Live life faster than I can write it's so sensual it's so inviting send waves of emotion take me home too bad I like living life all alone so close to burn but so empty write letters home just so you don't miss me so slow it's unraveling it's traveling it's gonna make its way back round ya this I know so easy to let love down make it harder for me to write it now don't bother the scars are open the wounds feel as it moves feel it bruise bleeding this heart makes it easier to lose
And I hear you running
And I fear what's coming
Let down your loving
About the Creator
Elise Skibik
Poet
Keep reading
More stories from Elise Skibik and writers in Poets and other communities.
Honest
Can you tell me where we are headed are we all fated to struggle damned by our pride shackled to our sins to much expectation to swim pushed in so many directions had to see the true light the real fight the truth shall reveal its self but at what cost? What does it take to please the boss? when will he be satisfied? will I reach my true potential? will my work be only circumstantial? No real substance just a bunch of misfits trying to reach up from the underground bound by the struggles to move out of the box the locks may hold me down but my soul remains unsound
By Elise Skibik6 years ago in Poets
Paint and Weave
Author's Notes: I rediscovered my 1980's poetry magnets box and in it were two poems I find compelling. I recall having challenged myself to create two poems using the same set of words. These two poem are what spilled out. Which one resonates more with you, version A or B? Leave it in Comments. I'd love to know your thoughts!
By Christy Munsona day ago in Poets
Gossamer
"Murray! Wake up!" He loved that period between waking and dreaming. To him, it was like entering another dimension; more of a dreamscape than dreaming itself. There was an otherness to it that he wanted to grasp and yet deeply respected the fact that it could never be his totally. This is what gossamer was; flighty and light, a wisp of smokiness, an idea suggested but not fully revealed, a slit in cloth, a copse in the wood.
By Rachel Deeming5 days ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.