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RobertJamesA

Published: Jan 8, 2014

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Literature

The Park Bench

Upon a park bench in midday spring A rush of jubilance, I became. For I knew not what that moment would bring As she giggled and told me her name. Such a name I dare not forget As we painted a blithesome vignette. A glint, a sigh, at passersby Regarding us with covetous eyes. With an allure transcending the sky She evoked my heart to swiftly rise. Soon thereafter, I felt renewed As newfound love had ensued. Constructed from mere steel and pine Yet it beckoned us for a respite, As we shared a bottle of wine On a most resplendent night. A lovely tableau with eyes aglow From a beauty the park bench bestow On those gray mornings I sat alone The park bench felt as cold as ice. Upon my solitary throne I felt no sense of paradise. Then she sat beside me once more Upon the park bench we adore. The park bench stood as our sanctuary As the seasons eroded its foundation, Yet its integrity was far from ordinary Until I heard my love’s lamentation. She pointed at the ground in despair For the

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how to become a writer.

don't. stay away from pencils and pens. don't look at keyboards or at blank pages of notebook paper. don't submit to the emerald sigh of vellichor, the shredded sheets of everything, everything you've worked your whole life to run away from. don't live in the moment. let love and fear float by, just a skimming whisper, because a whisper is better than nothing. a whisper is better than the brittle falling-apart of kairosclerosis. suffer from catoptric tristesse, but don't think about it (for too long, anyways.) look at the mirror but never look yourself in the eye, because who knows what you've become? don't write what you're feeling. y

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Rest in peace.

Dive into the deep blue sky, and let it take you by the hand to it's secret hiding place beyond the hemisphere. Where every piece of love for you is catalogued in shades of burgundy velvet. Fly freely alongside millions of coloured paper cranes, in the highest clouds granting wishes. While I look up at the sky thinking about the endless possibilities surrounding you. Eat delicious dinner's with your once lost family and friends, as your serenaded by a choir of angels playing tango at your request; while you sip the finest wine, and hover above the most tranquil of waterfalls. Dance with the golden sun rays, teach them your steps as you swa

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...

Evil is a coward that hides in the dark, afraid to show the truth in the light. [not even it is fearless .]

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Moss Green

Moss green fence slats lay decaying in the backyard, half dried from recent rain. The squirrels rustle across dead leaves, fleeing barking dogs and near-silent cats prowling for a quick meal. Pollen saturates the air; mushrooms grow in the shade of fallen branches as the fuzz of lichen creeps over a trunk felled in favor of a wooden fence.

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cultural dissonance

1. i have flown around the world and you - you remind me of home aunties, uncles, cousins teta and jiddo men and women brown from dry heat and desert sun but then there are waves crashing against sandy seashores and there are palm trees ripe with falling fruit fresh at the market and there are men fishing at the phoenician wall it's give and take and like this land you are never selfish 2. i have flown around the world and you - you remind me of all that i miss so i'll tell you you're beautiful when this sense of discord is poured down my throat and dissonance shows up like an eclipse but you can still find me in the dark and y

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stagmata

cross of the open wound, i've been on the deathbed. i have pleaded with your angers and made peace with the red. around the corner you are listening, two steps of isolated waist. craze me with one grasp in lace. look on your facet harmonizes with the falling reign. purple with prose like it matters to the vagrant. scarlet 'round the ankles and sunlit neck bit. your sway makes moonpace look hectic. eclipse me, sweet as the dusk. cold as the dim fog of lust. slow as the silk of touch. i've been on the deathbed, drunk. crossing off sins with full plunge. dripping and scurrilous with each expunge. faculties harmed and waning, your thrust a

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choker

please do not ask me to keep you, blurry and greedy and bleeding, don't let my weakness bring shame. bark christened with a new frame cracks with the terror of a new day buried. hold me like cherry blossoms keep our secrets tucked neatly within, no grins though the knowledge spreads thin. ivy on the dashboard, the leather of the backseat, the smooth, wet metal of the engine. when you make moves there are sparks from your crushed bones rustling like the leaves that you're leaving behind, hurried. please let your desperate grave of a mouth have the power to be kind to my name.

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epitaph

the girl i did not run over looks at me with eyes that say that i am part of the problem, when i could have been her solution, looks at me like she’s blaming me for swerving away, like she’s measured every one of her steps from her door to the curb, and i am the one thing she failed to account for. i almost double back to try and tell her all the same things that i have been told but i do not. her feet are too heavy, by now. her stomach too hollow. she does not need more empty words to swallow, she does not need stop signs or yield signs or ‘for the love of god think of everyone you are leaving behind’ signs. i do no

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badlands and bleached teeth

your body is no temple, boy; it's a wasteland. you are the warring nation - you're the wishbone weaponry, hunger as the ammunition.

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maybe she's too young

Astrid smelled of plums. It was a gentle scent, emanating wisps of invigorating pleasure. She smelled glorious, mouthwatering, delicate. I couldn't resist such an aroma. She looked so frail. She had skin stretched across her limbs in flimsy, translucent layers. I was terrified of touching her, afraid she'd crumple beneath my fingers. Her lithe, bird bone fingers caressed my blistered calluses. Astrid then pressed her icy palms to my aching flesh. Silly girl, she was trying to comfort me. It was wrong. I felt bloated, my chest inflated with conflic

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The Invisible Girl

I am a simple trick of smoke and mirrors. No one has ever truly known who I am. I am a chameleon, changing my colors to fit my background at the current time. I don't even know who I am. The only things I know is that I'm stubborn, shrimp makes me sick, and I'm too driven. I forget to look around me, take everything in this moment because hey. You only have four, soon to be three, years of permanent residence in this town, why not try to remember? I can remember pointless facts, but I don't want to remember people. Those closest to you only leave you burned in the end. What's the point of opening up only to stitch yourself closed again? I'd

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Don't be afraid to show your true colors in life

Comments17

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Getthegrooveon

Jul 8, 2014

Beautiful imagery. Love how you rhymed Void with Destroyed!

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