Markmalady

Photo by John Mccann on Unsplash

Tears washed down your salty cheek
As anger blended with remorse
Ran it’s swayed dance across your brow.

I wondered where the thorn was
You said there wasn’t a thing
This was you, this is “my dance”.

Broken… like an electronic device
That can’t spin the way it was meant to
Or shattered window that lets
The frozen air into the cozy home.

Broken… where did you get such harmful
Words from my sweet friend?

Broken… like any one knows
What a humans function is,
What perfect operating conditions
Of the play at life ought to be.

You aren’t the story book character
Our parents spewed at us ,
You are the one
I’ll shaky voiced
Passionately paint for my daughter.

The embodiment of humanity
The waves of existence
Cuddling the shore of history.

Let’s write the next chapter.

--

--

Was I Lichen?

Photo by Mar Núñez on Unsplash

There is the textured torment
of lost time
found within the ancient rocks.

Are you living?
A creature
or a collection of debris occupying space?
She asked this in twilight
as my body crawled on the wet stone.

Did I ever reply?
Or just slowly expand upon the boulder,
content in existence?

Markmalady

--

--

Photo by SHTTEFAN on Unsplash

Can’t placate
Illusions of grander
At the cost of destruction.

My truth speaks specks of
Honesty over bare lands,
Perspective blossomed to arrogance.

What if truth
Is the grand deception?
The linear progression
Of human oppression.

At what cost do we allow
The old words
To erode the current?

--

--

Poem

Photo by Yeshi Kangrang on Unsplash

Tip towards the swayed oak
the willow waits in endless sway
moving with the wind.

A small dog yelps
making its presence known.
Your hands glide over torn things
Making mends in creation.

As the scales fade
we grow towards small flickers
ever present light
blurring shadows from predators.

Highlighting the final
flashes of endless moss
covered moments…

You ready to twist
with the whirls
together?

Markmalady

--

--

Photo by Artur Aldyrkhanov on Unsplash

The ceiling spun with amber rays
twisted with metal gold sparkles
broken from nights charades.

There were seconds of lucid
dreams, turning to the plots
of the times before.

There was your first love
sprawled out like a thousands boulders
on the bare dessert floor
the clouds shadows playing peekaboo
with the suffering you knew was to come.

Then your grandmothers hands
brushed against the flesh
of your youth,
the wisdom of the now and remanence
of the loss to come.

There was a small bawl of flesh
fragile, at your mercy…
its tiny eyes glancing through all you never were.

As your hands reached for your blanket,
the morning sun broke through the blinds
spots of warmth mixing with the wails from the other room.

--

--

Photo by LOGAN WEAVER on Unsplash

On the boardwalk rest
The bruised eyed shadows,
Wanders of ancient drifts
Plaguing the status quo.

Wonders of humanity
Bouncing brilliance
On Sunday shallows.

Watch their twirls
Gliding through afternoon breeze
Bringing joy to all.

Remember their eternity

--

--

Poem

Photo by Joshua Hoehne on Unsplash

Ain’t the gods
Stretched on the pantheon
Planting magical seeds
From the flesh of
Rotten beings.

Ain’t the sullen sun
Burning upon
Itself to destruction.

Could be the slow
Slumber of birds chitter chattering
On Sunday mornings.

Guess it was the wind dancing upon
The invisible fabric
That which units all things.

Probably none or all of them.
Whatever it was,
A smile of perfection came
Upon the salted dessert.

Markmalady

--

--

Markmalady

Markmalady

Lover of playful words. Passionate about storytelling and poetry as mediums for self discovery and building meaningful connections with others.