How one can expect a danger to eternally exist
Is unexplainable to my feeble mind.
And yet,
Mother Nature’s giants continue to sway
Within an impedingly careful grip.
Whose claws torment the mewling glass.
Outside, beneath the fog, rests a graveyard replete of floods.
Hear them Screeching,
Competing,
Crumbling into each other’s arms…
One against One.
There’s no winner in the end, is there?
Ghosts can only view me through the looking-glass,
And they continue to beckon me
Through a wall they cannot glimpse, for the wall is all too abiding.
So am I, in ways I do not wish to be… alive in solitude.
Abandonment encompasses me in bewitching tranquility,
Gapping at my ragged fabrics,
And my ruffled hair,
And my detached eyes…
Which float across my surroundings
And take in only the most cavernous Shadows.
Charred walls commune stories with the Phantoms,
Who recognize that the fireplace is where the climax lies.
Hostage in my own mind
And I am not the only one living here.
The fire is black, but it’s ignition is radiant,
Consigning a singular ray of light
Upon the temptation above my skull.
Dangling within echoes of past torments, the rope rages.
“Do it!”
And through the inferno I transcend.
About the Creator
Jordyn
Ellos! My name is Jordyn. I'm currently 23-years-old and I love to write and read! My stories can be dark sometimes, so please read the trigger warnings before reading them! (If there are any.)
A Little Bit Of God
January 2026 I thought I’d spend the night in neon lights on grainy film but my brother is telling me how an eternity of hell is caused by prevalent peace, and who am I to disrupt such a thing? So I found myself in the same skin with the same sights, wondering whether or not I am one of those– do I feel peace? Do I expect more when it is gone? It being everything. We’re running out of time but the car is belching up something strange and we’ve got God in between our eyes nodding along to every apology and plea spoken for our friends and loved ones– they don’t know any better, they’ll come around eventually. He’s telling me about barbed wire guides around lives and ties and wives and lies and, look, the snow is starting to fall so I guess we better hang up soon. But it’s been too long. We’re building fields of skills and realms of distrust and these moments are only seen now, can no longer be read as words, only swept with eyes upon oil pastels or smudged charcoal. It’s a painting of an evening, like Daniel’s soles in Edgar Degas’ mind, but if anything is just it’s the lack of unrest in skin like His and lives like this– okay, so maybe five hours on the phone is a lot if you have a job and you’re trying to cook dinner, but only one of us falls into that gorge and only one of us believes in what lies beneath it. My brother tells me things that sit in my spirit like half an ounce of prospect and a squeeze of bourn, how he tells God to let me in: despite my sins, despite all the moons in between these calls, despite the burning in both of our throats. I do feel peace here. I also feel that my peace is a subpar window job, a pinky’s strength avoiding blizzards inside the bedsheets. I’d like to spend more nights like this, with contrasting disaster living between a speakerphone, and God finding some space in between.
By Olivia Dodge2 days ago in Poets
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