Tag: poetry
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Hidden Paths
Hold tight the paper hand Follow the scent of dust and madness into the past These black tunnels beneath the world Where evil whispers it’s secrets.
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Crossroads
We met at the crossroads Beneath a different moon Edges like water, the stars falling A constant rain of glittering dust Always beginning at the same place
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Light the Way
Flames pulled the inner lining of my threadbare jacket The only cover on a soul washed raw A trickle of blood from an injury I never noticed Washed by rain from my face upturned to the sky.
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Moonbeams
A blanket on the world, thick, oppressive Stars digging their way through the sky In an effort to reach the surface below
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The Wrong Words
It was her hand reaching out to me Cold fingers grasping at a final trace of hope Like breath lingering upon a still morning That broke apart the wall, brick by brick
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Smile at the Flames
All was silent until the world broke No warning before the song of our end sang in turning gears The fires started, flames out of the sky ran liquid through the streets Consuming time to be thrown as food for the wind
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Summit
The hilltop lorded over him since the day he first drew breath Blackened peak defiant to cobbled streets below Eyes watching the spark of sun beyond the high ridge
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In the Borderlands
I walk always the line between here and there Two worlds spilling in and out of one another Lights sparking into darkness and waves that lull me further away…
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Camping
Campfires aren’t allowed here So I’m huddled beside a tiny stove A single blue flame for warmth, a headlamp for light, And the black wall of a wild forest Like a wave waiting to crash over me.
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Mutant
Treetops reach up out of scattered poisons on the forest floor Refuse and rejects left behind from a picnic in foreign sunlight Lying unclaimed on earth that cannot bear its weight
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Little One
Little one at the edge of Moon Lake Eyes cast upon the surface Hand grasping at wisps of fog That roll translucent out of the dark waters
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Death Throes of a Universe
How heavy the empty space lies over heaving ocean And stars spark together who know nothing of constellations
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Beginning
I’m supposed to write a poem about beginnings, and I can’t think of how to start it. Irony is not dead.
Mitchel David Ring 