Day Goes,

Night Comes,

Time passes as it appears,

A young one is born,

while an Aged Being Disappears,

A man succeeded today,

while the other will tomorrow,

but the loss of the time should be the only thing one should feel sorrow.

#poetry #inspiration #life #motivation

©AliPoetry, All Rights Reserved.

I peel back onion skin layers

to find a dream within a dream

within a dream.

I am on the outside looking in

stripped bare and floating on clouds.

I drink deeply the essence of stars

falling through the walls of life.

I am fusing into unsettled scraps

of yesterday’s broken dreams,

tiptoeing through life’s dunes.

Teardrops bathe me

in abrasive sea of salt.

Laughter climbs a ladder

seeking wafting breeze.

I chase the light,

swimming naked.

I paint my aura

with rainbows of pigment.

Streams run gently

down my face.

My fingerprints

dissolve and leave no mark

Sun kisses gold flecks,

simplicity of love,

its warmth chasing the pain

as I melt into nature,

dripping candle wax,

marking my path,

so I can find

my way home.

I close my eyes and see

a white gem against black night,

a lifeless shadow on my wall

as I sift eyes through scattered bones.

A roadblock of time has elapsed,

lingering void handcuffs my soul,

faded life lost in eternal bloom,

black ice runs cold through veins.

Dark wolf mourns in broken howls,

silhouettes where life once blossomed,

perfume dissipates into untouched air.

Dittoed clouds lose their silver lining,

black rocks of death signal twilight

onyx rides on ruby bark of remembrance

as she dies in a sob of last refrain.

I touch her name with futile fingers,

ingrain her essence into my heart.

I weep finality of a closing teardrop as

she flies freely and soars high,

last whispers have ticked, silence is nigh.

maybe i'm an old soul, too mature for the boys my age, or maybe just attracted to guys i can't have for the subconscious thrill of it. who knows. all i do know is that i toss myself into a painful cycle of attraction, connection, love, and realization that tears me limb from limb until i'm just a bleeding heart on the cold ground.

i love your intellectual poise, sharp eyes, your witty tongue,

your hands that build empires with written words,

i love your mind that fathoms ideas and theologies beyond imagination,

your heart that beats quicker as the moon rises.

i see myself in you. i don't know if i feel instinctual fear or safety in response.

i feel at home when i'm embraced by your sage words of infinite knowledge,

as if the stars extend their light to hold me tightly in arms of wisdom.

i know i'd love to become a star myself,

lost in your world of hidden messages and foggy windows that leave room for interpretation and imagination.

but i know it will never happen.

i'm young.

i don't know what i'm talking about.

how could i possibly feel your emanating warmth if all i've been taught was the chill of winters wind.

these four years separating our souls is "too much"

but how much is too much when it comes to the intellectual barriers between myself and other peers?

how much is too much when i can't find hope searching between the indexes of 2 & 3 years?

my soul is yours, regardless of the fallacy of time;

yet the space between our minds makes up the difference.

Let me paint you

bathed in morning light

peach tints

pockets of my heart

cradled in azure symphony

of misty waterfalls

light blue of tears

sparkling jaded shadows

audacity of rose petals

cushioned in

room full of peaches

a vivid lavender sky

flashing amethyst shades

the pomegranate euphoria

of mango mornings

pina colada skies

over teal seas

and shell flecked

white seas

vanilla frothed

footprints

leading to me

shades of

wine sunsets

all reflections

of the feelings

I have for you

love of my life.

Born amongst the winter months, when warmth is far forgotten

When life is but a rotten seed, or so I’ve thought so often

Grisly thoughts of memory past, which now so brightly loom

The wind brings mist from farther north, where I will be bound soon

What hath become of brighter days, with song and merry sight?

For now I roam through darkest crypts along this endless night

Where shadows grasp with lustful sights, to quell such dire want

Their glasses brim with foulest drops that turns the stomach daunt

What vile deed I abruptly struck for sternest punishment so

In all the years I’ve faced the worst, I’m still my darkest foe

And when the stars come crashing down upon my shaken frame

The man who comes to take the retched, will surely call my name

The bones do ache and nerves stay clenched, such age without the years

I’d hung my eyes from others sight, the gallows made of fears

Always less than those I’d gaze, and less than those I don’t

So cruel those gods who’d curse me so, so pray to them I won’t

No desire to lead the hearts of men, nor follow the brightest light

I’ll wander now, till sorrow comes, and all I’ll see is white…

Walking along these valleys of lows, I fight my way upward with navigation by stars, like a sailor abandoned at sea. But my lifeboat keeps losing air.

I keep getting distracted as you talk about your day. I am trying to focus on your words, but I am looking at you from across the table and your inner child is palpable tonight.

I can't help but imagine you as a boy, full of hope and mischievous wanderlust. I consider what games you used to play as an only child raised in the country, and whether you created imaginary playmates to play along.

Did you stay outside, nestled by the Southern bluegrass, until the Sun resigned in the evening?

Did your mother serve supper on the porch while the backlight of fireflies and cicada ambiance played?

During the hours closing before bed, did you listen by the fire to stories about the Old South?

Did you feel swaddled-away from the industrial world in your life of antiquity held safely between the Appalachia range?

And the rivers that snaked through your charming vale: did the Earth feel alive, as though exhaling with the oxygen that was carried like blood in its water?

I cried after dinner, and you asked me what was wrong. I shrugged-off the question because I couldn't explain it. It wasn't that I was sad, but, rather, I was so completely moved by you:

And my tears

filled the ocean

with endless love

and inspiration.

Ravens peck at my fingers

     alabaster bones peek through

     like trees rooted in my palm

     devoured flesh feeds hungry flock

Ravens peck at my fingers

     no longer pointing at empty heart

     my yearning for you bleeds out

     begging lend me fingers once more

Ravens peck at my fingers

     unfilled spaces where you used to be

     I wish your fingers filled the void

     of the person I was meant to be

Ravens peck at my fingers

     no longer able to touch your stars

     unfurled and flapping aimlessly

     adrift, unable to fill missing gap

Ravens peck at my fingers

     searching for missing pulse

     you’re imprinted forever on fingers

     images floating in my mind

Ravens peck at my fingers

     shoveled into maw of yawning earth

     weight of a casket in my damp rest

     fingers not required in final repose.

I thought I was prepared. 

I'm not. 

Our water only lasted us a month. It goes quick when you're with five other people. We didn't realize how quick. 

The food lasted a little longer, but even now I can feel my stomach aching from soon-to-come starvation. I feel like it's only so long until we lose someone to it. We closed ourselves off from the outside; too scared of the disease that could kill us. The boarded doors and windows couldn't keep out the rats. They're bad company. If we weren't so worried about getting infected, I'm sure someone would've eaten them by now. 

I started this journal to keep a record of what's happening, my sister told me it was a bad idea, and now I see why. But it's probably the only thing keeping me sane. 

My sister thought we could prepare for the zombies, but you never see them coming. First, they're in a country far from you, then they're reports of them in your country, and then your state, and they keep coming and coming until your city is quarantined. Some people leave. Others try to fight. The last hide. And you don't want to be the last. There's nothing but insanity waiting for us.