the scars on your shouldersthe scars on your shoulders
are braille to me, so that i
can read your skin, so that i
can know you better.

i like to listen to your heartbeat
and how it resounds differently
from mine, just so beautifully
like two songs played in tandem
to harmonise in rounds;

i like to hold your hands
and rub your back
so that maybe my love
can find its way through your pores
and seep into your blood
(never can i find the right words
to tell you just the way you feel to me)

and to think that and how i nearly missed you
makes me miss you more
every minute and mile we spend
elsewhere.
i can't sleep with another body
in my bed,
but sleeping without you
leav

we are not a fairytalewe are not a fairytale.

I am not the strong lead with a heart of fire,
bones of steel, and eyes of vapid curiosity;
motivation seeping through
my every last intended action because
I was written this way

(the heroine falls only to rise again:
proverbial phoenix, burning out
because it is the cycle of my
life) and you, you are not

the beautiful travesty, perfectly composed
to strike me where I’m weak and
[almost]human, delicately woven
like the tapestry of my dismantling—
a subtle irony where somewhere, a writer
chuckles softly, understanding

we are blinder than church mice, born
in a makeshift world of darkness where
I&rsquo

Onceyour beauty lies restless behind those
hills, where you fought valiantly. and
the man you once were was brave and kind,
but now you are possessed by a passenger
of darkness, whispering words of your
loneliness.

the man you once were is forgotten, and
the man you are today, is only a ghost, a
shadow, of what you were before.

SurelyIt was raining
when we kissed for the first time,
for the last time.

Thin rivulets
sunk into the shrunken space
between our bodies
and divided us
like nothing could before,
like everything will
from now
until that never again
when we will
see each other once more,
no more.

Your eyes were
that bewitching shade
of dull brown blue
with all of the light darkness
whirling
in a placid pond
around a pupil
overflowing with vacancy,
and me
and my frowning smile.

The winter heat
fell like a rising tide
and,
for our every breath
was another death
so black and full of life --
embracing our boiled ice skin
as we drew apart,
came together and broke free

Condemnedbeneath the beaten earth they lay,
their dreams condemned to ashes,
and our restless bodies stretch,
for forgiveness, for direction –

survivors of the abyss,
amidst wide-eye, silent soldiers –
so many dead, so many maimed,

how many graves are we standing on, today?

FossilizedLiving proof of fossils alive,
and no horseshoe-crab am I.

Nor, inhabitable harsh compression of plates,
residing under humid marsh-scapes.

I mold into the walls, as chalky old coal.
But I am no mineral, no era.
I am not, Mesozoic.

Through the ages
Iron
Bronze
silver, gold and heroic.

I remain a still-life; and no Iduna's apples would retain my youth
No magic fountains, or time devices, or wrist watches.
I am the machine of time.
The watcher, omnipotent, the wise.

But

no God am I

Somewhere, sweet tangy sap trolleys down cracked bark.
Somewhere, celestial bodies erupt unseen.
Somewhere, a abrupt breeze blows overturned bi-cycle tire

Prelude       Nocturne;
I conjure the moon
as dusk crests,
       a wave across the sky

       I am lovely and lonely in
       the night, shadow-
       shackled to the mountainside

and the moths
unfurl their hamsa-wings as
mama calls me in.

bookworm“there is no such thing
as reading too much.”
that is what I tell you
when you insist

that there is some danger of
becoming lost in the stuff—
mistaking seriphs for serpents,

swallowing a story so whole
that its hook
sticks in my throat.

“there is no such thing
as reading too much”
I tell you, bold-faced,
surrounded by snakes
with a line through my lip.

VaseA broken heart can be excavated.
Damaged tissue can be scrupulously removed
and the cracks can be sealed
with the molten trails of gold solidified.
The upturned cavity,
once proofed against further damage,
can become a pulsing vase for tulips,
because even though your heart has been broken
it is still valuable beyond comparison.

silver dreams.i won't say a single thing
about what you and i did that night.
it wasn't anything bad, we were
made to do it.
but the way your tears fell down
in the shape of a cloud
and the pounding on the doors
told us the stars were calling.
more like the gates of hell, but
you think stars make the most delicate
corpses.

HorsepowerHorsepower

There’s a knife turnin in my soft parts
And heat burnin my mind on hard starts
The motors runnin but I lost the wheel
Just want it to be numb don’t wanna feel
Take two steps back and put it in park
Before I leave scarred up black marks
I need a u-turn on this highway
But can’t go back on the by-way
So look ahead, the pavement goes on
Break the rear-view mirror it’s gone
Contemplate
Reiterate
Put it in drive
And say goodbye
Let’s see how fast this bitch can fly

-Cygam7

nightmarethe foxes are at your bedside and singing--
feversongs,
songs of boiling thoughts
and broken muscles.
their lullabyes.
they sneak so quiet, and
somehow,
you can't quite
dream
anymore.

Here and There, Now and ThenBurnt umber dawn, swaying electric trees
Thousands of souls chant in the summer wind
Journals of the dead are read by schoolchildren
They awake shaking someone else's dreams from their heads

Static electricity on the nape of your neck
In the television, on your phone, in your dinner
The calling of a murder of crows from the trees
You remember the view from the hospital room window

A smorgasbord of life and limb, death and decay
The antiseptic smell has an undercoating of rot and dirt
Talismans won't work any more than prayers and candles
Soldiers still fight lost wars, glory in the faded night

Tall fences are built to keep the worlds separ

Puppet My tears fall,

like invisible

diamonds.

My heart beats,

like soundless

drums.

Unwanted,

because of the

strings attached.

How To WriteHow to write:

Write a word.
Now write a sentence.
Write a paragraph.
A chapter.
A story.
The end. ♥

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More from ~robertbouwman

Our WorldI want to get away from the facts,
Submerge in things that you can't measure,
Live for the moment,
For my feelings, your touch, our pleasure.

So let's go and make a new world,
Create a beautiful life of our own.
And all you have to know,
Is that you're not alone.

In our world,
Time does not exist.
Moments last forever,
When we're together,
So let's keep it like this.

Constantly, you're in my mind.
And each and every time I find,
That when I think of you,
The troubles and worries of my life,
Get left behind.

And I'm happy,
That we didn't go too fast,
Because now I know,
We can really make this last.

I don

Zee van tranen.In mijn zee van tranen,
Badend in verdriet.
Ik doe het maar in stilte,
Ik weet dat je het toch niet ziet.

In mijn zee;
Gevoelens van jaloezie,
Gevoelens van pijn.
Mijn liefde voor jou,
Mag er blijkbaar niet zijn.

In mijn zee;
Ik zie je, mijn hart wordt verlicht.
Ik zie je,
Jij, met je mooie gezicht.
Jij ziet mij ook, maar dan komt hij.
Je kijkt naar hem en ik verdwijn.
Je vergeet, je vergeet mij.

Met de vogels die wegvliegen,
Vervliegt mijn hoop ook.
Alles wat ik wilde, en me had voorgesteld,
Gaat op in rook.

Er is nog maar één ding dat ik wil.
Het laatste wat ik van je vraag,
Dit ene maakt voor mij het verschi

JijIk zag je lopen, ik zag je lopen vandaag.
Mooie ogen, leuke lach,
Knoop in m’n maag.
Ik lach, jij lacht terug
Ik loop door, met een zucht.
Ik weet niet,
Waarom ik niet gewoon wat doe.
Je nummer vraag,
Toen ik je weer zag lopen, vandaag.

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Mental Mountains

by ~robertbouwman, Aug 28, 2008, 12:57:22 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

When I’m with you, you make me happy, you make my day.
But it feels like we’re not together, and you’re so far, far away.
And all I wanna do,
Is just get to you.
But all these mental mountains keep me from doing so.
Mountains that I need to conquer, mountains that I need to cross,
Because if I don’t get to be with you, I’ll be lost.

The first is the one which I make high, or keep low,
It is called Mt. Expectations;
It is the one that helps me with the choice: stay or go?
This one is based on if I think it’s gonna work or not,
If I want to risk everything that we’ve got.

The next is the one with chasms, so wide and deep
It is called Mt. Fear,
And I’m afraid the slopes here will be too steep,
That I won’t be able to get to you, my dear.
To stop my thoughts, that’s all I need,
‘Cause if I have to make a big jump, I’ve got to stop thinking,
Or else I won’t make it, I’ll fall, and bleed.

The third is the one that’s just so big and high,
It is called Mt. Desire,
And when I see it, I can not help but let out a sigh.
All the things I want so bad, are on top,
But I know I’ll get there,
And that there’s no one that can make me stop.

After I had dealt with my desire,
I touched the sky, I was on fire.
Then I came to the sacred ground,
Where Mt. Friendship can be found.
I stood looking at the mountain,
That could not crack, or break,
That couldn’t even be moved,
By the strongest earthquake.

When I got up there, I turned around, I looked back.
Everything was clear, I could see my own tracks.
Then I looked at the sky, as an angel passed by.
And I was told, from the heavens above:
‘This mountain, Mount Friendship,
Will now be called:
The Mountain of Love.'

After telling me this, the angel came down,
I saw her, and I frowned.
She clipped her wings,
And threw them away,
Those beautiful things.
The angel, the angel was you,
This meant I did everything I had to do.
All the mountains in my head,
the mountains I had crossed,
They brought me to you, and now I’m saved,
Instead of lost.

53

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Mental Mountainsby ~robertbouwman

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A poem called 'Mental Mountains'. I worked on it for a long time, and finally finished it today. Maybe I will change some things about it, but I don't know that yet/

Comments are appreciated

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Submitted on: August 28, 2008
File Size: 2.4 KB

Views: 53
Favourites: 1 (who?)
Comments: 1
Downloads: 2

~rocqua Aug 28, 2008

i can see(read, or however you say it) that you put a lot of work into it, and it payed of, great, no epic poem, a definite +fav (one of the very few poems in my favs).

btw i once wrote a poem [link] to i'd like to hear what you think of it (probably, tear it to shreds)

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Mental Mountainsby ~robertbouwman

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