So when I write, I'll write.
|For the rare times when I write.|
|I try to make it through
I try to reach out to you
You who sees me through the frame
Sees me but is never watching
Watches but is never hearing
Hearing but is never listening
Listening but it's not getting through
What you're going to be up against
So listen when you still can.
Time is ruthless
But it's cruelty is essential
It'll forget you and gradually
You shall disappear.
And if you don't make it,
Nothing will be left of you.
But even if you do,
You'll be able to stay a bit longer
Leave something more for your children
A frame, a memory, and a sense of decay,
Let them know that there's no point.
This frame of time will be snatched away by time,
We'll all wither, we'll all decay,
We'll all fall apart, even as a frame,
So while you still can try to find
Why you're still here, whats the point
Try your hardest to make it through,
Because you if you don't you'll lose it for good.
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|Locked in a room too quiet to be true,
He felt his senses going numb.
It smelled like nothing, the tastelessness grew,
But he recognized the hand holding up a two.
There was no sound at all but that of his heart,
'Does it always beat so fast?'
As he thought, the hand lost another finger
He could now only see a very blurry one.
His only sense that could really sense
Began to tingle little by little.
And slowly, even the last finger fell,
And there was nothing left but a stump.
A stump of a hand with no fingers left
A stump of a man with no limbs left
The only sense that remained steady
Was that of his touch and his feel.
But he soon realized that he'd rather lose it too,
The room where one can merely feel was up to no good.
Suddenly a piercing cold encapsulated his form
And the feeling grew colder and sharper and colder
and sharper and colder and sharper and sharper and...
...until there was nothing left but insanity.
Notes: line count: 22
Written for the taboo words contest, October 2020
Theme: A ghost story
or any derivatives of these words
I landed with a bang on the sandy land,
doubting the directions on the dubious map.
I was promised a place where I’d be trained
to fight with a pen’s might and grace.
But instead, there I stood, utterly perplexed.
The thick fog around had my vision vexed.
“Where to go, what to do, how do I begin?
My journey as an author has already singed.”
But suddenly, through the fog, I saw a bright blue armor.
“It’s a moderator!” I gasped, my eyes widened.
After my awe passed, we began to gather
My previous compositions which had scattered.
Amid the mess, he found a piece,
And after reading it, he smiled at me.
“We can work with this, so don’t you worry.
Here’s four stars, and a some GPs.
All the knights, the grey, the black,
the yellow, the blue, the purple and the red,
Will help you with your journey
as an author around WdC!”
Line count: 20 lines.
Written for "Poetry Topic of the Month Contest" , October 2020 round.
Prompt: Write something on the topic: WdC
If you're interested: ▼