Dead Dreams

Tags

creativewriting, deaddreams, literature, poem, poetry

There’s a graveyard in my house.
Dreams in the tears on my pillow;
Dead Dreams of long ago, on my pillow.

Shaking fingers
Chasing strangers
Until,
A trumpet is blown,
A grave is owned

Tear drop.

There are Dead Dreams in my house.
Dreams that have Passed way too long ago
To be Resurrected.

I ponder to myself,
Shovel after shovel:
“I could have held tighter;
It could have lived longer.”

Dead Dreams in my soul
A graveyard on my heart
Crosses, tombstones rising out of my chest.
When I’m sad, I wonder if it is because
There are too many Dead Dreams?
When I’m happy, I wonder if it is because
There are too many spirits?

Dead Dreams in my vessel
Dead Dreams in my house.
My steps are never gentle
For I travel with force

They’re trying to pull me under.

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Advancing Years – Written Monday 25th July 2022 (Aged 47) — The Boy Behind The Glasses. Poetry and Writing

Tags

age, growingold, humor, humorouscontent, literature, poem, poetry

i cannot stop advancing years the ones, where the light starts to dim or fade and shine less bright

Advancing Years – Written Monday 25th July 2022 (Aged 47) — The Boy Behind The Glasses. Poetry and Writing

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What an incredible piece!!! I love the humor, wit, and relatability in this poem.

A Friend Named Patience

Tags

creativeliterature, creativewriting, creativity, literature, Patience, personification, poem, poetry, runningoutofpatience, write

Patience is a strange thing
you have to wait.
Cause Patience, is a strange thing

Patience is a strange thing
you remain and,
→ you remain and,
→ you remain and
you wait.

As the world goes by;
possibilities troll away;
chances drift at bay;
what should be, becomes
what would be, turns to
what could be

but you never know.

Patience is a strange thing
as time waits for no man,
men wait for time to bring:
an unknown, claimed to be known
an unknown that only Hope would claim
to know.

As you wait with patience,
it soon takes the city bus
to the sunset…
…until it runs short.

Patience is a strange thing
so coil your body.
Do it!
I know you want to
“something to pass the time”
humans evolved not, to be idle

yet, here you are.

Waiting in this abyss
all the possibilities to miss
ignoring that something’s amiss

Patience is a strange thing
sometimes, I just wanna give in,
go about my way.
Sometimes, I will put an extra second

but then I always see Patience,
a cunning fool just being,
on the train downtown,
on the bus going, and thinning.

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I wrote this piece as a class assignment in my final year in University, in 2019. It is both one of my bests and one of my favorite pieces. Reading it always leaves a smirk on my face.

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A Song To Last

Tags

asongtolast, creativewriting, ipray, literature, poem, poetry, theprayer

I pray.
For endurance in this brutal road
strength and patience; wisdom and guidance;

if it’s to crawl—
crawl until your nails choose the Earth,
until you fly to the emperors of the sky

I pray.
That you do not pray, beg or bargain
for a different ending

what’s to be, will be
you’re armored for your destiny—
endure your journey.

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Adapting To A Mask

Tags

adaptation, art, creativewriting, danger, literature, necessity, poetryblog, read, skill

Talking with a mask on is a nuisance.
I open my mouth, I speak
Well into my conversation, I taste
Cloth.
Dry cloth folding in-between my lips
Kissing my tongue

In the instant before speaking
My Flight senses activate
“This is not normal! Is this what we’ve evolved to?”

Talking with a mask on is a hazard of life
And I hope you had forgotten your specs, but either way
You’re blind.
Fume starts clouding your vision
Tripping on isle five—vegetable station.
How to explain to the smiling essential worker

Why logs of yam
Boomerang plantain
Droplets of taro
Rocks of potato
All piled on the floor.
With a broken phone, unfit human
Loose leaves floating, onto the ceramic

Wearing these CDC-recommended masks is a ridicule
My ears being pushed forward like a monkey
We’re all walking around looking like a monkey
And the pain at the back of the ear is an unending story
I did not survive the hunting and gathering for this.

The air behind this mask is different.
Breathing wants to feel like
Inhaling through a stack of hay.
My body has to remind itself,
“You’re okay.”
You don’t have to activate your flight Tendency.

Because at least you can breathe,
At least you can see
At least you can hear
At least you can speak
At least you’re alive.

@Sircharlesthepoet

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Please, wear a mask. Thank you for reading.

Too High

Tags

angels, city, demons, drugs, high, literature, lost, poem, poetry, urban, write

I’m from the city:
Where angels don’t descend to help,
They’re in the corners getting higher.

No preaching, nor evangelism could convince
Heaven will not give them a chance and
Heaven is not rolled up in a piece of paper.

Because when in a room stories down,
Grace is lit on one end
Inhaled from the other,
As they mount five stories, no ladder

No wings,
Didn’t care that the lungs sing,
“Please, Stop!”

So I don’t advise praying.
At least, not to the ones ascending
Heaven sends help upon summons
But, your best bet is to face your own demons.

IG: @Sircharlesthepoet

Wants

Tags

artist, beauty, creative, culture, curious, Dance, dream, foreign, friendship, imagination, literature, love, poem

They wanted to be wise,
So we started reading books

They wanted to dance,
So we bought Michael Jackson shoes

They wanted power over literature,
So we wrote poetry

They wanted to be smart,
So we downloaded chess on our phones

They wanted to be open minded,
So our group of friends consisted of people from all around the world

They wanted warmth in their heart,
So we looked for love

They wanted to experience wonder,
So at the wake of moon, we creep at the stars

They wanted revelations to the mysteries of existence,
So we read verses, and paid attention in physics class

They wanted to touch the sky,
So we bounce off of our beds, reaching, hopefully, pass roofs

They wanted to travel the world,
So we fell asleep and dreamt.
Copyright © 2016 by Charles Joseph Augustin