Stream of consciousness

The music matched the swirl of the leaves
or it was the other way around
and down another layer
that one prolonged note underpinning it
wrote my feelings in the air space
a sadness I felt remote from
yet there it was, a dark spot that harnessed my breath
harassed by the accumulation of matter
closed in by the shadows i must accept
my conscience drifting in the utterance
of leaves falling with indifference
the world seemingly born from negligence
an apathy I can’t stomach
butterflies reaching my nervous disposition
trying too hard to abide

An experiment: Fall

I feel like a computer that has eaten space cookies
sitting here on cloud 0.9
it’s like a hammock contouring to my body
holding me afloat
in the middle of the storms that are ever looming
and when this cloud bursts full of rain
I will fall head first
as if a rain drop
and on my advance, I will feel the exhilaration of falling
heartache exuding via sweat
I a fellow humanoid, being part of the fall
my heart soaring the skies of summer
before the drop of autumns blunder
and as I fall into winters backdrop
Christmas carols erase my desperation
as it travels to their voices
and colours the world in Christmas hopefuls
anything to colour the winter with something akin to joy
lest the bleakness remind humanity
of its own downward trajectory.

And as I plunge
to the place in which we’re all destined
I feel more certain than I have ever before
it’s something we all know
and it’s this moment that counts
as the seeds of my life disperse
not a nullification of my form
but a nutrient-rich dust
in which I become
Becoming the fall
and feeding the seasons
of the coming years.

Sunday wordle: Lord knows what looms for us

The weed did creep
revealing the
slack in our towns
of concrete their
roots spin and whirl
taking grip in
the crack of our
retreat with a
curl

it searches for
the light a glimpse
of what we for-
got, Lord knows what
looms for us our
eyes did strain to
see the stain of
blood coming for
us.


Authors note: I have not one clue about the different formations of ‘poetry’, so forgive my attempt at some kind of… well, whatever the fuck it is…

The waves he broke

I regress
that child long since passed
coming of age the bark was etched and sketched
autumns blush hushed into the movement
falling gracefully as if all was as it was meant to be
a trail of desire he’d written into the landscape
he was wild as a deer
weedy and nervous
easily flushed
trailing away from man
he ran like the river below
bubbling and frothing with too much flow
branches snapping under the waves he broke