Musing's of a Strange Poet
Thread Topic: Musing's of a Strange Poet
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The moss on the hills turned a lush vibrant green for the spring. My grandfather said it reminded him of rebirth and renewal. That no matter what happens, everything gets a fresh start at the beginning of the year. Seeing the renewal of life makes me think of her.
I smile, walking up the path of cracked, and ragged stones. Stones that have been colored and eroded away by time. Each spring, they get broken down a little more, because I make the same trek, at least once a week. This time, I am carrying flowers, in a black crystalline vase. The flowers inside are orange poppies, and red roses. Each flower still carries a trace of dew on the stem, and petals.
I also carry a sachet of herbs, and a glass canister of oil. I partly do this as a ritual for myself, or maybe it's something that can tie me back to what it felt like to have an actual home. It causes me to have a sense of warmth, that disappears during the harsh winter months.
As I come to the end of the path, I see my destination not too far ahead.
There is an old shack, with a well that has long since been over-grown with moss and vines. The water, dried up long after the spoils of war.
The shack still holds some formidable signs of life. There are mushrooms growing next to the porch, and rabbits that have made their burrows in the yard. I hear the sounds of the birds whistling in the trees and I make my way to a bench that over-looks the mountain I just climbed.
I sat on the bench and placed the flowers next to me. The wind seemed to carry my worries away. "I finally made it." My voice, seeming to crack. "I didn't think I could do this trek again, but here we are. First trip after the winter." My heart starts to beat faster in my chest, and I let out a nervous chuckle.
The first trip is always the hardest.
I look at the mystical body next to me. It no longer resembles something of this plane, but something ethereal. It has been so long, that nature has thoroughly taken its course. I can no longer make out her features. The only resemblance she has to this realm now is the necklace she wore around her neck. A gold locket that opened to reveal a watch. Albeit the gears inside stopped turned a long time ago, it still looked beautiful.
"Even after all this time, I still love you." I sat there, still for a moment, letting grief flood my bones. I take one more glance at her. A once beautiful woman, now intertwined with the beauty of mother nature.
I stand, leaving the vase of roses next to an outstretched hand of bones, and moss. Her silhouette reminding time is the keeper of all things. -
Untitled
Description: I write this about my younger sibling. I do not get to see them frequently, and at this point, I was kind of frustrated. I felt like no matter what I did, I couldn't move forward, because something always popped up. I was either doing, or saying something online that made her, or my parents upset. I just felt I couldn't win.
I wish that I could understand why I keep losing pieces of myself to you.
I feel like a broken record,
That is stuck on an infinite loop.
When I think back to the times when we were doing anything to save ourselves,
I hear music...
And the sounds of laughter.
Now,
When I think of you,
The bitterness outweighs thoughts of joy.
It's hard to keep moving forward,
When all you have behind you is a road paved with destruction.
Sometimes,
I wish that I was braver than I am,
But I do not harbor anger in my bones.
I only wish for the silence of peace,
That comes with age and reconciliation. -
The Butterfly Effect
"The flapping of the wings of a butterfly can be felt on the other side of the world." -Chinese Proverb
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Sometimes,
I am deep in thought.
Wondering if I took one simple action, if the entire course of my life would change.
What if talking to that one person,
Could have turned my whole life around?
Spinning into a world where glass shards no longer tore into the pores of my skin.
What if I had never made a diary,
And hid it in farthest corner of my bedroom?
Resulting in razor sharp cuts,
And a mind full of never-ending doubt.
Even now,
Sitting in the places that my parents sat before me,
Just with a different outcome.
I think;
I am the consequence of someone else's actions. -
Bloom
Trigger Warning, just in case
The flowers that protruded from her chest had been there since she was born. They were a combination of black roses, violets and primroses. Each of these flowers had their own symbolic purpose, but it was one she had yet to figure out.
When she was younger, she hated the flowers. The green growths that protruded from her chest made her feel disgusted. It made her feel unwanted. But most of all, it felt like everyone stared at her. The murmurs she heard behind her back, and the scathing looks she received from those she loved. She didn't ask to be born like this, but she was.
As time progressed, and she grew into her teenage years, the flowers started to open up. They started to bloom. The caused even more of a scene as she went to school and other places. People talked about her more than ever. "You aren't ever going to get places with THOSE flowers on your chest." They said, smug and set in their ways. This caused the girl to fall into a deep depression.
She ripped out the flowers in her chest, until she was covered in her own blood. Her screams resounded to the ends of the earth, and the roots and stems of the flowers left her body. She lay on the ground, staring up at the sky. Her shirt soaked in blood, a concave hole in her chest.
"Maybe, just maybe I will be good enough now." She thought to herself. As time passed, she realized the problem wasn't her flowers. It wasn't the part of her she admired but mutilated for other people's sake. The problem was everyone who looked at her and told her she wasn't going to be good enough because she was different.
Now as an adult, she admires the flowers that bloom on her chest. Although the scar is still there from where she tore them out in her younger years, they bloom with fruition. They grow with a purpose, and whenever someone sits and stares, she just smiles. Maybe they aren't happy with themselves, but she will continue to bloom and grow.
Because it doesn't matter what those around you say. You should not be ashamed of yourself, just because you are different.
It is your time to BLOOM. -
Unfinished poem based on a prompt I found online. I keep telling myself I'll finish it one day.
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Television static,
Forms to create a perfect picture.
One of innocence, and longing.
A picturesque guide,
Of cartoons and cotton candy.
Memories long past of a woman,
With long burgundy hair,
And circular glasses.
The smell of cinnamon, and warm chamomile tea.
A clap of thunder,
And eyes shifting to a darkened window,
Bring to your attention a looming storm.
A portrait of blackening clouds,
And pounding rain.
A painted canvas,
Hung askew haphazardly.
The faint noise of arguing in the background.
As the storm grown closer,
So do the shouts of apprehension.
The T.V turns off.
The static disappearing into a thin line,
Fading away into the void of the screen. -
Mused Jade, am I allowed to be here?
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