Poem: Dreams awake

in the back seat of our parents car

we made up dreams as kids

roll down your windows

see the land fall beneath you

as if on a feather you ride

hundreds of colourful balloons

each carrying a piece of your innocent wishes

taking you on this rollercoaster ride

do you remember how things felt

seeing them for the very first time?

and how parents kept

the lastness of things a secret

had to learn on our own

with each passing place

we found ourselves at another crossroad

before too long it's you who takes the wheel

a lone rider with anywhere to go

chasing god where starlight kisses the sky

where sunlight touches the horizon

only the shadow of a tree marks the passing of time

balloons burst, one by one

those innocent wishes making you smile as they rain

when you find yourself at the crossroads in the night

you realize as long as you keep dreams awake

you won’t fall down

with keeping your promises you make your turn

doesn’t seem like the first or the last time

*

This was written as a prompt by the mag: link. 

I usually give up quickly on prompts, but this one kept going...

Poem: Mechanism of war

the things you've said are written on pieces of paper

clipped on the wire like washed laundry

somewhat heavy and somewhat fresh

they seem like ghost letters pleading to stay

                - the way they flutter in the wind

when we sit in silence about the truth

our lives are long car rides into the unknown

our dashboards collecting scent of our days and nights

there it all lies, life in its’ splendour

among billions, my life is just a whisper

but will it ever carry its' own voice?

for I am a writer without a name on the run

if every road leads from birth till death, what's more important,

- the ride or the road?

convinced myself believing my greatest pain

was being misunderstood; in truth,

it was never being heard at all

if we exchange our keys will our hearts finally be quiet?

sometimes we fear where others will lead us to

the walls we build are not high enough

people will climb them or break them down

in the end it only matters what will make better memories

- those you once loved

do they hold a tombstone in your heart

or are they like butterflies who ease your breath?

living is a war, where you recognize what's important and what not

and if it doesn't change us, what's the point of living?

*

Poem: When you hear yourself think

if I spent spring sitting at the river’s edge

expecting nothing, I was probably just waiting

for the sun to ignite my skin -----

                I still ponder there, like the last raven

in the autumn dusk, not quite feeling at home

but close enough to that everlasting light

to stay awhile longer, breathing the sky

knowing you could be more

than this skeleton you've become

                quenching your thirst

                               forging your words

flying your dreams on a kite

only to be shot down

dragging assumptions on the floor

when they should be lighter than air

if there was a washer of our minds

up where the clouds are born

he'd grew weary a long time ago

and quit his job

when you hear yourself think

do you go deaf?

*