The Untitled’s

Untitled No. 19

Clouds are drifting ’round my bed,
Clouds are dancing in my head,
Dark and grey, as if I’m dead,
With a solitary dot of red.

I have tried to write of streams,
Of rivers, mockingbirds, and trees.
I’ve filled so very many reams.
My soul on paper, I write my dreams.

Clouds float like a waif-ish starling,
Finding me and then surrounding,
Aiding me in endless wandering,
Don’t worry about me now, my darling.

These are not clouds that fly so slowly,
But dreams that dance so bright and lovely,
Haunting the moments of myself only,
Rendering me dead and lonely.

Crippling me with proximity near,
Filling me with dread and fear,
Trapping me, stealing my tears,
But do not worry for me, dear.

These are no longer dreams profound,
But stars so flickering with sound.
Empty, lonely, silent, loud,
These are not dreams, but clouds.

I lie in a coffin built of wood,
Bury me now, I wish you would.
I would not change this if I could,
As I am dead now, as I should.

Deep beneath the loam and leaves,
You bury me beside the trees,
Near the shores of tormented seas,
Beneath a canopy of dreams.

Untitled No. 11

Impending curiosity,
Superstition and tenacity.
Creeping, crawling
Tossed into the
Raging tempest.
Staring in the
Face of danger,
Forgetting any
Thoughts of anger.
Upon a misty sea
The current cold, and sweet,
And swift.
Curiosity has arrived,
With tenacity,
Forgetting everything
Else to do,
I sit in shadows
And laugh at you.

Untitled No. 4

I watch the clouds,
Grey and white,
Drift across my bedroom wall.
Crumpled paper
And butterfly corpses
Litter the wet black floor.
Rain sprinkled upon a coffin
As it’s washed from its place
Beneath the disappearing ground.
I watch my window, pondering.
As I watch, there’s a lonely road
Through the dappled forest,
With courageous knights
Gallivanting past,
Leaving behind a sorry figure
To sew her soul back together,
As she watches silently
Her future fall away forever.

Untitled No. 16

“Your life would be much simpler
If you dance the way we do.”
This is what the people tell me,
How could it be true?
Mechanically moving,
Only thinking what others think.
Going thought the motions,
Hardly to the brink.
“Be yourself,”
I want to say.
But all they seem to think about is the
Tomorrow after today.
If you care to listen,
Here’s what I now think:
Defy conformity,
Fight the current,
Dance in the rain,
Fall over the edge,
Even if it means
Being alone,
At least your identity
Is truly your own.

©The Wild Poesy, 2012-2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.

The Untitled’s

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s