Daily contest Best of APRIL 2011 #28 Last Poll for This Month. Part #2

118 votes

grandmayour hands
once gentle
now fragile
your walk
once petite
now shakes
your voice
once soothing
now cries
your laughter
once inspiring
now gone
your eyes
once loving
now needing

Falling for YouI know not how nor when this came to be.
All sense of time – recollection – is distorted.
Without warning, a black abyss creeps forth,
Encasing my fragile frame, mind, and spirit.
Forced yet yielding, cascading downward.
Lost to an eternal and uncontrollable free-fall.
I long for your presence to save me – to catch me.
A desire – a longing thus far unrequited.
The incessant seconds tick and torment.
Years, they seem, never fleeting or merciful.
Driving my soul – my mind – my heart to insanity,
As they beg for an outcome of any kind.
Yet, despite this nothingness I drown,
Where I eternally spiral to an illusory closure,
There are – ever so often – brief blissful moments
In which there is no abyss I'd rather be encased...
No fall I'd rather endure...
No person I'd rather love...

SmittenIt is so very probable that these eyes will never see his precious smile again.
These ears will never hear his sweet voice again,
so take a picture and press record.
Don't forget the sound that is a beautiful blend between nations - France and Canada-
that lingers on particular words such as "I" and "you."
Don't forget the voice, sweet, like thick maple syrup drizzled over fruit-filled crepes.
But how could I possibly forget?
His voice, a little red squirrel, curious and playful runs through my head.
His eyes, rich and brown, the trees, still glistening with morning dew, that my little squirrel climbs.
His lips, sunset clouds, a pale pink color, suddenly curve
by a gentle evening breeze into the sweetest of smiles.

ApeirophobiaSpace:
the perpetual evil
spilling from the center
dousing the light
with wicked hands.
I am asphyxiated
by the noxious substance.
God's immortal age
is stifling;
an imposing vacuum.
I am stripped of all walls—
I long for the shroud,
pregnant with my soul.
I fear the immeasurable flight
to the absent bottom,
the unsettling stillness
of a death unearned.
There is limitlessness
in the omnipotent palm,
the impossibility
of knowing.
I am dangling
from enigmatic threads.
I will never graze the surface
or merely comprehend—
the Way of Truth is folly.

Mature Content

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Published: May 28, 2011

Comments1

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They are so different! How can I choose one? sigh