Can I have a word, please?

She was always tirelessly wiping the imaginative mascara from under her eyes, in an effort to revive the dead look the mirror reflected back at her.

Can I have a word, please?

And they embraced amidst the horrors of the war.

what do you want me to say, empty world?

Golden band

these images that cloud my mind,
these notebook pages with love poems lined.
it's your stories that I miss,
that underlying sense of bliss.
come find me and take my hand,
and promise me a golden band.

Back from oblivion

Sometimes I'd gaze longingly at this blog and think "maybe I should write something today" and then I'd go back to my homework. So this summer Poemer will come out of oblivion and maybe have the occasional thing to say, even though I feel like the words just float around in space.

Starvation

a face of valleys and peaks.
and when it speaks,
its mouth a cavern of black.
taken aback by the knees that knock together.
A stomach, a bowl,
not quite whole.
bones constructed of weak groans.
just a bag of skin and bones.

Painted Faces

Painted faces,
masks of clay.
conceal the truth,
from which they stray.
dresses of satin,
hide a passion from which they thrive.
insatiable needs,
which are degradable by the best of means.
These fronts behind which we hide.

A two way street

A two way street,
one filled with the sinners of deceit.
The red lights show the way,
from which you can never stray.
On the other side,
are those who abide.
Lights of purity,
give a sense of everlasting security.
But switch your view of this street.
And gone are the sinners of deceit.
Replaced by lights,
so heavenly and pure.
Those who abide,
take a facade to be the one's who lied.
How can you tell,
the true direction?
It can only come from your introspection.

burning wood and paper

Burning wood,
like paper in the wind.
The words all undefined.
A string of words with
undless possibilities.
A glimpse for just a fleeting second.
A crink and cackle of wood and paper,
burning endless in the sun.

The child and the sparrow

A sparrow with its graceful wings,
flitting about below.
As a young girl watches and wonders how
her life might be so.
For a sparrow with its graceful dance
can only know of joy.
It's song never hints at sorrow.
Oh, how the young girl wishes
she could borrow; the sparrow's
life for just s fleeting moment.

A child with its careful hands
as she molds her thoughts like clay.
A sparrow who wishes her wings
would still a moment to lay.
A child with a future and a
thousand dreams to seek.
Is the envy of a sparrow who's
outcome is often bleak.

How these souls came to envy,
one can never know.
But the child and the sparrow
wish different lives ever so.