Arms outstretched
waiting to grasp the
wisps of air that
mussed his shoulder-length
brown hair.
If only invisible curses
were tangible items as
water instead of
transparent beings like
death,
worldly problems would be
found or perhaps even
solved, but they remain
hidden among the peril
and agony and screams.
Is this what it's like to be
lost? to be broken?
to be cast aside by the
universe? am I to go on as
a different entity entirely?
Clouds from, rain patters
from their clutches
and the mist dampens even
the most cold spirits.
The man on the rooftop
lowers his hands, listening
to what the gods above
have to offer.
Is it payment? is it grief?
Above not plows down apology,
above sheds tears of laughter,
the belly-aching cry that
stops up your lungs,
your stomach fills with aches,
your eyes water with mirth.
The universe laughs in the face
of misfortune. the heroes of time
rise above the universe - they
remain immune to the testaments
of time, of brutal time.
For time ticks away as the man
stands precariously on the rooftop.
For death picks at its fingers,
waiting for that step from the ledge.
For love prays the man will give
those he knows a second thought.
For life and the universe urge him on,
on the side of the angels,
on the side of time and death.
He hovers his foot over the open air.
His eyes glossy as if he were in a trance -
a trance that could not be broken by
the simplest of touches.
The battle cannot be won alone.
A/N: I don't remember writing this. I'm semi-convinced I did not write it. Please let me know if I didn't :)
YOU ARE READING
Solving the Mystery to My Own Murder
PoetryA collection of poems of what goes on in my head. Some are self-hate filled, some are love-filled, some are based on my other works, what is going on in the world and my life... Some are relate-able, some are weird, but either way, I kind of hope y...
