The Daily Post Prompt

Paper

What is it to you,

A piece of paper with words on it.

But to me a photograph of my thoughts,

As they flit across my mind.

But to me a way to record what I remember of these darts,

Flying across a canvas that has been overwritten time and again,

And I can’t discover anyone,

What has already transpired.

So to me,

A memoir it becomes of vague phrases and sentences trying to make sense.

To you, just a sheet of paper,

To me, the beginning of everything.

Allusion: Amazon Original: The Beginning Of Everything

Prompt: Loop

The Daily Post Prompt

My dream runs into a roadblock,

And begins again,

As if in a loop.

I go back again to the turn around the corner of the street,

And I know not where,

I am headed.

It’s the crowd that pulls me in and my skin changes to asphalt,

People walking over me, their heads turned to the sky.

Will I end up where you are?

But no,

My dream runs into a technical glitch,

And I begin again, hoping that one of those people is you.

Leave me alone with the mountains

Meddle

Desolate, unkempt hills of darkness, 

I am here to find my way.

Through your valleys I pass,

and dead lies the day.

There runs a brook of my memories across your million crevices, 

oozing in and out,

and flooding about. 

Damp lies your floor and starry overhead, 

the sky dances to the tune I hum.

Alone I traverse your abandoned recesses,

though sometimes I hear voices. 

Voices of my mind drown me out,

drain me in,

or the other way round,

Meddling with the sound of my breath.

Forlorn

image

You are a devil forlorn:
The surreal stream of my consciousness
Morbid and morose you rise,
Even when it is bright outside.
And I imagine meteor showers as I walk to work.

And for a reason unfathomable,
My feet are at your command,
With roots that perlocate the ground,
When rain falls like a thundershower.

Yet inseparable as we are,
You make me wonder,
What it is like,
To drown,
To burn,
To suffocate,
To be crushed under the weight of bridges that collapse,
When I’d rather shut my mind to thoughts.

And yet you make me meet death,
Time and again.
And see this world in an afterlife:
Tears in my eyes before I go to sleep.

No I don’t want to die.
I have watched myself from the other side,
Again.
And again.
And again.

But you’ve told me countless stories too;
Where I have saved lives,
And where I have discovered magic amongst the clouds.
And who can I credit,
For the fact that I really can,
And I have said this before:
That I really can tell where the nails in someone’s shoe hurts the most.

How I detest you sometimes,
Fickle imagination,
For showing me horrors that only exist in nightmares,
When I am wide awake.
But you have let me know,
That the solitary reaper might be singing,
Somewhere,
When he watches me intently,
As I sing my song.

You make my words come alive,
On paper like castles of sand:
Fleeting.
You, momentary as you are,
Make me the person I know I can be,
And oh,
How I love you for that!