24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
My Dearest Edgar,
What twisted thoughts corrupt your mind?
What ails your soul, also ails mine
Haunted voices fill your head
Visions of the macabre, dance of the dead
Your heart yearns for love long lost
I, too, have felt its cost
Kindred spirits, I feel your pain
Grief that renders you insane
Desiring what is nevermore
Quoth the raven above your door
An unkindness of ravens echoing the cries
This is the sound of when true love dies
Latent buzz of heat
Inching deep under my skin
Every night, I wake up to
How much I need you
How much I want you
To touch your fingertips with my lips
And sing at the glory of electric nerves
Every night, I wake up to
Musings buried deep inside me
Of how beatific you’d look
Splayed under me, for me
Slightly hazy at the edges
Like a dream made for me
Every night, I wake up to
Sighs and wishes, sinful, to say the least
Of passions that never felt so deep
For anyone else but you
Every night, I wake up to
A sleepless yearning that hollows out
Aching with the loss of what I never had
The right to call you mine
NO VOICE
Burning bridges of my soul
No voice
Powerful bullets of your screams
Leaving a hole in my heart
Crumbling memories in my head
No voice
Teared up pictures
Gone without consent
Shattered skin on my body
No voice
Hurtful touch of your fingers
Impossible to forget
Twisted answers in my mind
No voice
No longer knowing
Forever searching the truth
There was once a mighty king
His eyes were brimming.
He was the talk of the town
Pride ornamented his walk.
Greed crowned him.
Women were afraid of his lust.
He envied every happy person
and took it out on gluttony.
He earned only wrath from his people
And became slothy over time.
He was never remembered.
Though he was a man of strength.
He never went down in history.
People wouldn’t know any of his stories.
His sins adorned him in life.
So did it, in his death.
(will add referenced media later, no one included it yet on the media tab)
Soon my favorite season
Sweet summer child
Transitions within to fall
The leaves a copper red
But my home trees are pines
Not seasonal sycamore
And my leaves are spines
Shed on an ivy floor
Perennial is beautiful
Deciduous is sweet
But I like to see a change
Of color to say the least
Let me see the gold
Of a healthy field of wheat
I am feeling short poems today. But I am focusing on getting some words written rather than making long poems. Editing can add more words if needed.
Hour 12 used prompt for hour
Some days I feel like I’m in a closet
That is trying to help me figure out me
To see what sort of personality I wear that day
To see what sort of people I love
To see what I choose to drape on my body
I whispered to the winds about you
Tales so heavy they couldn’t carry too
Of crumbling hopes and unheard wishes
Sighs that swept away molten mirths
I whispered to the winds about you
All those musings pinned on you
Sullen queries and bitten out lies
Hesitance that seeped into our ties
I whispered to the winds about you
Things I never dared to tell you
How lovely that face still feels
How precious that touch still is
I whispered to the winds about you
About my shameful, clumsy ways too
Selfishly greedy for every tiny bit
Of your warmth, I could steal and keep
I whispered to the winds about you
Hopelessly pining for my love true
Of the fallacy of dreams and forever
When reality seems so far from tender
I whispered to the winds of missing you
All those sweet nothings I’d tell you
Its been a while,
I have walked miles,
the road ahead is long,
and you are still gone,
I am all alone,
no one to call,
no one to hold,
where to see,
what to know,
you may have come,
are my dreams still true,
can it happen,
or its undone,
don’t burn this bridge,
it may take us somewhere,
that is unknown,
a place far away,
where no one stays,
we will be alone,
now take me home.
The house on Monroe is insane
Haven’t you heard the noises
Growls, screeches, and even whispers
The pictures keep getting moved as well
Things banging in the night
Getting cold out of the blue
Oh yes its time to go
This Monroe house is quite insane
Hour 7
Extra Terrestrial life is irrelevant
Water on Moon, insignificant
Time travel is immaterial
The biggest mystery of my life is how to make ‘Sambar’ like Mom
No matter how hard I tried
No matter how I copy the ingredients
No matter how I perfect the timings
Just can’t make ‘Sambar’ like her
I think my own Mom is bluffing me
Not telling me the exact measures
Or maybe the exact ingredients
Perhaps she has altogether skipped some spices
Enough is enough It’s time to confront her
Get that recipe out of her
“Mom, just give it already” I said
“It’s the only thing that you connect with me” she said
Rashmi S Kurup