In the hush of the morning sky,
I’m bewildered by the lies.
But, the glorious hews mesmerize,
Granting me reprieve from your eyes.
This picture before me,
Sends a piercing stare, a lovely glare.
Suspended in time,
With mellifluous calls from nowhere.
They’re perched in the trees,
I feel a soothing and mellow breeze.
This momentary bliss,
Helps the memories of you leave.
They won’t be gone for long,
I’m enveloped by morning song.
Mother Nature stretches her arms,
And I’m right we’re I belong.
It was a steady rain,
Much like my pain.
The skies opened,
As my heart was drained.
A simultaneous flood,
Spontaneous. Manic. Insane.
Blood darkened mud,
Soul forever stained.
–Justin M. McCahren
I remember a different you,
From a vanishing point of view.
I recall a time,
When you were vibrant and less askew.
Now you’re stewing in doubt,-
Exposed and inside-out.
While you attempt to cling to a past,-
That is vastly different than what you speak about.
A stout contrast,-
To the truth that once filled your eyes.
I used to feel reinvigorated with one glance,-
Now they’re disguised.
I was surprised to see them,-
So vacuous and cold.
The black holes spinning in your pupils,
A hurt to behold.
You used to be so bold,-
Then you settled for so much less.
The face that looks back at me,-
Is a bewildered shell of a mess.
But I guess you’re happy,
You keep telling me that you are.
Or maybe you’re just so numb to the pain,-
That it’s easy to ignore the scars.
You’re so far from the inspiration,
That I fondly recall.
I wish I had a chance to say goodbye-
To the you that was lost in the squall.
A repost, now with Audio! #Poetry
With the bruises still fresh,-
And a litany of doubt.
This cracked facade,-
Has my soul seeping out.
The tide swallowed the coast,
Gnashed the land with it’s teeth.
It spit out death,
-To rejuvenate the life underneath.
An unrivaled fury,
Waves like skyscrapers.
Reshaping all we knew,
Brick toppling like a pieces of paper.
The seafloor preserves the scene,
The end of our lifelong home.
One hundred years of memories,
Suffocated in the foam.
The voices always return,
My idle pen waits.
Like a rusted rod and reel,
Dangling a hook with spoiled bait.
Trying to catch a trophy,
In a sand covered lake.
Focused on the whispers,
Trying not to break.
Surely it’s just a wire-
-That needs to be fixed.
They prescribe me random pills,
When my mind is playing tricks.
A subtle way of saying,
-That I have loose screws.
The puppeteers wrench,
Cannot help but be amused.
You watch from a distance,
Wishing for me to lose.
This type of pain,
Isn’t something that you choose.