Trying
I'm a far away friend.
I try to be good.
My love to you I send.
I try harder than I should.
But at least I try.
At least I care.
My dear, don't cry.
I'll be there,
I'll be there.
Contemplative poems
Contemplative poems — a collection of the best works on PoemShip.
The trick is to not hate being Alone
In my misconceived notion of what boxes to tick,
And when to consider myself fulfilled,
I slipped into the farce that alone is undesirable;
Alone just means more time for me.
one day
one day
she finally realized that
she acts so stupid back then
loving someone
who hurts her like hell
who doesnt even care how she felt
and ignore her like she's nothing
but a cold and heartless girl
when the truth is,
she's dying inside,
hurting
because of him
but then now
she's slowly healing
sometimes the feeling still the same
sometimes she doesnt even care
option
i was always
an option
in everyone's life
while i myself
just like
to treat people
like they are
my priority.
untitled iii
I am amongst
The lucky ones -
The ones who are alive
While they still get to breathe.
Metaphors
The empty house is a metaphor,
Of a family gone away,
Where they went? Who knows,
But they are gone to stay.
The birds singing in the morning,
Tell you about a clock,
The hands spining in inches per hour,
But still they never stop.
If life had a metaphor,
I think it would be a song,
Enjoyable evey second,
But never very long,
The girl in the corner,
Is a metaphor of yourself,
A pretty face to look at,
But more than a trophy on the shelf,
Leaves
There are two types of leaves in this world,
They both end up having the same affect,
One means to go away from something forever,
but one is just a pretty thing to look at.
Leaves are the 2nd a tree will grow,
After the trunk that is.
They are thin like paper,
But strong like glass,
Yet still breakable.
That is in the youngest years.
But later on they grow their sizes,
And end up green and young,
Many things end up a metaphorical green,
and a literal young
But with leaves it is a literal green,
and a metaphorical young,
like the night sky
The dark sky is like the
eyes if a young child,
first seeing the beauty of the
world. The child laughs
and smile throughout the
time its seeing the
darken sky as that child grows
that beautiful night
becomes something
strange. Years will pass
and the glow it once had
to that child will
disappear forgetting to
shade the beautiful
plants.
SOLAR CANDLES
I look up at the stars, burning lamps that gift us sight
Wondering that if i close my eyes, will they lift me up?
Will my vision be with the burning candles, looking down at us
The blinding lights the represent all of us, awake in the cover of night.
Or those lights muted by the overshadowing sunlight.
Will i burn just as bright as those stars in the darkness of our galaxy.
All Things Return to the Chinatown Library Ten Minutes Before Close on a Weekday
all the coughing in this library.
all the threadbare gloves.
every sniffle. as the sky goes purple
over the firs, the lights in here feel so bright.
a globe in the children’s area.
a lego map of returning.
computers and computers and
“thank you for respecting others”
also means “please no obvious porn.”
a woman with a face like a free paper
bag in a pikachu hat. cartoon merch
from a free bin.
all the standing, waiting for computers,
pretending to browse CDs, magazines,
hoping to check e-mail before 8pm.
after 8, there is no where to be for
All Things Return to the Safeway Parking Lot
the crawl of injured crows.
the burns in the yard, strewn cigarettes.
the jackhammer clang.
the clipboard girl’s ponytail.
the three cop cars by the north entrance.
the maple bar scent, wafting.
the laughing men throw back their heads.
the laughing women hold their stomachs.
the sun, breaking over the bbq stand.
the sun, breaking over the cheap seafood kiosk.
the sun, breaking over the apartments on the lake.
the rain, breaking the sun.
the crowd, gathered by the corner,
waiting for a light, or a bus, or a man in a car,
or a woman in heels, grows and shrinks,
but never disappears.
* * *
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