10-2-14 (Skepticism)

They imagine a single moment
blinding a shallow feeling.
A feeling with
borders and bounds
They sneer past
The travel
no distance

For beyond the border
they see
exists a boundless field
consuming lifetimes to reach

For beyond the border
I see
exists only blinded
eyes.

Sonnet

This week in my British Literature class, one of our assignments was to write a sonnet (14 lined poem with a single central theme). After combining a few poems I had previously written, I was fairly pleased with the outcome:







Longing carves ridges beneath my eyes

I allow emptiness to roll onto my neck,

Leaving a wet trail,

The shadows of when he was here.

I crave that familiar feeling,

As I embrace the tears running down my cheeks;

The closest things I can feel to him.

Loneliness is when your thoughts become louder than the music,

More alive that the crowd.

It is standing in an empty street,

Watching lights change: green, yellow, red.

It is being trapped in your own mind

Searching for the beat of a breath.

It is all I have felt, apart from my love.

7-13-14

I'm hoping,

as I close my eyes,

that I might fall away.



This plane seat

would slowly grow warmer.

I'd imagine it holding me

until I'd open my eyes

and realize they were your arms wrapped around me.



Longing carves ridges beneath my eyes

and I allow emptiness to roll onto my neck;

the shadows of when you were here.



I crave that familiar feeling,

as I embrace the tears

running down my cheeks;

the closest things

I can feel to you.

6-26-14

I ask the moon,
have you seen the day?
Maybe that was a stupid question.

Hovering over empty streets,
he pries on the unknown.
His tragic flaws shine
upon solemn faces.

Darkness hums
a poor lullaby,
the light dismissing him
just as quickly as he came.

4-26-14

Loneliness
is when your thoughts
become louder than the music,
and more alive
than the crowd.

Live

Live in the moment,
for it will be gone
in just the next.

Listen to the silence.

Feel the emptiness.

See the darkness.

Taste the plainness.

Breathe the air.

If it takes everything in you,
don't let it go.

Writer's Block

I hate my journal
for the stacks of blank pages
taunting me

pages
my pencil dances above
but does so little
to touch