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Literature Text
it's raining stars,
each one, a soul—a story from another time, past.
in the emptiness of the field behind my home,
surrounded by the washed out dark,
I collect their memories, fleeting as snowflakes,
absorbing them into a consciousness I hope will bloom again,
from the seeds my limbs once stemmed from, long ago.
counting down the minutes,
seconds flutter by, melting into the ground
and burying themselves deep into the darkness of
forever, forgotten, and never was.
I stand baptized in the cold,
unable to tell time stopped,
only hearing the faint, angelic sounds of a child
wishing upon my twinkle, doused lifetimes ago.
--
12/21/2012
Copyright © 2012 Jen Fowler
All rights reserved.
each one, a soul—a story from another time, past.
in the emptiness of the field behind my home,
surrounded by the washed out dark,
I collect their memories, fleeting as snowflakes,
absorbing them into a consciousness I hope will bloom again,
from the seeds my limbs once stemmed from, long ago.
counting down the minutes,
seconds flutter by, melting into the ground
and burying themselves deep into the darkness of
forever, forgotten, and never was.
I stand baptized in the cold,
unable to tell time stopped,
only hearing the faint, angelic sounds of a child
wishing upon my twinkle, doused lifetimes ago.
--
12/21/2012
Copyright © 2012 Jen Fowler
All rights reserved.
Literature
Everything You Borrowed
On Sunday afternoon,
after exiting the church,
you plucked the sun from the sky
and hid it in your palms
so that when I held your hands
they would no longer be cold.
When Monday night arrived
you snatched every single star
and used my tears to make
a necklace.
Tuesday's empty dawn shone
through the cracks of the door--
you stole the promise of what
could never be
and draped it around my shoulders.
After Wednesday's twilight passed,
you grabbed the clouds
and wove a tapestry of lies
that I hung on the walls
of my prison.
Thursday crept through us
on silent tiptoes,
waiting for us to take notice--
instead, we merely waited
for midnight to
Literature
Goodbye
i didn’t fall in love with you
until your skin was already grey and i
had to tell you what the weather was like
since you couldn’t leave your bed.
i didn’t mind long nights in the hospital
because making you laugh brought a warmth
to my cheeks that burnt hotter than a
forest fire, you never laughed at me for blushing
i snuck you in alcohol and forbidden foods
and pushed you around in that rusted wheel chair,
and all the nurses looked at us with
miserable eyes that said more than the doctors
would ever tell me.
naively i thought it was good news
when you said they were sending you home; but
when i saw you strewn across
Literature
a situation in which i do not survive
i was a lake whipped
into a fever pitch, a localised
hurricane in the wake of something
greater. the world was ending
and i dreamt of you while it was
still turning, a mess of bodies and
kisses. i dreamt of you still
when it ended, a slow dance
of crooked smiles and offshore
eyes. you kept me close and if
i was ever a source of happiness
or preoccupation
or horror
for you, i could let go.
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I don't know if y'all have heard, but today's supposed to be the end of the world, the apocalypse, end of days, armageddon. I think you catch my drift. Anyway, this here is my take on it.
The weather here on this supposed last day is blustery and cold, and snowing. But aside from the howling wind, there's a peacefulness in the quiet and solitude of this night.
The weather here on this supposed last day is blustery and cold, and snowing. But aside from the howling wind, there's a peacefulness in the quiet and solitude of this night.
© 2012 - 2024 BeyondJen
Comments34
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The last stanza did me in........ 