YiN & yANG

Fri, 04/15/2016 - 22:10 -- SEA1998

YiN & yANg

 

You cannot Control what plays on T.V. channels

 

But you have a remote Control to change the channel.

 

Recalling the imprisonment from harsh shackles

 

Merciless, Lonely, Invisible.

 

A daily bite from the bullet ant.

 

Separate entities, they've grown as a part of me.

 

My dear old Friend.

-

My unreliable string to sanity:

 

My subsequent remedy.

-

My very own Ares

 

My Katrina.

 

Ironic, don't you agree?

 

          Flash— Boom.

 

Oh, how these torturous thoughts,

 

          Crack.

 

However scarcely,

 

          Crash.

 

are keeping me afloat.

          Thud.

 

Gray matter, you amaze even the stars in the sky.

 

You thrust me towards the ground

 

Yet impel me back to my judgement.

 

Yes, the thing I could never abandon

 

Is my thoughts.

 

Still, I eagerly await

 

The consistent roller coaster.

 

My subsequent remedy

   —My very success,                        

                         My very being.

        I know how to love you now            

( 0 )

I know how to use you for good

But oh, how dangerous you might be

 

If you might fall into the wrong hands. 

 

The man lies still under six feet

But lingers in me

Yes, a trustworthy string

 

But another shipped away

.Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,

Backed with my steadfast ardor

.But My friend, you would not tell with such high zest.

 

The girl lies in bed,

    Crash.

Staring at nothing.

   contemplating. Numb.

   Broken.

She sees butterflies around her

But they always fly away.

So she admires their beauty and commemoration.

At least she still has herself,

Like the trees have sunlight.

 

Until nighttime comes.

 

     .socrates

But in the darkness, the girl admires the nightingale.

     .Onomatopoeia

She wishes to be a nightingale,

     .Ganymede

And wonders why

the world cannot be a tree for only nightingales.

 

Hush. Calm.

 

Sometimes, the moon might appear red or black,

But alas, the sun rises again for the butterflies to roam.

 

Thank you, I appreciate the opportunity. 

This poem is about: 
Me

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