I sit back and watch
as the clouds glide over the sun.
Wondering how something so bright,
can be muffled by a mere fog.
But isn’t that what happens to us all?
We control the gravity
of our own weighty worlds
and dominate our space,
as our thoughts revolve around us.
What happens when our force is blocked?
Our light begins to fade
in the eyes of the observer,
but behind the haze,
we continue to shine.
I have been thinking about what I want to do with writing, whether I ever get published or not. What I want to accomplish in my life, what I want to change in myself, and how I want to impact the world through words. Because that’s what I think it’s all about- my small stamp on society.
I’m still not completely sure what I’m doing, but I decided to take another step and create a new site, thesocietyjournal.wordpress.com.
With it, I would like to welcome writers of all genres and forms (essays, poetry, fiction, etc.) to raise awareness about the troubles and to celebrate the wonders of today’s society.
If you would like to be a part of this, you can contact me through email, Facebook, Instagram, or Twitter.
Feel free to also message me with questions, suggestions, or comments!
Please reblog and share this to get the word out!
As time passes by
the lights fade out
the darkness surrounding
fills our minds with doubt.
That the light had ever existed.
That the world once seemed like what it isn’t.
We lose our minds
and our souls slowly dim
as we’re trapped inside this never ending shade,
just waiting for our lives to begin…
Again? Amongst all this decay?
On this decrepit earth that once held our hopes?
But- what is our choice?
To become a headless creature of doubt?
Closed away from everyone around,
Living our lives lost in the dark,
Unable to open our eyes to see the spark.
The spark of light-
we were convinced that we imagined it.
But it only stayed as we moved past.
Time moves in circles,
not in a straight line,
So why are we still facing the night
and leaving the daylight behind?
He had her transfixed by the way he spoke-
the confidence that escaped his lips
was nothing like anything
she had ever heard.
She was enchanted by his knowledge,
bewitched by his words.
When his mouth was poised, ready to speak,
she knew as his voice echoed through her mind,
her body would grow weak.
Her heart would beat
with the pulse of his tongue
as his thoughts flowed out
and struck her soul.
But as it pierced and prodded
deep into her core, she would begin to doubt
if his act of sanctity was only a chore.
Was he a prophet?
Or simply corrupt?
Were the words he spoke
intended for beauty?
Or had she mistook
the propriety for cruelty?
As his voice resonated in her ears,
she couldn’t escape the sounds.
The sounds of his wicked words
uttered by that twisted tongue
declared his deplorable discourse
disguised by false diety.
But he regarded himself as the truth
and hid behind the lies.
And when she listened closely
she could hear that his words
were nothing but a guise.
The beautiful language
he seemed to whisper directly to her heart
was the weapon he chose
to tear the world apart.
He opened the door
and slowly entered the house.
The quiet creak of each floorboard
as he passed above
gave hint that he was there.
To those below,
he was something monstrous
But to him
he was someone confused
Trembling hands reached
to the cellar door.
striving for the same thing.
He yanked, tugged and pulled.
urged the door open.
They saw the glint
shining from his hand
as he notices the glint
shining in their eyes.
He was disgusted with himself.
But he knew what he had to do.
He was a painter,
choosing his pallet,
while holding his brush.
But when the first drop of paint hit the canvas,
His masterpiece had begun.
he swept his brush along the paper.
Before he knew,
his actions had become art.
As he headed back above.
He left them in the cellar below.
He knew the only way
to save himself
Was to spill some paint
and create something
Laying in bed
needing to sleep.
Thoughts in my head,
too many to keep.
But they won’t go away-
They drive me insane.
In my mind they stay
as they infest my brain.
I close my eyes
and try to silence this voice.
But it’s only a guise
because I’ll never have that choice.
I can’t stop thinking,
wondering, and questioning.
So I’ll just lay here, blinking,
until my thoughts stop wrestling.
He had one last chance
To make it all count.
One last dance
before the music ran out.
So he grabbed her hand
and moved onto the floor,
then shouted to the band
like he never had before.
“Play something sweet!”
“Play something sad!”
“Play something soft!”
“Play something loud!”
And they danced.
No matter how the music changed,
no matter how the score was arranged.
They danced through the melodies
of the everchanging sounds
and moved to the beats of life
whether they were sweet
Kasim nominated me to do the no ‘e’ challenge, but turn it into a story.
This isn’t really a complete story, but it’s something haha.
Ink has a way of spilling into your blood and vanquishing your familiar body. Taking what you know and transforming it into an unfamiliar ghost of what was. That’s why I am what I am.
My lungs gasp for words as my mind thirsts for a story. As I’m imagining what could occur, I am portraying my world as I know it- not as it truly is.
So many things block my path- and I can’t find ways to pass by. But my own thought is usually my road block. This block that’s contaminating my mind and soul. I lay down rocks in front of my path that I cannot climb, and as soon as I try, I fall. I fall into oblivion without anything to land on. My surroundings diminish as my mind dissipates into nothing.
Words.Become.Legacies gave me NINE words for my interactive poetry! They were tide, hide, hills, mountains, shatter, mend, defend, believe, and everlasting. . Here’s what came to mind!
She was taught to hide herself
away from the world
so no one would learn
of the secrets she may hold.
One mistep-one mistake
and it would all unravel
all that’s been built
could suddenly shatter.
But she refused to accept
that she had this power within,
and believed that no matter what might break,
she would be able to mend-
Mend the mistakes of those before
and defend her stance on the troubles of the world.
She had to search for her breath
as the tide inside of her rose
but she gasped for air
as she began to write her prose.
She sewed the thoughts together
as knew what needed to be said,
even if one wrong word
could tear the threads.
She would have to fight back
and climb the hills- the mountains-
that stood in her way.
And battle the arguments
that she was sure to face.
But as soon as the words turned to ink,
she stood unsteadily on the brink-
On the brink of change,
of something finally being done-
to fix the world and all that was wrong.
This ink may stain
the view of many-
But her everlasting thoughts
would transform the lives of plenty.