100 Poems Challenge

  You’ve stepped through the broken glass, it’s too late to turn back now. So lean your head on my shoulder, and put your restless mind to sleep. Why carry the burden of the things you wish you’d done when we all know, time always finds its way to win our races. I understand you want to continue to fight against the barriers, to jump over every hurdle of life. But let them slip aside as you walk by the shards of glass, fragments of your past.

  Capture the wind in a jar, fill the jar with honey. Find the anger inside of you and throw it in. Pour a pint of water, mix everything together. Sprinkle on some fairy dust and close the lid. Tape your memories around it, draw the pictures from your mind. Take a match and set it on fire, then watch it fly out into the sky.

I wonder what’s on the other side, past the pixels and illusions, the sugar coated images  that are placed in front of me. It must have appeared once in a distant night’s dream. The sky was gray and the rain poured as if  there would be no more light. I wonder what’s on the darker side, which grows it’s roots from the  eleventh dimension, and won’t stop until it takes over our universe.

  I’m stuck in a tight hole in a boundless valley. Thirteen feet underground, I am alone. Through layers of dirt, I see the moonlight telling me the day is over. Wooden ladders are brought down, yet I am unable to climb them. As the sun rises, and the dirt starts to fall in, I bury my head in my arms and wait for the new day to rescue me.

  Deep breath, face the wall, push off, kick. Arms reaching, head down, watch out for others, quick. Almost there, four more laps, this is the winning race. But no, he’s catching up, kick harder, match his pace. Legs sore, arms even more, head spinning, feeling faint. Focus now, go straight, no one cares about your complaint. Come on, let’s hurry up, one more lap, and you’re done. See how fun!  T ouch the wall, get out the pool, and you have won!

  Monday walks gloomily along the shore Tuesday has to many things to account for Wednesday gives my week a rest Thursday makes me happy at it’s best Friday is the weekend’s helping hand Saturday I think you understand Sunday brings this poem to an end Thanks for reading and being my friend.

  Lurking in the shadows behind the blank piece of paper, before drops of ink spill and it burns in the night fires. The ball of yarn rolls over through the dusty atmosphere, stitching the world together and coloring it red. The sun sees its reflection in the river as the sky reaches the water and blends. But someday, the sun will be ready  to take a deep breath and dive in.

  Walking through the snow covered streets. Roads empty, it’s just the two of us. Angels on every door of antique buildings smile with a twinkle in their eyes. Violin case hanging on my shoulders, we wander side by side, hand in hand. As if we walk among the clouds.

  Eating breakfast at night, in the woods with a  madman watching us, we sit beside rumbling grounds where lightning bolts shoot up from the Earth. We huddle inside our white cabin at the dining table afraid to sleep.

Pillars of sand slowly disappear into the ocean as the waves approach. Pillars of paper line the weathered cliffs facing the rising sun before the wind blows them down. Pillars of wood stand alone in the middle of an abandoned field and burn when the fires begin Pillars of stone that have stood for centuries now lay on their sides decomposing. Pillars of life  Mounted upon the top of the world Fall one by one like tears rolling down  into the abyss.  

  Dawn flutters her eyelids and awakens, met with the light breeze in the air. Her white gown trails behind her  as she glides through her glowing palace. She gazes out the open window, watching the mortals wake. She plants happy thoughts of the new day into every mind. Once she has done her duty, Dawn leans back in her chair and watches.

  Night unfolds her cloak and covers the sky, sending her angels to sprinkle merry dreams upon us. She guides the light away from our eyes  and plucks the endless thoughts from our minds. With the snap of her fingers, we feel ourselves drifting away to the soft humming in our ears. Her choir sings as she strums her harp and we float from the natural world into the depths of Night’s realm.

  Half-believing minds in a dungeon of doom can’t find the way through their souls. As if they’ve never existed before, they’re carried down a stream of oblivion. Their empty eyes look over the cliffs, into the void. The void of insignificance which bears nothing  yet stretches over thousands of miles. The space we cannot see nor can we be conscious of.