Upon the Stones

Upon the Stones

A Poem by Comatose
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Blah.

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I wish I could understand,

Wish to discern why
I hate the feel of sand,

Or the dreams make me cry.

Maybe it’s the illusions blur,
The utopia, or restless sleep,
But I lay beside a river,
 
The water nudging my feet.

I feel light as the air,
 
Laughter trapped within my throat.
So free yet so ensnared
Weighed down yet lost afloat.

But I still feel high with such relief
Somehow, I know you are here
To carry away the pain and grief
To heal the wound and brush the tear

I used to always visit this place,
Used to pick the flowers along the stream,
The fact is still always so hard to face
That this place is only but a dream.

Suddenly I awake,
Once again realize the truth,
I'm just sleeping on the stones,
Of dead and lost youth.

I never was by the waves,
I never floated high.
I’m still amoungst the graves,
Still wishing you never died.

I never picked the flowers,
Never ran until the dawn.
I slept my utopia into the hours,
But now the night's moment is gone.
 

How I wish that it was all real,
Wish it was true, but life must go on.
Somehow pick up, endure without you,
And vainly grasp at memories forgone.

Slowly pick myself up off the ground
Turn back to the city of neon and chrome.
Glaring at the lights, long ago found
It just feels a bit too much like home.
 

There’s more  than simple ache

I can feel it in skin and bones

There is still a sigh resting upon the lake
From sleeping upon the stones.

© 2016 Comatose


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Posted 8 Years Ago



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Added on April 3, 2011
Last Updated on February 13, 2016

Author

Comatose
Comatose

Twin Falls, ID



About
I write poetry and stories, which is obviously why I'm on this site. I just want some good criticisim and other people's thoughts on my writing style, simple as that. more..

Writing
2.5.16 2.5.16

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