poetry

The Nightingale and I

That little nightingale

has read my mind

and know’s when I’ve cried.

Her eyes water

just like mine

and then

sings me a lullaby.

That nightingale

and I

are one

in the same.

We share

a soul,

we share

a brain.

Emotions alike

hardship

and strife,

nothing can

cut our

bonds like

a knife.

 

poetry

Jagged Rose Petals

You see those jagged

rose petals

you hold in your hand

every night

hoping that the

rose would bloom again,

those same jagged petals.

 

Why don’t you ask

it to sing

something sugar

sweet,

honey bees

and quiet daydreams?

 

That rose will never

bloom again.

For you forgot

to water

her and

open the blinds.

Can she sing

as sweetly as before?

 

Days and days

will pass and

your quaint pot

of daisies

and lilies

will wither away.

 

You haven’t been home.

 

Where were you

when they uttered

their last breath?

 

Now you hold

those jagged rose petals

within your hand

and wonder

how long has

it been.

poetry

Writings For Your Heartache

Thank you for

the thousand tear stained pages

which I’ve somehow

crafted into a smile.

 

Thank you for

forgetting my name

and those embarrassing moments

in which my despair

not only

caught your attention

but flooded the entire room.

 

I’m writing to you today

to say I feel liberated.

Yet,

in the end

it’s your voice

I hear

telling me to hold on.

poetry

You Again/An Old Enemy

Part 1-You Again

 

Where did I go wrong,

This Valentine’s day you

Would ask

When the pages from

My notebooks are torn

And my dreams

Are shattered.

Memories.

Then you again.

The only taxi that

Seemed to be available

That lonely night

When souls collide

And wedding bells would

Ring.

Cupid’s arrows

Taken from his sheath.

You again.

I didn’t see this coming.

 

We spent months apart,

You and I.

My only hope,

The only star in the sky

Now faded to black

And tear in my heartstrings.

Maybe now I know why,

You’re alone too.

 

Part 2-An Old Enemy

 

Believe it or not,

I was on my way there

Too.

To see you shine

Like that star you once were.

Now on Broadway,

Can’t believe it to be true.

My old enemy,

I thought it was you.

But my heart still belonged

To you.

With the single rose

I hold in my hand.

A black ribbon tied

Around its stem.

 

“May you ever

Find me again,

Take this..”

I say,

And hand him the rose.

 

I get out of the car.

“Wait, don’t go,”

He pleads.

My old enemy,

May it be true,

To not be you,

But it was me too.

 

I walk through the

Rain,

I walk through the doors.

Just to find you

Standing there

With that rose.

It’s now dead,

But the black ribbon,

Now white.

 

The rain stops

And he says

“Will you stay this time?”

 

Hi, my bookish pals! It’s been a while.

I hope you enjoyed this poem. I wrote this for my Creative Writing class last semester. We were given specific details to work with such as “a taxi, Valentine’s Day, and an old enemy”. I thought it was quite fun.

Happy Memorial Day! (To those who live in the US)

Side note: I graduate this Sunday…wow! Where did high school go?

How have you all been? (Leave a comment below and all that jazz.)

Until next time my friends,

Hannah 🙂

poetry

Leaving the Moment

Tell me where

I can hide

from those

barren pastures

and dark

clouds looming

in the sky.

 

Tell me where I

can forget your

tortured face

until

nothing more

but a

memory

tucked in between

pages and songs.

 

Leaving that moment

behind me

and opening

some other

portal or

some other

estranged story

I left behind.

poetry

His Portrait

I watch his eyes

fill with endless

sorrow

to him no tomorrow

and me no today.

His portrait

hangs in the castle

of my memory.

 

I ran before he could

catch me

but long for him

to follow behind

my mind cannot

stay in one place.

 

His portrait hangs

in my memory

cracked glass

and recollections,

his eyes gaze upon me.

 

If I do ever wander

those halls

one night

again

with a lantern

in my left

and heart on my right.

I thought I heard

him crying for me.

 

It was probably some fantasy

of mine.

poetry

At Last Those Fears

Monsters aren’t those fables

you’ve read in your

children’s book.

They’re merely the

souls wandering around

your every corner.

Ripped from their

crimson fingernails

and scaly backsides,

they’re humans right

before you.

 

Not each had bad intentions,

don’t let the others cast

a spell and

blindside your

thoughts into black

clouds

and thunderstorms.

At last those

fears

will simmer

in that cup of tea

you grasp.

~