I stand here, looking through the bars at the world blanketed in white. The silence is deafening – my ears strain to hear any semblance of life out there, of hope. Continue reading
Hello and welcome.
Any poet will tell you that events and people inspire the art. Our exchanges breathe moments of desire, passion and slowly dying embers of deceit or delight. As the intensity passes, we are left with the memories of the encounter and this rare beast is what we try to capture within our words. Well, at least I do!
This poem, for me, is the moment trust dies in a relationship. It could be a friendship, a loved one, a relationship with a workmate or boss. In time, we all experience events where life becomes art and the words that encapsulate that emotion are trapped forever.
I hope this poem as much as I enjoyed writing it. It doesn’t have a name yet. Maybe you could suggest one in the comments below.
Have a great evening.
Nuances once found endearing
Now grate against my skin
Scratching, screaming down my vertebrae
Telling me all your sins
Incompetence and flagrant misdirection
Needles picking at your consistence
Integral parts of my anatomy
Shouting out allegories against your existence
Deprivation within the biomass
This disorder known as yourself
Rip disregarded respect and faith
Away from all harmony; my loss, your wealth
Copyright held by ©Eloise De Sousa (2018)
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From the lips of journalist to the ears of man, we spread the news of feast and famine. Journeying across the desolate tundras of truth, hoping for respite from the biting winds of false conjecture, we pledge allegiance to infiltrating the gospel according to mankind, delving into the cultural juxtaposition of belief and science at this given time. Falsehoods collected from the past are embraced as tracked memories scoured and processed by historians are ignored.
The fallacy of man is to continue a destructive life cycle while other animals evolve. We sustain ourselves by maintaining an arrogance, an ignorance to our own intelligence’s weaknesses. When it is too late, we get to realise that all those crossroads littered with dead religious beliefs and outdated morals were the pivotal points in manhood’s demise. Historians will pick through the bones, licking at the remnants with a taste of their own tradition tainting the original flavour, setting new stories for the falsehoods of future mankind.
This is our legacy. This is our belief in justice. This is our history.
White flakes silence the world
Muffled in a blanket of cold
Heat cries in dismay.
High pitched laughter
Flying balls find their hysterical targets.
Icy fingers purpling
Breath now heavy
Time to find the noise and warmth again.