Unfinished

I like to think of my life as one big unfinished project.
Always starting things, but never following through.
Losing interest, losing motivation, losing time.
Whatever the case may be.
I sometimes wonder if there will ever be something I will finish,
but I don't think so.

Safe

My safe haven.
The one thing I always went back to,
no matter how many years passed,
no matter how much things changed.
This always stayed the same.
I guess you could call it my second home.
After all, I did grow up there.
Each time back was a different memory,
an evolution of me changing without even realizing it.
Memories flood my brain.
Some visible, others just triggered.
It used to seem so big, full of wonder
to my young, naive eyes.
Full of adventure.
Maybe the adventure still exists, but not when you're alone.
I'm not sure what I expect sitting here.
It won't bring you back,
won't bring back the days before I knew pain,
before I knew just how cruel the world really was.
But for this time I can sit
and be surrounded by the memories of this big red park.

Oneword.com - "Tires"

Tires spinning, slowly stopping. Not much life left, not much time.

Waiting

You wouldn't realize it, but you spend most of your time waiting.
Waiting in line.
Waiting for an answer.
Waiting at a stop light.
Waiting for what, though.
All this waiting is just little stalls-pausing as you get closer
and closer to death.
Without waiting, would you enjoy life,
or would it just breeze by, like a simple
summers gust?

Oneword.com - "downpour"

Rain. It's funny how one little change in the weather can change your whole mood. Suddenly, as the sky turns grey, a downpour of emotions floods your brain. 

Poem Imitation 2

The Invention of Heaven - Dean Young

The mind becomes a field of snow

but then the snow melts and dandelions

blink on and you can walk through them,

your trousers plastered with dew.

They're all waiting for you but first

here's a booth where you can win

a peacock feather for bursting a balloon,

a man in huge stripes shouting about

a boy who is half swan, the biggest

pig in the world. Then you will pass

tractors pulling other tractors,

trees snagged with bright wrappers

and then you will come to a river

and then you will wash your face.

Devon Lawrence

The mind becomes a thirsty plant

but then the water pours and the leafs

rise up and you can harvest,

stronger like never before.

Plants take their time but first,

depend on you to better themselves,

stand alone for they want to be strong,

a quiet voice inside shouting about
giving up, and how it's the only
option they have left. Then you will pass

that voice and hear a louder one,
telling you to get up each time you're knocked down

and then you will get caught in the rain
and then you will find your way to keep going.

Poem Imitation 1

Ellen Hopkins

You are like rain, forecasted

to quench a summer's thirsting,

thirst grown beyond easy need, to life or death.

I watch the clouds,

approaching windward mountains, slate

bruising black beneath expectation.

The western window

darkens as, laden, the curtain falls,

descends to veil peaks and rifts, draws nearer.

Is it thunder that I hear?

Or is the sudden rumble but the flurry

of hurried birds, on wing against unceasing drought?

One warm, wet spatter
stings the dust, stamps its ragged mark,

imprints a welt of hope upon the arid parchment.

Promise sizzles in the air,
wrapped in threats of ozone, electric

with desire so bold it borders ecstasy.

Claim this vacant sky.
Cast your shadow, speak to me in thunder,
throb against thirsting skin and flesh gone fallow.

Oh, give me rain!
Gift me with downpour, fill this empty well,

the reservoir drained to grit by lingering dry spell.

___________________________

Devon Lawrence

You are like a dandelion seed, blowing
away from it's home, getting lost
within the sky, and the woods.

I watch the trees,
swaying back and forth, jade

hiding the layers behind the facade.

The glowing light
darkens as, nearly charged, the bulb dies,

becomes an empty, shadowy room.

Is that disappointment I hear?
Or is the sudden silence but the distance
unfolding into a manifest of lost time.

One cold, vague laugh

salts the wounds, digging deep,

additional growth for the ever occurring scars.

Bonds sizzle in the air,

taking lost memories

with a thirst so dry it can't be satisfied.

Claim this deserted soil.

Remains of what used to be, what could have been

poke their way out of this empty body.

Oh, give me nourishment!
Award me with donations

My body drained to the core.