Find your next favourite story now
Login

Poetry Stories

poetry

I need to be freeSo this meLetting goThough you'll never knowMy soul burns for you A brilliant crimson hew In this life Full of strifeThat love is light Burning ever so brightEven though I am letting go

Finding myself standing out here once again as I have done in the past, standing here during that last hour before the dark light of the true dawn under a cold bringer moon, with nothing but silence that seems to surround me and holds sway as I look up towards the moon. Looking at it with these green eyes that at times can be colder than it and be able to stare forever. As I shift my gaze to those dark mountains now silho...

Finding myself out here again on that old Highway 61once again, and hearing the old cries and commands in my head as I make my way where it leads; the old marching songs of :” Leforight, 2,3,4, sound off; 1,2, sound off; 3, 4, cadence count; 1,2,…3, 4”! And as I look back and know one should never look back but sometimes we do it anyway and see the flames, that are still pouring from that empty boxcar that still sits ther...

Hearing the sound of piano notes being played as if it were an overture or prelude, almost as if all had been choreographed or set to music like a set piece yet I know it to be a mind game, with confusion mingling with the sound of curses echoing from past lost opportunities mixed with regrets. As I stand here wondering if paradise is lost or just been blinded by rainbows and watching the wind? Feeling like I am on the do...

Finding myself walking alongside the river at the tail end of that winter of discontent, as I find myself taking that path beside it, as I follow each serpentine curve and going to where it leads, and not minding the fine mist from those heavy gun metal grey skies overhead. And still being able to still feel a touch of the winter and it’s chill that’s still in the air, and having the feeling of being watched, and observed...

You standing there next to me, heard me say once, that I wanted to be able to touch the earth in all its various forms and meanings, and to feel it under my feet as I hold it and be able to break its clods in my hands, and then to be able to sleep here with you upon this hard packed ground. As I feel myself lost in your warmth and the comfort of your arms.With pillows of bluebonnets under our heads, underneath a vast blan...

Sitting here in these early morning hours watching downtown come to life, and hearing the faint strains of the X-Files theme being played in the background, and is seeming to emphasize these strange days and times that have caught up and found me. As I feel the triple shot of that silver bullet caffeine begin to kick in and know that the Devil’s in the details and not all has been revealed completely or made clear with th...

There once was an only moment that had too few folks in focus: Not the first, not the last, and not the least, and always there seems to stand a form of unforgiving opposition to the foibles of us, who inhabit this Vale of Tears, as destruction seems to be always right around the corner and though beauty might surround us it cannot save us. There are also moments and times when beauty and mystery collide with the power to...

Get Free access to these great features

  • Create your own custom Profile
  • Share your imaginative stories with the community
  • Curate your own reading list and follow authors
  • Enter exclusive competitions
  • Chat with like minded people
  • Tip your favourite authors

The light has gone with the setting of the sun’s dark light, with the night seeming to be full of holes as the shadows seem to move, and they are moving again forward slowly and surely sticking to those darkest shadows. And seeing the muzzle flash flare in the dark followed by its report that shatters this winter dark, and followed almost as if on cue by the roar of those massive siege guns opening up, filling the air wit...

Standing here as I drain a cup once again near those rivers of blindness, and I am heading out on foot down that old forgotten dirt farm road and casting my fate to fortune’s whim. And not able to shake that feeling that I am once again heading out on old Highway 61 after it called. But, I know that I’m not on it as I follow the passage of the sun towards that far horizon, and I might look as if I am bent over in defeat b...

Is it a destined fate? Or some yet unknown trait? I can’t find the answer What can turn love to hate? When the once warmth turns cold And the sadness takes hold You’re left with only you You will learn truths untold If you had more to give, just maybe you could live But when there’s nothing left, you become a captive You try to hold the light, with your wavering might But the darkness you fear, turns your day into night S...

Having heard all those hints and allegations made at the break of the day, coming from those self-proclaimed saints quick to judge and their allies the prophets of doom, with all having been once again divined all from the writing(s) on the walls that are their omnipotent gospels. Saying that all the moments given were used and that now there is no time, place, or chances left, and with indolent glares they pass judgment...

Sitting here by the river under those heavy grey skies watching it flow to sea, as I see you standing there and it’s not very hard to do as I just close my eyes and see your face, and knowing you’ve had times when you feel so feel weak and tired with the days leaving you uninspired. Feeling like life goes on with the purpose for living having simply gone forward without you, and I know that you have always hoped for somet...

Sitting here listening to the wind blowing and seen those clouds rolling in looking heavy and knowing that the rains will be coming down heavy soon, and I’m sitting here “scribbling” down thoughts and feelings and you might call me a romantic, or possibly a helpless romantic when the weather changes to the way it is now as I chase moments down. Especially when the rain or snow starts to fall because it seems to mean and h...

Feeling the wind blowing through my hair under these grey skies threatening rain, which is making me look to the mountains from where it’s coming from like that old Highway 61 when it calls. Knowing the time to head out on that last journey to the north where the wind hits heavy is drawing near, and I am heading to that one with her hair so long who lives there from that North Country fair, as I close my eyes and see her...