And just like that,
the tide pulled me
back out drowned.
The low hum of
the current, tuning me
to the frequency of a lost
signal.
When I was little,
the ghosts—
they frightened me
as they
surrounded me in
bed.
Today they grip
my soul, tearing one
piece at a time,
suffocating me as they
try to escape the
graveyard of memories
haunting my head.
This sadness–stitching
fragments of moments into
emotion woven by the
unforgiving needle of time.
I spoke to the sun the other
night, as she spoke back—
her voice dissolved all the
fright.
The flood shows up in
a flash and I never did
learn to swim.
It comes for me—because
the storm is mine.
Standing at the edge of
the cliff, I’ve learned to
take a step back, but tonight
I cannot control the weather.
But I can see the pattern.
It’s no longer the storm I track
so I embrace the winds
of ambivalence with love
as they fade.
It isn’t poetic.
I know they’ll be back
-
Author:
– NoeticNonsense (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: July 12th, 2026 02:18
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 6
- Users favorite of this poem: Cheeky Missy, A.N.
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Comments2
This raw reflection beautifully captures the cyclical nature of sorrow, however the resilient spirit remains standing to weather the inevitable return. Nice poem!
I appreciate your kind words!!!
This write leaves me with the feeling of being alone in the stormy night in precarious ground. Well written and imaged
Thank you so much!
My pleasure
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