Welcome to a prelude issue of The Poetry Jar, I am still looking for people to submit their poetry, photography or even a short story. So I thought I would post this prelude issue for your perusal.
So without further ado here is this issues contributors.
An illusion to me was believing that the sun could be unset by
traveling this iced path laced with slippery regret.
But marked by my own accord, silvered bee stings from
nightly passions for crimes against myself.
Slithering softly a secretly silenced flow from blade tip
to skin deep are the fears held with the mind’s first
Night-summers crept past my windows locked,
carefully observing my frame weaken from
failed attempts of drowning in my sleep.
As my heart slowed and breathing infrequent,
my mind wandered to darker halls, conversing
within myself for my own answers.
Rejection for help was an ambush set by my mind’s second
All the leaves turned brown as the sky turned to gray
with an unfaithful thought to those I cherished.
With uttered sins against my enemies I lashed out,
“Till the last stands tall will I be undefeated.”
Hubris being a blind path of death to the unwary disguises
Its self well within the needs of the suffering.
Tastes of abnormalities would tempt me to do what I did to
others to myself without choking up with hesitation in the third
riddle of my mind.
Daylight deceivers and no witness with a clue to what has gone
terribly wrong by fusing the thought of nine to one soul.
Recreation of my broken sky, a creation of myself as a product of
hurt by misleading lovers, blinded by love’s desires to be accepted.
Life’s lies lie in life’s wake once your slumber has ended and your
eyes have awakened to the darkness of a fourth vision of an apocalyptic
Are they then over as they began their rampage?
No, never resting are tribulations of simple crimes
embossed to the sacred flesh of time itself.
Followed by my careful hand, shattered by the cares and worries,
I hold on to my broken shield of faith and pursue futures onward.
Thus, the last mistake, proven faulty at most, has been nothing more
than a grim reminiscence of why I exist. And so my mind fails to conceive
Its last oblivion.
Coffee Shop II
She sits not far from the window
and I am not engaged
she knows me too well
then three months
later I meet, that one
the person who
makes the window
she is all, there
is no window
So this has been the prelude issue of The Poetry Jar brought to you by me. Bidding you a happy week and salutations.