𝒜nd I will seek to live as bleak As the man alone on the moon For if there exists a heaven or hell I shall see my loved ones soon But if that man can form a plan To crawl his way into light Who’s to say that I cannot pray And chase him through that dark night
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𝔗he old house stands alone and abandoned Where life once used to thrive. The old picket fence is broken. The roof is opened up to the sky. The well-trodden path to the doorway Is overgrown with the passing of time. The garden where once as kids we would play, Now only a broken swing and memories remain. Rooms which once echoed with laughter Now lay silent, forlorn and bare. Boarded up windows lock in the past Where only ghosts now meet to confer. If empty rooms could give up their secrets, So many stores I’m sure they would tell. But stubbornly they cling on to the past And of childhood they refuse to reveal. The old house now stands abandoned Derelict, forgotten, all alone. Locked inside are my childhood dreams In this old house which was once my home.Back to Top!
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𝔗here is a love that I reminisce like a seed I’ve never sown Of the lips that I am yet to kiss, and eyes, Not met my own Hands that wrap around my wrists, and arms, That feel like home I wonder how it is I miss these things these things, I’ve never known.Back to Top!
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𝒲ith thick strokes of ink the sky fills with rain. Pretending to run for cover but secretly praying for more rain. Over the echo of the water, I hear a voice saying my name. No one in the city moves under the quick sightless rain. The pages of my notebook soak, then curl. I’ve written:“Yogis opened their mouths for hours to drink the rain.” The sky is a bowl of dark water, rinsing your face. The window trembles; liquid glass could shatter into rain. I am a dark bowl, waiting to be filled. If I open my mouth now, I could drown in the rain. I hurry home as though someone is there waiting for me. The night collapses into your skin. I am the rain.Back to Top!