Quick moments of intense feelings of
ineptness and unworthiness as I sit in the pitch-dark room—while the shadowy figures sweep past the window and light seeps through the edges of the door.
The thousand palpitating images of which your soul perishes and revives as a lightbulb flickering.
Outside, the air wobbles in streets of debris, and a mirage of a train swerves toward nonchalant crowds.
Such images flicker like a Kinetograph,
with tsunamis
eroding
the
sand
and fog
stifling
the
sun.
The breath of Dusk blue darkens her slumber as petals tuck themselves in, while the silver moon, luminous before the wink of night, still the air and arouses the shadows — coming out to taunt and murmur words of lost hope and the sinking feeling of dread.
Seas of silence swallow our words that race through the mind;
the apocalypse inside beckons for solitude
— to veil from the world of shadows flaming and hands trembling
— writhing in your demons and consuming fears.
And as sleep has arrived for some —
shadowy figures continue to sweep past the window —
while I sit,
waiting
for
the
sun.
______________________________________
A/N:
𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒖𝒏 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒑𝒐𝒆𝒎 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒚𝒎𝒃𝒐𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆, 𝒔𝒂𝒇𝒆𝒕𝒚, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒙𝒊𝒆𝒕𝒚. 𝑰𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒄𝒖𝒍𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆𝒔, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒖𝒏 𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒂𝒔 𝒏𝒆𝒘 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆, 𝒊𝒏𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒑𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒑𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒓𝒈𝒚 — 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒅𝒆𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒏 𝒊𝒕𝒔 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅, 𝒊𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒆𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒂𝒔 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒄𝒖𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒕𝒉 𝒐𝒓 𝒊𝒏𝒇𝒍𝒖𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒇𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒎𝒕𝒉 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒖𝒂𝒍 𝒂𝒃𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆.
YOU ARE READING
the words I kept
Poetry"𝓦𝓸𝓻𝓭𝓼, 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓶𝔂 𝓼𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓽𝓾𝓪𝓻𝔂 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓶𝔂 𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓾𝓲𝓼𝓱..." these are the feelings I carried with me, thoughts I held back, scars I hid, and all the words I kept; my friend and my foe. Warning: some may be triggering, dis...
