Poetry

A Wave of Emotion

Ebbing and flowing

A tide

Ever Growing

Not yet to subside

Its confidence not forgoing

A composition of beauty and pride

Undying, never slowing

You, it often eyed

For it saw you there, floating

It ached to have someone in its stride

Wading, towing

Never going

Ebbing and flowing

River Rock

A bag of rocks it seemed to be

But it was worlds more to me

A sachet of magic 

So fine, tragic 

Tragic it was, that its beauty was one that no one could foresee

It was not simply rocks, not to me

I was pieces of history, enigmatic 

It fired memories, automatic 

It was not just beauty, nor history, rather it was the key

The key to life, the key to you, the key to me 

An answer to how long life has been, to what was no longer static

But most of all, to me, it was a symbol to those erratic

A six string picker 

He strummed and sang,

The player picked the strong, and the strings they rang,

He was slow, lyrics riddled with that southern slang,

He sang deep, bellowing songs from years past,

He played his song, never did he play fast,

A six string picker he’d always be, but he’d never be the last,

A thick drawl he had,

Oh his tones, soft and sad,

A gentle player he’d always be, not a man to be mad.

Shame 

Shame crept around the corners of their life

Waiting

It knew where they were

A dog with a scent to follow

A hunter with a deer in sight 

Shame stalked

A shameless beast it was

Following along

Waiting

But what shame didn’t know 

Was that they stalked back

Waiting

Brain Rot 

The rot had sunken deep

Logged in bacteria 

Swollen with filth

The wound was open 

For it was too dead to live now

Too dead to grow

Too dead to heal now

The flesh pale

Drained of its color

For the flesh was too dead to live now

Too dead to flush blood across its surface once more

I had known the wound wouldn’t heal

But I hadn’t known it would fester and rot

Decay before my eyes

For it was too dead to live now

Grief

I’d left my tea on the counter this morning

Yet I continued to reach for it

Though, I knew it was cold now

The steam no longer rising

The leaves no longer steeping

I’d left my tea on the counter this morning

I wished I cherished it while I had it

I wished not to feel such yearning

A daily routine broken

A continuum halted

I needed it in my hands once more

I’d left my tea on the counter this morning.