Beneath the Bridge

Tags

age, Creative writing, faith, Life, loss, nostalgia, poems, poetry, Truth, verse, writing

Beneath the bridge

Below the waves

With all the things

We threw away,

The faces and

The names we knew

Our fallen dreams

From younger days,

The bitter roots

We never killed

They twist and turn

Begin to grow,

Creep up our spine

And choke our bones

And root us here

As if to show,

How all the things

We ever lost

Will anchor us

And mark our place,

Beneath the bridge

Above our sighs

We are as all

A fading face.

Stations

Tags

age, Change, creative, Life, poems, poetry, Stations, time, Transience, verse, writing

Young man stands

Shoulder propped against the pillar

Its concrete cold, harsh, pock-marked

Echoes his mood

Like the burned tar smoke

That spirals like a dragon

From a hand which hangs,

A pendulum weight within the sleeve,

Detached at his side.

The girl waits

Hair scented with expectation

The flower-musk brushed skin

Alight and aglow –

She knows that he will come

And lay his cloak across her fears –

Painted hues of love

Which grow like the wisteria

Around her heart.

A man forgotten by time

The pages of his days

Scattered on the dust

Like flakes of decaying skin

No testament to the things that passed his eyes

And cut their mark into his flesh

Knows that days are numbered

But he no longer counts

As he waits for welcomed arms.

A restaurant doorway

Arms flung wide like a distant aunt

Two lovers embrace

Clinging to the space that grew between them

Remembering it like childhood

Before they squeeze its life away

A moment that they trust

Will hold them in the perfection that they feel

Their private slice of heaven.

And the trains they come

And the trains still leave.

 

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2018

 

Two Worlds

Tags

age, creative, Depression, hope, inspiration, Love, poems, poetry, Truth, verse, writing

There are two worlds

Inside my head;

One worn weary

Through the spinning

Of millennia

Gyrating ceaseless

And out of control;

The other,

New born as you stepped

Into my view,

Sings with the sweetest

Of melodies

A tune that no Earthly hand

Could pen,

Sets spark to the tinder

That lay for time unending

Dormant like poppy seeds

Awaiting the stirring

Of my soil-soul,

Now alive

And an ancient Sun

Rises with my smile,

A joy that cannot be

Extinguished or defeated,

A joy that brings new meaning

To every moment

Each stretching sinew

Each fleeting thought,

A joy that my deepest words

Could not come close to speaking,

So I shall breathe

My other world

A world in which

To be.