Destined's Poetry Corner

Untitled

Succumbing to the tattered rye,
walks the broken firefly.

For one would ask what ails such creature
To rebuke look toward the timeline
For the future
Predicts the past you once define.

The blades would bend
Swaying away from the young firefly,
Forging a world of unknown lie
Lay a dismal, shrouded end.

For at once the young would prod the ink filled depths
To find a resolve, an answer to the unwanted no.
But the rye refused to give the word,
Till the day the sun would fall.

The answers refused to commune till the day spirit failed.
Washed aside by the generational eye.
Succumbing to the tattered rye,
walks the broken firefly.
Toward an end of unjust deserve,
The being limps onward toward the shrouded past
Refusing to carry the rye and dance.

 

The Storm



As the world chimes six
Words lap the edges of the page restlessly.*
The thought darkens
While far off the cerebellum storms.*

I stand alone amidst the forgotten,
Battening down the memories
Preparing the sacrificial notebooks to capture the storms wrath.*

I know why this storm is barreling toward my small shelter.*

You.*

You changed things, plagued dreams
Offered the chance for something more
Broke spirits without warrant
Corking the flow of creativity.*

The stopper will not hold forever.*
I wish it to shatter,
To sweep me away to an unnamed genre
Away from the ghost of your smile.*

Winds grow stronger, words crash harder.*
The storm is upon us.*
Do I thank you?
Do I curse you?

Only the storm will tell.*