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  • claralynne 3w

    The Short, Serene In-between

    Is there even a word?
    For that brief, beautiful moment.
    That perfect, peaceful nothingness.
    A rather strange, yet comfortable feeling.
    Everything that brings the heart pain, forgotten.
    The dawn meets the eye.
    Serene sentiment.

    Suddenly,
    Pain and memory return.
    Then comes dread.
    A Cumbersome existence hinders.
    Digging deep.
    Finding strength.
    To Get out of bed.

  • claralynne 3w

    Turned TableS

    I used to eat my dinner on the floor.
    It was cold down there,
    and it hadn't been swept.
    When I was done with my feast, Id find myself wanting more.
    It was there on the floor that I wept.
    Feeling empty, longing to be full.
    Hungrier than I was before, I always looked forward to my next to meal.
    I would find myself missing the table that I once had.
    And Suppers that used to be so hot I'd have to wait for it to cool.
    Sometimes I'd light candles and admire their glow.
    And try to convince myself that eating down there wasn't that bad.
    Bunnies of dust all around.
    The once beautiful cherry hardwood covered in dirt.
    I had convinced myself that I didn't need a table like everyone else as I would eat my dessert.

    But then one day I decided that it would be nice to have a place enjoy my meal.
    And that I didn't have to sit down low with all the dust dirt and grime.
    I deserved a table damnit. It was finally time.
    And so I got a table, sturdy not too big, not too small.
    And I remember the first meal I ate -- the most tender and delicious ribeye steak.
    And in the very middle was a twinkling candle that stood tall.
    No more did I eat among the bunnies below that made my stomach churn.
    I finally felt like somebody.
    The tables had turned.

    No more did I feel the sadness as I watched that candle burn.
    Something so simple to most.
    But it's something I've desperately yearned.
    Finally. Feeling like a person.
    Worthy.
    Smiling.
    Meticulously slicing the steak on my plate.
    Feeling satisfied and full after each meal I ate.

    I always hated when he flipped the table.
    And the dinner I slaved would tumble to the floor.
    I wish I didn't have to eat like that anymore.
    Silly dreams, dirty floors, and metaphors.
    Empty inside down to the core. A heart that is sore.
    Dirty little whore.
    Because I got the wrong sauce when I went to the store.
    And now I sit and feast on dinner in the floor.
    Among the dust bunnies. I listen to the beast roar.

  • claralynne 4w

    "Dirty LeaveS"

    Dirty leaves
    I feel like I'm always down.
    I have found home on the ground.
    Eerie silent sound of death all around.
    Summer grieves...
    Silence broken by the breeze.
    It's moments like that where I can finally breathe.
    Feeling so heavy, I manage to look up.
    Parched, I wait for the rain to fill my cup.
    Dry dirt and dirty hands, I bury my sorrows.
    Longing for sunny tomorrows.
    But it will be cold soon.
    And the trees will soon dance nude.
    Something about that is beautiful to me.
    A comforting sight to see.
    Trees become light dancing in the night.
    On a dirt floor.
    That will soon be white.
    Oh, what a ravishing sight.
    Days to come filled with more grey..
    Ghostly, unremarkable.
    I can only hope the silver lining shines bright.
    I hope the cold days to come don't make me too numb.
    And that I continue to see the beauty of the mother that is Earth.
    And that my knees don't give out before spring's birth.
    I hope I hear the sweet of songs of new life .
    And that the chilling sound of death fades into the past.
    And that the dirty leaves leave...and are replaced with vibrant, green blades of grass.
    I'm down on my knees.
    I just don't know how much longer these knees can last.
    ©claralynne

  • claralynne 5w

    Awed by Autumn

    Sweet September Dusks...
    Trees show how to let go soon.
    The end bares beauty.

  • claralynne 5w

    FRIDAY

    I miss the way Friday used to make me feel.
    Waiting for the bell to sound. 
    Days ahead imminently amazing; happiness-bound.

    But now it doesn't matter if Friday's around.
    Or even if my feet touch the ground. 
    Floating on my cloud---round round and round.
    Looking for a meaning... a purpose... or anything profound. 
    What day is it; What time is it? 
    Is the clock even wound?
    Oh what Id do to wind back the clock. 
    To a Friday with afternoon bells and boards covered in chalk. 
    And nights with friends where'd we'd giggle and talk. 

    "Be kind, rewind" on all cassettes. 
    Simple fun and pleasure. Scrunchies and barrettes. 
    Innocent minds and souls. Too young for regrets

    But now, with Friday comes a haze. 
    Days of the week...in a daze. 
    Dazed in the days. 
    Weak at the end of the week. 
    Living in a blur. 
    Walking's a stagger. And talking's a slur. 

    If you can just make it to Friday, that's what they always say. 
    That's when it will all be okay. 
    But how is that so?
    When it's like any other day..
    When time makes no sense and is in constant disarray. 

    I mss how Fridays used to make me feel.
    When I used to laugh for real. 
    When the weekend was tomorrow, and I had nothing but time to kill. 

    The aroma of bacon would feel the air the next morning.
    But now, I'm just mourning....for Friday's that don't exist.
    In a heartbeat, I'd go back.
    I would not resist.
    To hear that Bell again. And a class be dismissed.
    Movie nights With Friends- '10 things I hate about You' and Never been kissed'
    Tart, candy braclets half-eaten on my wrist.
    Goodnight hugs from my mother---Too many things to list.
    Those are the Fridays that I have missed. 

    If I can just make it to Friday....
    For a bit longer... If I can just subsist.
    For now I'll just relish in the fog of nostalgic Friday mist. 
    ©claralynne

  • claralynne 5w

    TO & FRO

    To and Fro.
    One minute high. The next, low.
    Stop. And Go.
    Riding the plateau.
    What was once water where'd we'd row
    Suddenly turns to ice, cold as snow.
    Our story-- what do we have to show?
    In the bitter cold, how will we grow?
    I guess that's just for the universe to know.
    Just how much can our love undergo.
    I guess I'll just go with the flow.
    To and fro.
    If only we could go back to, "hello".
    ©claralynne

  • claralynne 5w

    Sunday Sadness

    Sunday.
    I wish the sun would go away.
    I wish I had the words to say.
    All I do is lay.
    An inner child is dying to play.
    Sunday.
    Most rest.
    Pass money on a tray.
    Sunday.
    Life in disarray.
    Skies are painted grey.
    Nostalgic memories begin to fray.
    For our sins, we eventually pay.
    Sunday.
    ©claralynne

  • claralynne 5w

    Rusted Fork

    Her heart had become hollow; she felt a bit mad.
    Cage door open, yet she would wallow.
    What she thought would heal her had become hard to swallow.

    Existing in space, yet not alive.
    Reality would sting, she dare not leave her hive.
    A soul sweet as honey. A mind like a flower.
    Neverending storms; she could not fathom their power.
    Her battered blooms in battle to survive.
    The light of the sun within her she desperately tried to revive.

    Spectacles of illusion rest upon her face.
    Clad in chains, she danced; in dangled locks and lace.
    Among diamonds, she thought she was. Like Lucy in the sky.
    The moon watched her perish at night. The stars watched her die.

    A perception resembing a kaleidoscope of gloom.
    Heart shaped leaves and white blooms had adorned her tomb.

    What she thought would heal her had become hard to swallow.
    A rusted fork in the road, to the universe, she pleaded, "Please tell me which path to follow."
    ©claralynne

  • claralynne 6w

    Word Prompt:

    Write a 8 word short write-up on Mystery

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    MYSTERY

    Into nothing, I gaze. Unknown seeks to amaze.