Soon to be consumed by this mechanization
The parts haphazardly built and set into the world,
They’ve wreaked their havoc and now they return
Combined, they come upon you
Cornered, spinning gears, sharp edges;
The edges that were carelessly released,
Caught; cornered, moving parts threaten lifelessly
To dig into the skin, to trespass your flesh
Impartial, objective, and dead
The world, cold, will continue as if nothing had happened.
The machine cannot be negotiated with.
But what was created was not a machine.
It approaches but,
could be pushed back, contended with.
The world is a place filled with people
And what you let loose has done damage
But as it falls back on me
Perhaps it will all be dismantled
When you wrestle against its strain
And turn away from what had been done.
Don’t read this 😛
The darkest evening of the year,
Nothing has come yet,
And evening is here.
The darkest evening of the year.
Though I have stopped, the evening has not.
The sun, a giant mass, plummets slowly,
Moves lower and lower and lower.
Depriving the cold day of the little heat it sought.
Everything seems closer in the dim.
The woods span out around me,
They approach closer and closer and closer.
I allow my tired brain its whim.
My feet have not moved,
Though I feel I’ve gone into the woods.
It’s darker here, my eyes can’t adjust,
I’m seeing spots, my vision confused.
Nothing has come yet,
But I’m waiting for nothing.
And nothing is here so,
I should continue but I’m locked in the sunset.
I must leave, while I’m still awake.
Or give in, and let sun and sight leave me behind.
————————————my horse disagrees.
He gives his harness bells a shake
This piece was taken from a creative writing project I’m doing with my creative writing class. It’s kind of cool, so I’ll explain. (Also, I came up with the concept!)
First, we chose a poem with enough lines for the entire class. The poem used was Robert Frost’s “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.”
Each person was given a pair of lines from that poem, and they had to write their own poem in between the lines. I got lines 8 and 9: “The darkest evening of the year.” and “He gives his harness bells a shake.” You can see those are my first and last lines.
There weren’t any other constraints except that it had to be fairly short.
What we as a class are working to do now is compile everyone’s piece into a little book. It’ll be kinda cool, because the last line of one person’s poem becomes the first line of the next one, and so on until the entire Frost poem has been covered. What this means is that the table of contents will read exactly like Robert Frost’s piece!
It is not always like that,
Though the higher I lift off from reality,
The further I inevitably fall.
The trough needn’t be so deep, the ditches so sloped, and hard to climb.
If you crest too high, it gets difficult to see, so far out that
Even pulling yourself back down presents only
Floating, fabricated footholds
To tread water, or tread mill
Think you’ve moved but you’ve stayed still.
Acting as if there is no problem isn’t valid stance either,
Just another phantom pretending to be the ground.
A lot has changed now,
my skin has closed in around me.
But it’s better to be in my skin
Than to be abandoned outside it.
Or with mind sunken in.
Sorry it’s late, but here’s the Thursday post.
It’s sort of related to the New Years poem. It’s kind of weird.
There was a soul,
She came with outstretched arms.
She wracked herself, she wracked her mind.
She felt awake, she felt alive.
They say the soul is feminine, she is inside.
Take care of her, take care of your mind.
Echo through the forges of time,
Wonder where you draw the line,
Walk along, see the sublime.
I faint, I can be unkind.
I wake, wonder, is it my time?
Tomorrow is coming, can I shift and become someone new?
Is it better that I shift and turn closer to you?
To become my own self,
To turn back to my soul.
She takes care of me,
I should take care of her too.
This was a submission for creative writing assignment I made for class.