765d188946a78a7db76afa4ebae48f5c

calldispatch

I let my soul dance in the rhythm of your verses

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  • calldispatch 1w

    It's my blood dripping down the cold metal, lamenting the demise of the old me.

    #writersnetwork #wod #pod

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    Mirrors

    I stared blankly at the worn reflections
    inside the broken mirror
    As if I was looking at a wounded knight
    after a war.
    Armours torn and a blood-covered sword.
    It's just that it's my blood
    Dripping down the cold metal
    Lamenting the demise of the old me.
    The mirror's broken parts
    Fills my broken soul perfectly
    I've gotten tired of the chaos
    But, I am made of wars

    ©calldispatch

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  • calldispatch 1w

    #pod

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    Perhaps we are just tiny specks of glitters in this world full of stars, but we can daze the eye and call love blind.

    ©calldispatch

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  • calldispatch 1w

    #pod

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    Prisoner of Freedom

    At the sound of your declaration
    The doors of the jail room flew open.
    You've been practicing that spell all your life
    And now it finally worked.
    It jolted a happiness in you
    But a thought of familiar fear came rushing to you
    Like a wave to a sandcastle
    You stared at the door
    Heart's pounding
    But your feet won't make a step.
    Your soul yearns for freedom
    But your heart is afraid to leap.

    For the longest time, you've grown accustomed to the comfort of the four corners of that jail that you, infact, called it home

    Freedom- is this really what you need or is it just another cell, only bigger?

    ©calldispatch

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  • calldispatch 1w

    I thought I know me, not anymore.

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    What am I?
    What am I here for?
    These are the times questions like these matter
    Between thoughts of life, sex, and homosexuality
    I have no answer for them
    I don't know what I am
    Neither do I know what I am here for
    Either I don't have the words
    Or words won't suffice
    I yearn for physical touch
    I think I should not be.
    Bruised and exhausted
    In the battle of conscience and pleasure
    The chain has gotten frail and the anchor is failing
    I'm giving in to the tide
    The only thing that holds me
    Is the familiar fear for the unfamiliar
    I am neither a traveler nor a native
    Neither here nor there
    I thought I know me
    Not anymore

    ©calldispatch

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  • calldispatch 2w

    #night

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    Fear

    The night used to be a friend;
    A companion

    But now, darkness terrifies me.
    The terror of its flaming eyes,
    peaking right through my soul,
    tearing my peace asunder.

    I cannot anymore remember a fine night
    No, not a single star in the dead of it.

    ©calldispatch

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  • calldispatch 33w

    I always remember how you love to talk about stars-
    Reciting to me their names as though they're your bestfriends from a far away place.
    You said that they can see the future,
    And by looking at your eyes, I'm convinced they do.
    You also said that they're never really gone during the day,
    We can't just see them but they're always there.
    I was never fond of astronomy, but I always believe you.
    Especially when you told me I was your polaris,
    Though I don't really know what a Polaris is,
    But you said I was your guiding star.
    Since then, I've never looked at the sky the same way ever again.

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    I've never looked at the sky the same way ever again.

    ©calldispatch

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  • calldispatch 41w

    I'm out with myself again
    Walking at the park
    Scrutinizing the roads
    Counting the trees,
    Talking to the grasshoppers
    Adoring the sunset
    Hating the skyscrapers
    Watching the caterpillars


    It's actually humbling, you know
    how a caterpillar
    Hides its metamorphosis
    In a rough ugly cocoon.
    How it goes in naked
    And comes out with a ravishing dress.
    Like a senior going to a prom
    and bagged the prom queen award just that. 


    It's getting dark,
    And I'm still walking on
    What seems to be an endless road.
    The fireflies are out again
    With their lamps on their butts
    Adorning the only tree
    at the center of the park.
    They seem to be fond of Christmas.
    The one with trees and flowers 
    And moon and stars. 


    Walking is a tiring thing to do
    Especially, when you have no one
    To hold hands to.
    So, I sit on the bench near the trash can
    With a "non-biodegradable" sign on it
    But, is actually brimming with
    Crumpled papers of unfinished poetries.
    "Those papers are where
    they're supposed to", I muttered.
    "Poetries don't biodegrade.
    Papers do, but not poetries."


    I picked one up and neaten it
    The ink is still fresh but the
    Words aren't, so is the one
    Who wrote it I suppose.
    "If love's a game, I'd be a fool. Trapp"
    engraved in the papers.
    "Another heartbreak story", I sighed. 
    They just don't go out of style, don't they? 
    I pick another up and read the words
    "I LOVED YOU" at the top of the paper
    all written in capital letters 
    The paper is soaked, 
    With tears? We don't know

    #Miraquill #Poetry #POTD

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    At the Park

    "Poetries don't biodegrade.
    Papers do, but not poetries."
    ©calldispatch

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  • calldispatch 105w

    Word Prompt:

    Write a 10 word micro-tale on Jealousy

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    Jealousy crushes the soul more than it bruises the body

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  • calldispatch 105w

    The rain remembers how it feels like
    Falling on you,
    And Feeling your body.

    We're two distant storms,
    And this is how we should be.

    We bid farewell,
    But we long to stay.

    ©calldispatch

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  • calldispatch 127w

    What's more painful than the death of passion, Aurora?

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