Against the Earth

Dear reader,

 

Against the Earth

I wonder a curious thought,

That haunts me to sleep,

As the moon hangs above my sorrows at bay.

 

For one should know,

And rise to claim.

In the core of the Earth, lays a sun bigger than the skies can touch.

 

In particular circumstances,

I am not one to be an extraordinary fan of its rays.

The way it turns my skin over to a blister shade of scarlet clay.

 

Though understand,

Life mayest not go on without a shimmer of misery.

For the cold shall deaden the silence, it rains.

 

Tilted at Earth's untimely end,

Ten miles above the landscapes of shattered stars.

Amidst crumbles of leaves knotted in thread, stands a girl.

 

Just a girl.

 

Pointe shoes tattered from years of decay,

The very shoes she would definitely throw astray.

Memories are a form of pain,

For when she wore them she swore only pain,

 

In her heart that is a chain.

 

There is a cost to art as beautiful as it is fair to seem.

I see it true and blue,

As a normal man shall picture the end of grey.

 

Shall I tell my story through paper?

 

Paper that will ashen in my grave at bay.

 

There’s a suffocation lodged inside my soul,

It fears the eyes of judgment march.

 

Perhaps, you’ve heard of the Ides of March?

 

Now you see.

 

How to feel.

 

High up in the north, ever still.

Someone beckons for help,

A long forgot shout.

Screams drowned out by comfort and security,

Without remorse or sense of regret.

 

You should know,

Someone must face the snow,

Though unfair in sweet despair.

 

The Shaper made thy world for a treason;

Black and white a dull hum.

To not cherish is a trip in the vast dark shadow.

 

Know thou art always forgiven.

 

Shrapnels of stars alight by pain,

Shoot across the atmosphere in pure disarray.

No one seems to care, so fair it is to be,

To speak.

 

Until the stars crash into the heart of the world,

Grasping the heat

Where man mayest not gasp for breath.

 

I suppose

‘Tis is life,

To the very bitter end, which we hold still.

It’s a flight of fights of poems I could never write.

This shall forever be my battle against the Earth.

 

Stars hide their fires.

 

Desires shake, along monsters of quakes.

 

As mesmerizing as

‘Tis is true,

There is ugliness to it,

This fight.

A catastrophe that I created and you forged too.

 

It's a fight we choose to begin with selfish promises,

Within thyself.

Our courage blessed to the bone,

Molded by flesh that moans to rot.

 

What we hang inside, is a fury we cannot bear hide.

Today, nor many morrows after time.

 

Shall we forsake it, again and again.

 

To hold still at last.

 

Sincerely,

A girl

 

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
My community
My country
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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