I look for comfort in billowing spume.
Thunderous. Luminous. Vicious.
Circular motion then thundering roar
That’s where my heart can soar.
That body. That body.
That mass. Oh my.
I can barely hear the seagulls cry.
I seek comfort in it’s swishy gurgle
Its undulating moves.
Its undertow , high and low.
I can ride this beast
But can never conquer it’s swell.
I’m driftwood .
Bobbing. Bobbing. Babbling.
Rushing to shore. Rushing to shore.
Then poof….. No more.
No more me.
Only soft yellow sands
Formed from a million things that were once tough as rock.
But are now full of footprints.
This poem is definitely worth reading . Check out somebadplankton blog below.
Feel good and teary with this one folks
Source : To Women
My sad eye is pressed up against the wall
I heard the nightingale’s silent call
Out there everything shimmers
You in the middle of a lake that glimmers
Flora and fauna and mossy roads
Faeries and pixies and croaking toads.
Water spouting out your finger
A thousand reasons to let me linger
Staring out at your bright world
Ignoring the fact that I’m being absurd.
Is it better to have a crack
Or does it just highlight what I lack?
Just do the washing-up already
Pick the clothes up from the floor
Write that book you’ve been talking about
Paint that peeling door.
Just go for a relaxing walk
Sit and read a book
Cook that cake you wanted to
Give that film a look.
This is what my brain says
Day after day after day
But my soul just wants to sit here
And the world to go away.
I’m warning you now.
Don’t let me do it.
Don’t let me fall for you.
You say you want casual.
But this talent I lack.
I never stay on track.
I freewheel and lose the road.
Heavy load. Heavy load.
Once you’re in. You’re in in.
That’s it , I’m done.
It’s no fun
Not for me.
Not for you.
This need, this desire
Will last longer than you’ll think it should
You’ll be surprised
‘ Am I really that good?’
That’s what you’ll wonder
As I’m torn asunder.
But if it’s any consolation
You’re nothing special
No magic power.
You’re a character in a play
And it’s the play . The story.
You’re just the understudy.
But I will always stick to this script.
Oh pickled longing
I had put you on the shelf
Was hoping you would taste better
When the acerbic nature of life was absorbed by you.
You only grew stronger. More flavor formed.
I won’t get very far
With my want locked in a jar.
The worst thing is that I had begun to dream again
Pictured a life where things might go well
Now I’m back to hell.
Ground zero once more.
Maybe that’s why I’m sore.
Filled with envy for those of you who just
‘Get along with it’.
Oh and I do …sometimes.
But then the black comes in and pushes me down
And I run each time.
I try. I try. I quit.
I can’t seem to go through the tunnel.
Can’t seem to reach the light
No matter how hard I fight.
Some of us will always be at the tunnel door
While you run forward.. gaining more.