We sit and talk
as you begin to explain,
all of your brokenness
from whence it began.
I silently listen
and don’t interrupt.
I feel of it’s essence
your beauty of now.
For it all has formed you
the way you should be,
for no one escapes
the brokenness tree.
©EN, All Rights Reserved
To my confidant,
Ever since I’m in abyss with my thoughts, I’ve conceded this fact that I’m anonymous to many and familiar to none.
I’ve been on hiatus for a while. Sometimes, I’m not able to retrieve the exact impression of you but I’m quite tenacious to your distant apparition, and these memories that I’m left with.
The entanglement of my beliefs are transcending over the analytical ability of my mind. There are times, when my sentiments makes my words wander and push me in an obnoxious state.
You once told me that adaptation is a skill of the survivor, who has a foresight of speculating the surface and moulding himself accordingly. I believe, we’re all survivors of our own doom and some of us are still scratching walls of hell just to crawl out of that void.
In the depths of this contrasting segment, I’m still researching about the variations in your words again.
I’ve always admired your intellect. Maybe that’s why I’m acquainted with my past. Your guidance is bestowed upon me, which now, I’ll carry forward, as a legacy through my words.
Your disciple,
The quiet spirit carries a sense of oceans running within,
unlimited beauty
yet peaceful and confident,
expecting even stronger poems
hidden within,
the restoration
and rest.
Poem, and Image, Copyright © 2020 ancient skies
most bridges don’t naturally burn
usually they just collapse
under the weight of
their own situation
or some human
pressing
The Poetry Teaching Artist Training Project is quite confusing to follow. And I have not found poetry posted since April 2019. Or even how to navigate the sight to find poetry. 😣
I always was weak in his hands
And now I wanna be strong in my own madness
I wanna be free like my oversized sweatshirt
Like early morning in hills, like a newborn baby from the past wrongs.
Read more el977
Hope this cigarette will keep me alive longer than you would... - Alive In Coffin
Alive in Coffin. I am a guy breathing in a coffin made up of flesh, bones and blood. Back in my twitter days, I used to write in 140 characters and that passion motivated me to write short poems. I get crazy when thoughts knock my skull. Currently, I am writing from my grave and in my free time, I try to control my heartbeats.
i tell myself
not to write,
for the words
blatantly boast
of my lack
of self control,
but with each verse
while this ego dies,
i secretly feed
a hungry poet,
letting him believe
that he can own the world.
Being ever more hungry for the pure, Vidur breaks open space we long for at
To feel without feelings
To lock up before hearing the word broken
To move effortlessly without hearing whispers of insecurity
Is a world I could only dream of.
If a glimpse of this dream is the closest to reality,
Then I’ll take it.
Not in full, but like shards of a broken glass,
I’ll take the pieces slowly.
Besides
I don’t need a full cup of wine,
Just a sip will suffice
To let me know if this dream
Will make me feel whole again.
— Read more Ummi Salma poems on toosweetsite
Ummi is the first to officially join the Gift Crows chapbook coming April 2021. Read more about that project here.
Should twilight paint your silhouette in shades of amber and rose
Read more Linda Lee Lyberg @ Charmed Chaos blog
