A ghost.
A ghost is what passed our faces.
Trying to get us to realize,
Our past comes back to haunt us.
Did you see my horror?
No, you missed it.
I hid it well.
Deep down I keep the locked abominations from escaping my mind.
I'm not crazy or mental,
I'm more of a fanatic of letting feelings run out on paper.
Ink runs deeper than words,
It's more visible than spoken syllables.
But if I get too involved with myself,
I tend to remember my ghost.
My past and my present,
Whereas the future may never exist.
Heaven forbid I let my Tartarus free.
I'm a vulnerable casualty when it comes to expressing my fear.
The darkness isn't scary, but its there,
Haunting and taunting.
It's neither friend nor foe, but quite a common acquaintance.
And I don't mind its company,
It clears the mind,
Because light makes me dizzy.
I'm talking about that false light,
The one Earth offers to unsuspecting victims.
Life doesn't succeed on such lies,
So I take a bit of both worlds to survive.
So therefore my feelings are inked,
Colored black to show how beautiful words can be written down so eerily to parallel with my experiences.
If this poem doesn't make any logical sense,
Then it's meant to be read individually,
For my mind is not quite right at midnight,
And my feelings and expectations make up for my logic and my normality.
YOU ARE READING
Stained Hearts
PoetryMy first book of poetry, consisting of prose poetry and rhymes. Just a collection of thoughts and experiences translated into whimsical poetry, made specifically for your poetic appetite. Mostly I write about nature, time, a bit of love and...
