Peace

Some say it's peace that lingers here;

Some say it's passion that glows clear,

And I'll remember it always as something bright

With hidden hopes for our eyes to fight

Against the invasion of fear.


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Jagermeister | poem

Dedicated to Courtni Mitchell Weeping willow that doesn’t weep. Eye of an ocelot who never sleeps. Wild centaur raiding kingdoms for roses. Wise child Growing up in tree houses. Autumn leaves shimmying down rivers, sinking Toward bottomless troves. Tension of the bow; release of the arrow. Huntress’s smile; goddess’s child. Sky crackling, smoking like steak in the summer. Ocean’s desire for simplicity. Felicity found in Sipping jagermeister. Superstitious leprechaun feasting on fireworks. Lilies Growing underwater. Heart of a new mother. Fist of an old father. Crystallizing throat when hugging another.
Read more

Melancholy Nostalgia.

And a tad bit of loneliness. That is what I feel right now. The thing is... I hate when good things end, even though I know it just opens the doors for new beginnings.... I just, mostly I just miss everyone a TON. I get so used to having everyone in the house, and waking up to the sounds of kids playing and the aroma of breakfast being made.... So then when it's over, I feel a kind of hole in my heart. I get so sad that they're all gone, when really I know I should just be happy it (in this case, Thanksgiving break) happened. It's weird, because even when I feel like I won't care when it ends, I always do, especially when they leave, or when I leave. Not to mention, I haven't been feeling quite myself lately. All the same, I'm mostly pretty content and excited for the holiday season! It's just the gap in between where I miss my long distance friends and family. Close friends and family take up most of the space in my heart (right next to God), so when t...
Read more

Dark December | poem

Image
the memory I miss the shadows that spin past eyelids, onto the floor, and legs sprouting like leaves from blanketed branches. I miss feeling your wounds heal under my mouth. I miss the coils of coalish petals you left on my pillowcase. I miss the unseen grins, minutes before sunrise. I miss sleep talk, on and off, biological alarms that sang me awake. I miss limbs against limbs, the art of the sleepless, and the blinking bruises of morning. the lament It’s Hell to wash the mess, to pick apart clinging wire, to accept that my body is just a body, and our love is shredded wrapping paper, unraveled piles of glittering ribbon, scarlet cellophane. It’s burning candles ‘til wax coats the table. It’s leaving the lights on all night, waiting for a rush of dust, a surge of music, a dash of pink salt and a bite of burnt pastry. It’s sliding off the roof and getting stuck in the gutter, coughing when you in...
Read more