Have I Wounded | Edgar Law
And have I wounded
With my mindless words
Have I opened
An old envelope of pain
Not meaning to
But the road to hell, they say
Is paved with good intention.
self-reflection poems
Wordless Apathy | Finn Aberlour
Blank expressions.
Empty, fading words.
Brittle and
meaningless actions.
Without pain,
I would feel nothing,
and that’s not living.
Regret,
scruple, faltering doubt.
Have I done enough,
to be loved?
Or to be pitied?
Hoping I deserve more,
but I try not to think
about that.
To love is to be loved,
faltering, I still try.
My wordless apathy,
driving, exiling
my connection to this
world.
I can’t go back.
I can’t.
I.
Metamorphosis | Judy Moskowitz
I never expected to find a torn napkin
somewhere on a beach and start to write
layers of thoughts coming from a locked box
only the wind could understand
pulling me into a magnetic field of consciousness
that would change my life
I never expected to become a poet
just in time before falling into a recliner
no longer a long stemmed rose
life worn on my face
a different kind of legacy
born and penned out of need
all the possibilities stirring within
an envelope mailed to me
I decided to open it
roar and howl
a reinvention I never expected
I Try to Them on Paper | Mónika Tóth
Beautiful afternoon
My heart is full of words
I try to them on paper
Reflected Premonitions | Kiraka D. Mugatsia
Deep sleep at high noon
Shut eyes wide at midnight
I put up and fight
The guns will cease soon.
I dine, I write
I sleep, see day of no lights
On my paths
Of broken glass
Shattered psyche
And humbled might.
The deep and shallow waters
Upon them I ponder
I wonder
Will I ever reach yonder
Should I, rather,
To save my broken skin
Let go, surrender?
No longer do doubts blur my mind
I will let me wander
Into the fancy fountains of fate
Worn and in languor
Lost of time and date
And settle here, my bare bones
It has been long, the wait
This task, grand in weight
Now no longer holds me up late
At the ends,
I rest in knowledge that I fought
And made life of mere thoughts
As it was, by faith or by fate, ought
Even when the labours, in tatters, came to naught.
Then it is
As the smouldering ashes
Embrace my sore soles
On the fallen boulevard of broken dreams
My future flashes through the memories
A wonderful journey it has been
What a great future I have seen.
More at http://kirakaderrickm.blogspot.com.
Shackles from a Giant | David Charlesworth
The walls of this small room
always closing in
getting ever so nearer
The roof gasping
searching for the last breath
There must be someone on the outside
of these brick walls
A giant
pushing, always pushing
these lonely walls toward me
squeezing the last of what life is left
suffocating the search for the last breath
the room a piece of paper torn with scribbled ink
Crushed and crumpled
by the hands of a giant
At the mercy of omnipotent palms
some call it God
I call it the Self
The shackles feel tight
how did I even manage to
get them on?