself out.
But somewhere
in the depths
a coal still burns.
You need only stoke the fire,
you need only feed the flame.
In Her Tower
It’s like the nights
in which you
sit and wait
and sit
and wait
and sit
and wait
accomplishing nothing
knowing nothing
of what you’re waiting for
And they pile on each other
the sitting
the waiting
until all the time spent
all the time you sat
you waited
runs out
like feeling
like a lack of feeling
Like you can’t feel anymore.
And yet you sit.
And yet you wait.
And feel nothing.
Poetry Craptasticness
I’ve recently gone through my writing folder in an attempt to organize it and remove duplicate files or really devastatingly awful ideas that I will never take forward. Beyond finding out that I have a good chunk of my essays and stories from college, I also found loads of old poetry that I had thought was lost. The last post (nostalgia) was new, but I suspect over the next day or two I’ll pick out a few more oldies to share, like the other ones I have done tonight.
I was quite obviously obsessed over one particular subject. As a result, they are treacle sweet and hopeless and completely full of shit.
But then, that’s part of being human.
mehryment 