An Amateur Writes.

To the thorns,

Some time.

You always pick the roses,

Pretty and pure,

Only to severe,

And leave behind,

The thorns.

I know you're afraid,

You fear they might prick,

But when has one ever hurt another,

Without being hurt themselves?

Yes, you,

Yes, you started it

By always wanting the roses,

And never the thorns.

Make amends,

Now,

Be kind,

Show some love,

To the thorns,

Some time.

Now that my tired breaths are faded with age, Now that my scarred bones are shedding their cage, The land I’m born of is soaked in my blood, Roots of my heart are implanting the mud, As my last act, I’m engraved in this stage.

You’re bound to find calm, In midst of your chaos, since, Each storm has an eye.

Beneath and distant from a breathless sun, Humanity now weeps for what they’ve done, In proximity to a starlit moon, They await their reckoning, coming soon, Grieving that clash against nature, they won.

A writer in quest, Roams a labyrinth of words, For an un-found peace.

You drained my life of its tints, to paint yours, My tears eroded your scars and healed your sores, My torn carnality warmed you whilst downpours.

But my peace could never calm your uproars, And you won for you weaponized our wars, While I was still fencing my love’s drowning shores.

I’d searched for the unknowable in love, And found it when death took me worlds above.

My heart conceals serpentine depths so deep, Fishes drown in the blue blood of my grief.

Paint my skin,

With the color of pastel skies,

So I can see these civilizations, 

Through a winged bird’s eyes.

Paint my skin, 

With the stars of night skies,

So I can illuminate your paths,

To runaway from worldly ties.

Paint my skin,

With the shades of aurora skies,

So we can savor and see,

The eternal lights as they rise.

Paint my skin, and let me paint yours,

So as art, we last throughout time’s course.

Sitting content, These remnants clenched, Tight inside my sweaty palms, Hanging down from my lazed arms.

Dried up are all my tears, For I finally faced all my fears, When I let my thoughts conquer me, And they led me to this catastrophe,

Glance around, Oh dear savior, Look what wrath I brought down here, And now my scarred carnality lays, Lays upon the proof of my loon-phase, Upon the crumbles and ashes of my bad decisions.

And so I sit content, These remnants clenched, Tight inside my sweaty palms, Hanging down from my lazed arms, As they remind me of the dark world, Which’s built from my head-whirls.

How can I escape my own mind? So I battle the darkness that’s inside, But there’s no way out from inside of me, I can’t be alive as well as free.

As my dark hollowness makes me numb, I wait for my end to come, And if I don’t demise in this dead canyon, I hope it all ends in oblivion.

My heart has been raging a fire within, For reasons unknown to the world around, This pyre consumes me day-long from within, Can’t sought myself, nor escape, for I’m bound.

Is it loathe, that feeds my core’s flaring flame? Is it fear, which sparks, ignites one that dies? For this blazing heat, know not, who’s to blame? Why won’t it have mercy, hearing my cries?

This is an internal flame, thriving yet, And it is growing more fierce everyday, Soon, it might outgrow me, I think, I fret; I’d put it out, I may not.. yet I may.

If this blaze tears me down beneath the skies, As a Phoenix, from my ashes, I’ll rise!

Dear Liberty, so what is, tell me, your price? For desires my heart to float with the breeze, Like that white, wee and fragile Edelweiss, ‘Fore comes the winter and my heartbeats freeze;

But might be wrong my terror of the cold, For I may twirl round with wild flakes of snow, ‘Midst white sand I may dance whilst I shiver, Biding for spring to bloom from the sun’s glow,

May flower my freedom with the buds of spring, My soul’ll sing with blossoms -iridescent, Might flow my free will as a brook or spring, Liberty shall come in hues -fluorescent;

If your price is longing in penury, Then I’ll long till doom in your reverie.

- @oneamateurgirl512

Caged in an eerie cell, I am,

Without any doors to be knocked,

With no way in or out; I am,

Unaware of when I got locked.

Inspiration has been long lost,

In my wild chase for liberty,

When I didn’t know what’s its cost,

My heart whispered, “words’ll set you free.”

Now that forfeit’s not a recourse,

Rhymes are weapons to my escape,

Stirs my pen for words fierce as swords,

Whilst humanity reads agape.

I’ll write my durance to an end,

My valour’ll be eternally penned!