with a ringing solitude
I trace my steps across
the path of the past
without your love
I repeat thy name
Future, future, seldom said
I live along my thoughts
where I am silent in
the words of others
the moonlight in my eyes
singing only when gazing of
how soft the music of
silence makes me
the love of a blown dandelion
the hazy clouds with
dusty words
but now you are here
with your walk
reminiscent of a flaky fish
finding it’s way among a school of different colors
What if when I’m gone
you Want to fall into a ditch
And for time time to stop your tears from absorbing the trees of your kin above
hoping for a watchful eye to wake you up
to fall asleep under the waterfall foam
of my true desires
why must I fall into
the minute of the empty clock
Which blank message writes the
time of the ancient witch who was
Killed too soon
For collapsing the sandust on top
The realm of our false realities
The glades of our utopia
Where everything is perfect
Yet with you I can’t be in utopia
As I smother your powerful love
Under the crust of the earth
Where does utopia exist?
In the ant colonies where life goes in?
Is my perfect world in the fading dreams
Which shatter my sudden glass
Yet when will my perfect world exist in the
Dreamy sounds of the water and earth
When their hate will meet
Like the hollow eyes of
The jay which wakes to no vanishing river
And yet I gaze
About the Creator
Keep reading
More stories from Mona Yonus and writers in Poets and other communities.
Red Shelves
Death is a black hole. Think about it. A black hole is the corpse of a star, something once warm and bright, now come to the end of its life cycle. But some will argue that the cycle of life does not end with death. That death is merely another path we must walk once our bodies expire and our souls ascend. In that moment, when the fuel in the star’s chemical tank hits empty and the shiny matte coat explodes into supernova, the mass left behind – the corpse – becomes a black hole. We understand that, around such a vast cadaver, dimensions work a little differently in death to the way we’re used to in life. For example, light cannot escape the pull of a black hole when it hits the point of no return. That’s where it gets its colour. Space itself is contorted by a black hole. That’s where it gets its funny shape. Even time. Time slows right down the closer you get to it. The closer you get to a black hole. The closer you get to death.
By Matthew Curtis7 days ago in Humans
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.