Nighttime

Tags

age, Change, creative, Forgetting, lyrics, nostalgia, poems, poetry, time, verse, writing

Looking at you there

Laying on the floor,

Never thought such little time

Thought there would be more,

Eyes that see right through

Packed your thoughts away,

Never found the words I need

Thought I’d more to say.

 

Sun chases dreams

Across the sky,

We look for wings

We try to fly,

And we won’t let the nighttime

Steal the hope from our hearts,

 

Time shows its hand

Sweeps us aside,

Seducer of all

Love’s promised bride,

But we won’t let the nighttime

Steal the hope from our hearts,

 

Face falls away

Etchings of age,

Bodies so frail

Burning with rage,

And now we feel the nighttime

Steal the hope from our hearts,

 

Looking at you there

Laying on the floor,

Never thought such little time

Thought there would be more,

Eyes that see right through

Packed your thoughts away,

Never found the words I need

Thought I’d more to say.

Never Change

Tags

Change, creative, nostalgia, poems, poetry, verse, writing

He watched the shadows lengthen

Like an old man’s coat

Tails torn by the wind,

Stained by love and loss,

Gone the Alaskan Summer

He’d wished would never change,

When high-hung Suns like mirrors

Kissed each waking hour,

His child-eyes blindly clinging

Translucent lids now closed

Still see the dreamed of constants

Beneath the milky dew,

And as the shadows embrace the night,

A lover’s furtive tryst,

He feels the loss ripped from his skin

And draws his own coat tight.

 

Rust Bitten

Tags

Change, Creative writing, poems, poetry, Principles, verse, writing

Staring like twisted iron railings

Rust bitten and chilled,

Stealing kisses from

A washed out Sun

Which hung with fickle deceit,

I held my ground

And principles that tore and cut

Like paper,

And were they worth what they

Were written on?

The view from my

Side of the road,

Once heavy thronged with

Vibrant promise,

Now ringing hollow

The shell of ghosts now gone,

Limping shadows in temperate climes –

The far side of the street,

The one we cursed with vitriol

And swore we’d never walk,

In slippered steps

Your feet now soundless fall,

As I still stare

My silent roar

The tears beneath your eyes.

 

Fear of Change

Tags

Change, creative, Creative writing, loss, nostalgia, poems, poetry, verse, writing

What was it

That kept me here –

A hope that this

Would be enough,

Or just a fear of change?

The thought that all

Would, in time, return

To repeat itself

Once more?

That those who left

Would lose themselves

And on their pointed

Memories fall?

Or perhaps the grip

Of ties unwanted

Held me far too tight?

The chance to step

To move apart that

Shook me to the

Naked core –

Or is this place

That I call home

Really all

I need?