I Carry Winter in My Bones
Cold is the hue of my blanket, Blue is the ice in my soul. A lesson left by a devil, Whose winter never left my bones. What brews inside Is buried deep within. It might surface in hints On dewy nights And windy days, Where
Category Archives: English Poetry
Manslayer
Oh, what have I done! I killed the only man Who could revive me. I didn’t think twice Before passing the judgment. I am the sole handler Who brought down the guillotine. With a single blow, I wiped him Off the face of the earth.
I Fear
I fearIf I don’t rub my thumb on the back of your fingers,I might forget what holding your hand felt like.I fearI will lose my sense of touch firstOut of all the human senses. I fearIf I don’t hug your body with all my might,I
Hairband
I lost a hairband that I liked to wear. I liked how it felt on my head. It had a gentle, wavy design That combed my hair back— Neither too hard Nor too soft. It clung to me with a silent “I got you“ promise.
What-if
She dwells in What-if lands Oceans of What-if eyes Seeking tears to wash Away the ruins of her life The hand of fate Has knocked again And opened the door To his waiting smile Yet there’s little left To be done or said When she
When Villains are Heroes
When you ever read Or watch a movie, Don’t ever feel sorry For the good guy. Always root for the villain. Don’t cheer When the righteous wins, Clap when the sinner Burns down a village, And holler when they take away Everything from the knight.
Zombieland
Congratulations! You made it alive From the valley of death. Only one could have survived— It had to be you. I was a limping sore anyway. It’s okay if you left me to die, I was already starting to turn, They were messing with my
Losing My Only Friend
Oh mother! Oh mother! My only friend is gone. What am I gonna do now? When will I laugh, And how will I smile? You have taken away my playthings. What will I play with now? I have no toys left. Who will I tell
When Love Was Murdered
I heard love died yesterday, It was murdered— Foul play. A bow of distance, The weapon of choice, Slain by the very Cupid’s arrow That had birthed it once. In the reasoning of time, One falls short of words And fails to understand— Where did
PTSD
Tears trapped in my eyes, From a past war Waged on my body. But my mind still carries Its wound— PTSD Is what they are calling it. I guess every feeling has a name. But I don’t know how A mere thought can be so