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I came from a broken home,
and it was filled with broken things,
glasses shattered when thrown
when my father slammed them against the wall.

Even though we still had dinner together,
drinking from plastic cups
because glass breaks
and plastic didn't
things weren't like a regular family.
Or perhaps they were,
Maybe what we define as regular is actually irregular.


By the time I was four my family fell apart.
My parents going opposite ways,
my mother subdued by silence
when the yelling finally stopped
and he didn't come back
so we left.

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This journal is being kept for historical purposes only. From here on all my poetry may be found on my journal at torrens_v_casus or Susurrus on Dreamwidth. Thank you.
Feel the wind
slipping through your hands
as the world
passes by,
sixty five miles per hour
yet so far to go.

Where you were
and all that you did
seems so far
from you now,
but you can't just turn around
on this one way street.

Three hundred
miles can seem so far,
and yet more
all too close,
when you try to find the way
to follow your heart.

Whether it's
a simple pleasure,
an old dream,
deepest wish,
or hope that you left behind
it's gone for the week.

Gone for months
or even a year,
on the mail,
just turn up the radio
and press on the gas.

On the road
none of that matters,
where you're from
doesn't change
and where you're going only
decides your exit.

to seventy-five
miles per hour
down the road
with hours still yet to go
and a full tank of gas.

Miles to go
with no one waiting
on that end,
no welcome
inviting you through the door
or warm voice calling.

And yet still
it's not fast enough,
when you dream
on your own,
when your no longer held back
and you find your drive.

Feel the wind
slipping through your hands
as your world
expands more,
taking you to where you'll thrive
on an open road.
Question Not

This place,
its pale white walls
slowly smother every thought,
eight twenty-five to three fifteen
question not what you're taught.

About the form PenseeCollapse )
Let Go
a lesson too late

Wishes are something that I once had
when I was a child long ago,
but in reality I know
that dreams all too often go bad.

It's not wrong to hold on to hope
or to reach for a better life,
but when those things fill you with strife
it's best to let go of the rope.

See the world for all that it holds
not just the things for which you pray,
take in the chaos and dismay
so not to get lost in their folds.

Often this lesson comes too late,
after we are promised the world
and those endless dreams are unfurled
with the truth lying in wait.

We are not entitled by birth,
we are not promised tomorrow,
we will all discover sorrow
and be made aware our true worth.

Call me cynical if you must,
a realist, a pessimist; all
of those words so many appall
also, for me, hold little trust.

Some days I can't but help to smile
while others find me lost in tears,
I'm filled by both pride and its fears,
my emotions are versatile.

I can't see the world just one way,
I see the world always changing
so there's no point arranging
delusions of another day.

I can only pray you'll listen,
least you fall prey to your dreams,
the world is not quite as it seems
the waters don't always glisten.

Sometimes the skies are clear and blue,
and yet at times they burn bright red,
turn black, white or gray; as if dead.
That's the view that dreams often skew.

So while I say hold on to hope,
a wish is not something to grasp
but rather becomes cold and rasp;
if you must, let go of the rope.
Just Once

I had hoped, just once, to be heard
for me to be what you preferred.

But silence is all I shall know
now that it’s time for me to go.

All of this, nothing but a dream,
where things are never what they seem.

That distant fantasy is blurred
as reality shifts, ebbs and flows.
Once, in a dream, my words held your esteem.

About the formCollapse )
When I Knew Love

There was a time when I knew love.
Even now, a time I dream of,
a time when words meant so much more,
when words were all I could afford.
A time when I was once adored,
a time I wish I could restore.

When black ink and those crimson lips,
when the gentle sway of those hips,
would make the world seem right again.
So why is it that I envy
all those who found what’s lost to me;
the love we thought we had back then.

Why did I come back to this place,
why do I constantly retrace
every wrong turn I made back then,
reading every word that we wrote
one another, why would I quote
my own lines time and again.

Because at one time I knew love,
the kind that I can but dream of,
and that was where it all began.
When words were all I could give,
there was a girl who would forgive
and accepted this foolish man.

But now that time has come and gone,
that love was gradually withdrawn.
There was a time when love meant more
when words were all I could afford,
but for so long they were ignored
and that’s what I must answer for.

About the form SextillaCollapse )
Our Goodbyes

Finding hope within those eyes
and once having faith in this love,
I fell pray to your lies
finding hope within those eyes.

Now as we give our goodbyes
I feel that I’m tired of
finding hope within those eyes
and once having faith in this love.

About the form TrioletCollapse )
The world is spinning
the sun sinks more with each day
will we fall like leaves?

Forget about the nights that passed,
the shattered dreams that filled the sky.
Midnight’s beauty fades far too fast
for you to look back with a sigh.

Not when hope lies within the dawn,
her warmth wrapping about your heart;
the whisper of a gentle yawn
or a touch that makes all doubt depart.

Her majestic brilliance lies there,
calling to those who would live on;
the blazing light that gives life flare
while all the stars have come and gone.

That light embrace that pulls us to
as we wake from the dark of night,
her faith and spirit always true
ensuring us that it’s alright.

A soothing voice that calms our fears
lifting spirits with but a word,
the heartfelt laughs and playful cheers
hers are the ones we’ve always heard.

Let her hope lift you once again,
let the night be a memory,
allow your doubts and fears to wane
and bask yourself in her glory.

Request by: kawaii_gaara
Sometimes I
want to be alone,
just retreat
by myself;
sometimes I wish for silence,
that time would stand still.

When I do,
I want you to know
that it’s not
what you’ve done,
and that it’s only for you
that I will come back.

So please wait,
understand what I
feel for you,
and that I
just need a little more time
to find who I am.

To try and
find my place again,
where I fit
on my own,
that confidence that I had
just one day ago.

So I ask
that you be patient,
that you wait
and believe
in me as you always have;
as I do in you.

Wandering ThoughtsCollapse )

Dedicated to all of those who have had to step out recently, know that we’ll always be here when you come back.

a twisted poison
splintering within my mind;
when midnight fades and morning comes
only I am alone.

About the form PenseeCollapse )

Envy is but one of my many, many, sins.
Summer Nights

Your voice,
gentle yet firm,
slowly fades from memory
as the summer nights pass away
without a word from you.

About the form PenseeCollapse )
When You Awaken
What Good is a Home

Empty walls
hollow halls,
shallow calls as night falls;
what good is a home
to those who roam,
who are alone.
Those who are prone
to being disowned,
and who are stoned and left forsaken.
How can you not be shaken
by the demons that awaken
when you are mistaken
for a stray;
cute for a day
when they want to play,
but you don’t get to stay.
Never the cliché
where they pray
or pay
to end your dismay,
but the one where they betray
everything they say,
no way
will they sway
from this play,
only delay
the decay
that will weigh
on your mind, bringing disarray.
Bonds will fray
and fade away
as soon as you disobey,
or display
that you agree but halfway
with what they say.
So in the dark of night
when dreams take to flight
sit awake and write
never grant yourself respite
from the plight
that their words indict,
The passion they ignite,
or the hate they incite,
and despite
whether it’s wrong or right
me with the spite
beneath the polite
manners we recite.
A broken bed,
a broken head,
a shattered lamp
letters from that tramp,
some tattered box
and faulty locks
with a sagging floor;
what more
could you hope for.
What good would it be
to build a home from debris,
it’s better to roam
than to comb
through the past,
it’s better to last
than to trust too fast.
So smile when asked
about your day,
but never fall as prey
to a false smile
as they play for a while.
Never think that you belong
and nothing will go wrong,
so when they try to deceive
and eventually when they leave
you won’t have to grieve
so cleave
this heart and bereave
them of that twisted smile
be the one they revile.
And allow me
to speak freely
within these barren walls,
where faith falls
with each tip of the glass.
Abandon all class
as words become crass
it is only then it seems
that you’ll be able to ignore the screams
and drift away to dreams.
Lie back on the couch
and let your shoulders slouch.
No good is a home
to those who roam,
Those who are prone
to being disowned,
and who are left forsaken;
Remember that when you awaken.

Not so free verseCollapse )
Cosmic Masquerade

The moon,
silver, waning,
waltzes cross the sky with ease
a mystic cosmic masquerade;
tonight is but a dream.

About the form PenseeCollapse )

To wash away the taste of the previous poem.
Forced Silence

Since this piece is rather more macabre than usual, I'm placing it under a cut.

Long is the way and hard that out of Hell leads up to light.Collapse )

those dark reflections
dancing alongside us all
through the day and night, throughout life,
tell who we really are.

About the form PenseeCollapse )
This poem is brought to you by a brief pause of all sanity and reason. In partnership with sleep deprivation, frustration and mental illness brought on from sheer stupidity.

Ever slipping I go insane,
dancing and singing in the rain
despite all the world and its pain;
my mind just snaps beneath the strain.

But what can I do but complain
about how I try, all in vain,
to keep the words that I have slain
from reaching a world so mundane.

So many words I can't explain,
so many thoughts I can't contain,
nor hide the rhyme that they obtain
as each one slips by yet again.

The moon and stars begin to wane,
and time slips away grain by grain;
falling fast from a broken chain.
Cracked and broken so the sands drain
among the years that I attain
just so once more life can abstain
the embrace of hope in its reign.

Drinking deep from the shadow's bane
the thoughts sink deeper in my brain
till the moment when death can feign
life to the point it can sustain
sanity, till you ascertain
that death shall never entertain
the pleasant thoughts which you maintain;
even among sorrow's domain
as you smile at the world's disdain.

But then again I'm just insane
as I write of the falling rain,
how it washes away the pain;
to ease my mind from all this strain.

What was I thinking?Collapse )

Scrap, scrap, scrappity scrap scrap. Please ignore this, nothing to see here move along.

our apathy,
slowly wraps about my heart;
watching as the words drift away
I never said goodbye.

About the form PenseeCollapse )

A feather glides upon the wind,
dancing with life, even in death,
for as each gust does twist and bend
the feather takes another breath;
and the heart beats another beat.