THE YEAR THAT SHOULD'VE BEEN
The sun glared over him
almost like Mr Frank's frowns
seeking that which he could never give,
pestering him with doubts;
about that which he could ever be.
What a year!
his heart drip with loss,
It was the year that should've been filled
with love, music, laughter and life,
and yet here he stood,
beneath the tamed sun
dancing into twilight,
trapped between shadows,
covered in winter's solemnity
It was a year, alright, and, what a year!
New Year’s Eve Twenty four hours of this Sunday night feeling This unspeakable rush of ‘’not again, not again, not again’’ The present emptiness multiplies like a malignant growth And it’s all I can see ahead, more of the same The clock quickening and yet always showing the same hollow hour It’s twilight and it’s dawn and I just want darkness I want quiet
Of course, truth is time cannot be stopped but it can be wasted Life has no meaning but it can be done wrong I am doing it wrong Look at me and dare tell me this whole thing isn’t wrong I can bargain with it, try to appease this monstrous emotion That has trailed me since childhood I can swear I’ll do better, I’ll do good, I’ll be good this time But we both know that’s no satisfactory answer Resolve is easily broken and it can’t bend the whole world to its will Being good has gotten me very little so far
I am only shushing myself, making a halfhearted effort at reassurance I am playing the part of my own aloof parent Faking authority and prescribing patience Promising ‘'later, it will all come later'’ I just have to sit with this crushing fatigue This urge to scream or run away, bunched inside me like a fist I just have to wait and it will be better tomorrow Nothing will have changed but I’ll have tired myself out
I will flip a new calendar page and sit in the smallness of my room The smallness of my life The first day of the year will pass as it always does Ghost-like, unfelt Nursing yesterday’s indulgence of despair A sadness returned to its usual dullness Throbbing like a headache Eyes sore, throat clamped It’s January and I’d be glad never to speak again.
Inspired by @imperial-poetry-prompts‘s prompt “New Year, True Me”
Blinding lights, flock of sheep
The moths to lamp, dizzy weeps
Led astray, together again
Intertwine, holy reds
Blinded by the witch light in their eyes
He weeps at night
Like a moth flies
Falling, nothing’s alright
Scorch the skin with your kiss
Lips of frost, void's abyss
Pull me into darkest depth
With a scalding, glazing breath
Lingering longer, oh so much to miss
Promises whispered with a cold breath
Laying down the flower wreath
To meet the God of Death
Frozen hearts shatter
Upon their mass
Shards shameless scatter
Like dew on grass
Buried deep beneath
A love long lost and his grief
They say the grass is greener on the other side
Will they reunite?
He takes his hand
And wrong is right
Tender, yet shy
Life longs to die
Written in collaboration with my dear friend and fellow poet Angelina @silversynthesis (her verses are bold)
Used @imperial-poetry-prompts: sanctity, freezer burn, the weight of winter, a smooth death
There is nothing left of me but the crumbling ruins of what I once was.
And they humbly stand before you as you look at them as if they were nothing but an archaeological dig that interests you.
It breaks whatever’s left of my heart to know that there’s no affection anymore.
But there is nothing more than I can do, there’s not much left of me in that rumble so take a look and make a case study.
You might be looking at what’s left of me, but I will stand tall and proud as you do.
- Ely C. Winters. | #913
We run faster in the rain, forgetting the joy there is to walk with calm and letting the water to wash away the worries of the day.
We run faster in the rain, why can’t we take a break?
We run faster in the rain, instead of staying still and enjoy the serenity that can be found in it and its soothing song.
We run faster in the rain, why can’t we take a break?
- Ely C. Winters. | #904
April- no, not a girl. it’s a thick patch of skin covering your left knee and if you pull the skin tight enough you can feel pebbles settle beneath when you run your finger over it. it’s spring and running barefoot despite the consequences. tripping over yourself to get to the finish line first, leaving bits of yourself behind. April is youth trapped in old skin, your first. she made you tough. you needed it.
Sam- this isn’t one that you can see. no one can. if you go long enough with your face turned to the wind, you almost forget about the scar of this heartbreak completely. but in the middle of the night, when your thoughts are loud, you know there will always be something missing. maybe you will never love again. maybe you never knew how to in the first place.
Mauve- it’s a bruise that never goes away. push hard enough against it with your thumb and it will spread, grow down your hip to your thigh and that was never a place for someone else’s hands. this one won’t ever heal. you don’t want it to. when you feel like crying from the weight of the world you lean into the pain of your newest scar and remember that your are stronger than so much. tougher than the softness that made you vulnerable.
Olivia Larson
Unrequited love has a taste… it’s somehow both bitter and bland, it leaves an aftertaste that you can’t quite place one that water nor wine can easily wipe,
no matter what the circumstances may be, if the love is not returned full force the taste will stain your mouth and know: it always tastes the same.
- Ely C. Winters. | #134
Prompt#609 / Burning through the night…(just write)
He saw that it was dawn. In those moments found lashed to the cape, his visage had changed with the night. It was then that he remembered what took place in his dream:
“To my brothers of every tribe, and my sisters who represent their great lands of origin, to all peoples of color: These words will never bring you back what you’ve lost and for this I am truly sorry - my apology cannot reverse the myriad injustices - centuries in the making. Surely it rings hollow in the midst of these troubled times. And yet I am naturally compelled to seek out your forgiveness, to reach for ways to come to you with my bowed head and give to you, from the bottom of my heavy heart, my assurance from beyond the stars of our ancestors, that I am filled with regret for what we have done. If only now my kindness and respect could heal you with my actions - that if there were any way I could uplift you with my promise, my respectful regard and veneration towards you and your cultures, I would offer you the origins of time to replace these histories of sorrow. But I cannot. I am just one human who recognizes your beginnings long before my ancestors came to you with their fears and anxieties; one who sees you for who you are, and you are beautiful! Your histories and your cultures are the foundations of humankind! As a descendant star I can only give you the love of my light, my deepest respect and any semblance of its love that it may bring you to a place where we both could live together in peace as human beings on this great Earth. Our home where our admirations and creativities can bring inspiration and uplift the veil of hate and abhorrent desires for violent retribution. Could I ever repay the horrific debt I owe you? Would you even want my repentant heart and words of sorrow, to know how much I have wronged you? Your painful awareness does not need my reminding! And so I go towards the horizon, the dusk of my life with an earnest sincerity that longs for us to heal. The audacity of my apology in this beginning can only be matched by your daring willingness to forgive and release us both from this circle of dark hatred and destruction. Let us seek peace instead of contempt; beauty rather than the detestable; acceptance rather than rejection. Let us embrace and love each another, the human family that we’ve grown into. Starting this one spark can create an eternal fire at the hearth of our human family’s Home of healing and love.”
© Thespian Drummer / A Healing Dream
Night has had enough,
Words of day piercing him like needles ,
Fed up with his constant show-off,
Decided to teach him a lesson,
Handing over the baton at dawn, he said,
This dawn wouldn't end in dusk,
Day ignorant, stinking of pride,
Took out his best sundress,
Decided to go to the beach for a ride,
Tanning himself in the sun,
Taking a sip of his lemonade,
He started bragging about his might,
Taking credit for life and plant-growth,
He didn't even bother to mention the role of night,
Even a dragonfly couldn't hover at a place for eternity,
Plants absolutely need sunlight for the food,
But they also need to sleep to be revitalized with energy,
Sitting at the beach, arrogant Day forgot,
Oceans wait for the moonbeam to arrive,
That's when they prepare to turn the tides,
Night's refusal, whole world started crumbling,
Just in a matter of day, pride of Day shattered,
His glib tongue came to the fore,
While convincing night to come,
Like a savant, Night glowing in his humility,
Asked a cute ransom for his return,
Day had to agree anyway,
Coz the consequence mutual destruction,
He asked Day to get rid of his toxic culture of extravagant boasting,
After all they were nemesis of each other in the truest sense,
So better behave like it, not like some petty enemies...
I should have known that you would be bad for me.
Looking back, your love words sounded empty and hollow, but I had rose colored glasses on and I could not see beyond my nose.
I should have known that you would be bad for me.
Looking back, your kisses were shallow and passionless, but I let it go without thinking it much and I simply shrugged it off.
I should have known that you would be bad for me.
Looking back, in those nights together your touch was too rough, demanding your pleasure as I was left wanting more.
I should have known that you would be bad for me.
Looking back, your ‘I love yous’ rang hollow and as fragile as a cheap Christmas ornament that shatters the moment it slips and falls.
I should have known, that you would be bad for me.
Right before your kiss, something hides in your eyes; you pull me forth and devour my lips, your hungry mouth upon mine,
but there’s nothing sweet about this, nothing that screams passion either. This kiss is one of despair, one that reeks of fear and hopelessness.
My lips move mechanically, there’s no romance to return, in this clash of mouths. No lies either, no excuses or promises.
And as you pull away, I can see clearly in your eyes that you’re not well. You’ve given up, and I let you go into the night.
The Princess looks around her and reality hits her hard: She is not sure if she truly loves her Prince. A touch of ice crawls up her spine.
Her whole life, her parents have spoken of a happily ever after, but after what, if her whole life has been a good one?
How do you know, or guess if the Prince will truly be a good man or you just entered a gilded cage and won’t have an easy escape?
What if, then? Will a happily ever after come with someone who is a complete stranger to you? what if it doesn’t?
But it is too late for her to run, to escape, her fate was sealed with the wedding vow she has made, so all she can do is hope for the best.
You look at her move and clap, Swing to a rhythm only she can hear; Never once asking what she’s trying to trap. Nor see the tear that slides down out of fear.
In happy ignorance you stand and stand by her side, Already thinking of her as your bride.
But here is the thing you do not know: She’s not a dancer, but a fighter on the floor; One that is fighting her greatest foe, And her demons lock behind a dark door.
You close your eyes, sighing with the chill In the air. The window’s open – it’s a Spring night And there is no need To get all warmed up. Not yet. Summer will come.
So you close your eyes and turn off The lights, lay in bed And whisper into the night: ‘I am yours. Oh! Dearest dark!’
The night is silent, not a single sound Only the breeze comes Like a lover’s caress that says ‘I am waiting, dear one.’
- Ely C. Winters. | Prompt #20
Your camp fire eyes
Seeing straight through mine,
Enough to make me forget about the
Wood burning between us.
.
Not you though.
All you seem to know
Is when to stroke the fire
So it never stands a chance of
Burning out.
.
Flames dance
Where your pupils belong
And I get lost in the fire.
Sunburn on my skin
Feels cooler than your distant glance.
Like I'm a rock on the patio,
Not even big enough to be in your way.
.
Fire turned blue, turned to ice.
I'm still here,
Waiting for you to stir me up
With those leftover ashes.
A cold bit of tree bark
For you to crush,
Crush.
