Christopher Foster
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Stories (20)
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What Could Have Been?
How far we have fallen. We could have been so much more. Instead we act in ways that are appalling. Because greed has so much allure. We could have been angels. Soaring in the sky. But our short sight shows no angles. We are almost blind. Which sin is it that makes us so proud? We shout over each other, everything so loud. Which sin is it that makes us covet what we don't have. Instead of being happy for others or glad. Humanity in itself has been lost. We'd rather fight and squabble no matter the cost. Oh how far we have fallen. We could have been so much more. I shed tears that I crawl in. While heaven slams shut it's doors. For that I don't blame them. How could I honestly? We are no flowers, only the stems by the end of our odyssey.
By Christopher Foster4 years ago in Poets
Hidden
What do you mean to me? A simple banana on a background of pink. A bright smile whose features hide a shadow, I think. The nutrition you give helps support life, but not having you causes cramps and strife. Yet alas there is more to you than you reveal. Something hidden inside that banana peal. Complex notes and sugars so sweet. Born from a seed hidden under our feet. What dark secrets do your bruises hold? What tender memories can be told? Each mistreatment has left a dark spot. Some on purpose and some of them not. But either way the hurt is still there. After all a banana can never be a pear.
By Christopher Foster4 years ago in Poets
Opinion
My life is in fact, my life. Who I choose to share it with is up to me. You may think it will cause my demise, But we will just have to wait and see. So keep your weathered words to yourself. Don't peck or peak into unwanted places. Keep your opinions on a shelf, and never speak it to our faces. If nothing nice can be said, its better off left alone. Keep those judging thoughts in your head, and let us be on our own. If asked what you think. Well that's a whole new thing. We could talk it over a drink and you know I'd be listening.
By Christopher Foster4 years ago in Poets
Push
You push me away as if I'm on a swing and you expect me to come crawling back. You pluck at my heartstrings as if I were a violin, so that you can hear that sad soundtrack. You miss me and then hate me, discard me, and then need me. You feel me, you see me, you hear me, and then leave me. You toy with my thoughts like tumbling blocks. Scatter them around inside your toybox. You use hushed words and silenced whispers to weave the web that everyone remembers. So that when I come forth into the light, it appears that I am the one who caused this blight. So push away at all my buttons, knowing I have nowhere to run. You push and you push and you push until your plaything is done.
By Christopher Foster4 years ago in Poets
Sinister
Your sinister touch. That slowly blackens my soul. Makes me forget all reason. No matter the toll. Your devilish embrace. Is like heated hands upon my heart. Made to make me feel safe. While snuffing out my spark. You repeatedly beat the words into me, as if they were the thump of a war drum. Slap sickly slights at my name until I am nothing but numb. You who stands above me, so very tall. Your hand on my shoulder but no support at all. Your twisted horns are like the words from your mouth. Confusingly real but they cause so much doubt. Your sinister touch. That has blackened my soul. I've lost myself and now you're all I know.
By Christopher Foster4 years ago in Poets
