It Isn’t Merry To Go Around


I sleep, knee deep
For my world weeps unaware
I awake, in heart break
For I see you aren’t there

Once in a blue moon
I see the sun shining
I am lost in my past’s love
In a search of silver lining

Tangerine toenails
I have henna on my feet
I dance, in trance
As old shadows come to greet

Do I dare, and I dare
To touch the liner of my eye
Wax in my flesh seeks
A flame to make me cry

And I cry, so I cry
Was it an ocean that once said
Remember the silence
For words can be unmade

Blue lips, fingertips
I grasp the rosary and pray
For life, that life
Gives no lesson everyday

I am cold, and I am told
All my thoughts are a lie
And my home is no home
I must roam, no goodbye

I picture my own life
And my face is a blur
Mutilated by soft fingernails
Covered in the fur

Should I if could I
Breathe and then awake
The armour on the inside
Dreaming for daybreak

If so, I know
The brook would then flow
From the roots of my hair
Where dreams do not grow

Author: TheHumanAnvil

I find poetry as a gentle reminder, a medium to relay and dwell upon all things considerate people find inconsiderate. Poetry as an art is akin to a lamp or a magnifying glass. It trails volumes of meaning behind obscure, vague words. I have been writing for a time now, and intend to do so for the time to come. And hopefully, hopefully, hope that one day, someday, a person stumbling across this veil of words, find it alluring enough to shift aside the curtain and peer, into the eyes of the naked truth which sways with the wind of reason. If you have any thoughts, it would be my pleasure to know them, if you don't then it would be a pleasure to not. Be my guest. This feast of words is for you.

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