The Ballet of Broken-Hearted Dreams

Forlorn figure,

Sat on the cold, bare floor.

Tears choking back,

Fights to stay strong.

Wistfully recounting the glory gone by.

Pain overwhelming,

Raw to the touch.

Dull ache in her limbs,

And black in her heart.

Strength drained from trying so hard.

Such a beautiful dance,

Entrances her soul.

This rhymical pulse,

Of connections now lost.

Where once there was a moment of him.

Deep, Dark Repression

Forgotten door,

Creaking with time's sorrowful burden,

Frozen in silence through years gone by,

A secret passageway to moments passed.

Buried.

Within an aching being.

Suppressed images,

Too dark and too sticky to recall,

Intense happenings from distant lives,

Stronger than the prison within.

Aching.

Inside this tortured soul.

Creeping outwards,

Curling towards the lights of the surface,

The blackness within becomes without,

Losing its grip on the deep, dark hole.

Flowing.

To face the light of truth.

Surfacing terrors,

Cool heart coaxes them forward,

Forcibly trembling with unknown pain,

Yet defiantly braving the onslaught.

Welling.

The pools of disdain.

Frightened shivers,

Ebb away almost as soon as they came,

The realisation that blackness in light,

Is nothing more than a memory.

Relief.

As calm floods back in.

Posted for One Stop Poetry's One Shot Wednesday, week 33.

Windows in Time

This poem was inspired by the One Stop Poetry Sunday Picture Prompt Challenge, shot by photographer Sean McCormick.  Part Two of the Seam McCormick interview is featured today on One Shoot Photography Sunday.

Back and forth, 

Relentless.

Time washes between this moment and the next,

Flooding through our thoughts,

Filling the emptiness of silence,

With the beauty of light.

Overwhelming urge to rush forwards,

Blocked by the stone prison.

Window to the future,

Clean and hopeful,

Stunning colours 

Reflecting off the pure skies,

Contrasting the unknowns of now.

Caressing the cool stone,

Long, lingering echoes fill each touch,

Cold seconds of reality,

Forgotten with a distant gaze.

Priceless minutes,

Ours and ours alone.

In this moment,

This lonely moment,

I ache for the passing of time,

Like it used to flood past,

When your very being,

Filled the skies with colour.

Thought drops while riding the train

Sometimes random words and phases just seem to follow each other naturally, following the gentle flow of the mind at play.


Hearts of...
               ... Quiet contemplation.
   Impossibility of flying.
                      Pain...      ...untold.
Fallen angels...
           ... Look to the sky...
     ... Searching....
                   ... For dreams of you.
         Starlit.
              Like a perfect silence.
  Underwhelmed.
                 By the cold light...
                                ... Of Dawn.