/lit/ - Literature

>>15342
You're retarded.

3 poems I wrote

/ And so, all at once, the rocks left us.
None of us noticed them depart, nor did we say a thing.
We just watched,
Sitting and twiddling the years of our lives away,
Just as we always have.
All as cobbled masses
Of sleeping stone, and mortar, and tired shell
Picked up their cracking homes and left for the seas

And with their absence came the dissipation of cliffs.
And with no cliffs to block the torrents of wind
The world was swept away in gusting, wheezing gales
That wrought the paintings-
The shoes-
The limbs of the world-
That wrought all these things into the sky,
And then spun them away into the sea.

Upon hitting the waves,
They sank to the scuttling floor of dancing weeds.
And the rocks, the limbs, the paintings-
They found each other, all in time beyond our sight.
They said ‘hi’ to one another.
They recalled old times.
made vapid small talk,
And soon began to twiddle their thumbs.
And, in time, they left.
They left, and they forgot each other.

Just as everything else in this lonely world does.
Save, maybe, for the wind /


/ Lilacs and hues of pink, of red
Canopy away into our eyes,
Burrow in our little brains,
And soon fall out of us.
Like waves fall out
Of
The basin of the earth.

Lilacs and hues of pink, of red
Fly into each other,
In aching and beautiful rhythms.
Like birds,
Or planes,
Or some immaculacy, some shrill and peircing light
That could never be made to be seen
By the tainted eyes
Of a watery room
Full of squalor and ribbons. /
/ This is how it happened, how it was always meant to,
I think.
But things can seem to fall forever
Most of the time.
So why would love, or joy,
Or anything,
Or anything at all about the lot of us
Be any different?

This is the way it always was.
The way my hands, our hands,
The way they would once lay together.
And now they lay apart.
And now, we have lost touch.
Now we all just float in and out,
Going aimless into the rising of the sun and the pink of the clouds.
But every single time of every vacant day,
Ending up
Next to each other.

Because they are all the same.
The faces,
And the voices that echo with loneliness,
With hurt,
With longing,
They are the same
Though the eyes and skin may change,
They are the same.
And I hope that we all may float-
That we all may melt into
A stillness of tranquility.
That we may drift into a version of each other,
But, I pray it is one with softer eyes,
And gentler hands. /

Unless you study philosophy at university, you'll practically be too old once you've enjoyed most of the western philosophical canon to make any meaningful alteractions to your life.