Into the World of a Strange Girl

12th May 2013

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Haven

She had a place,

You see.

As far away as she could be,

From the weight of the world around her.

Her place, She deemed

A haven,

With no soul

But her own lonely soul,

Away from the foes and pretenders.

She dreamt it was her lover.

One to protect and comfort her.

So She’d treat the place as so.

Every day She wandered

Lost throughout the world,

Only to come every night

To her lovers arms to be held.

She’d ramble about hopes and dreams

Think about the past

And fret about the future

Etch pen mindlessly to paper

And draw for as long as she was there.

She’d wrestle with her heart and mind.

Which to believe,

And which to follow.

She’d walk away every night,

Comforted but hollow.

Hollow of any resolve any answer,

Any answer to any questions.

Still. She thought she should be thankful.

To her haven, her place and her lover.

She would fold her drawings into flowers

And leave them there;

A piece of her

For comfort.

Little did She know,

Her’s was not the only soul

Who’d made this place a haven.

There was a boy,

You see.

Overly fond of smokes and drinks,

Who beat himself up every night

Digging the very hole he tries to run from.

He longed for one thing.

To be cured of this dull world,

This habit and cage and hell.

The cure,

He was sure,

Was a girl.

She would dream just like he,

Of a better place than she could see.

She would be warm,

And kind,

And thoughtful.

He dreamed of a soul,

One to comfort and hold.

Bright,

But as lonely and yearning as he.

He’d found a place,

As far away as He could be,

From the weight of the world around him.

This place He deemed,

A haven.

So every night He drank

And every morning he’d wander,

Only to find himself there

To be with her.

He’d ramble about hopes and dreams.

He’d think about the past,

And fret about the future.

He’d wrestle with his heart and mind,

Which to follow,

And which to believe.

Then He’d find the most curious thing,

A flower.

One of paper and of ink,

He’d find one every morning ,

Every morning without fail.

He’d open this flower to find something,

They were drawings.

Each one it’s own world.

All bright and unique.

He’d close his eyes

And run his fingers across the paper,

Feel the marks in the grain.

Harsh and distinct,

Troubled artist,

He would think.

He’d save that for last

And take it with him on his leave.

Every morning He left more sad than before

Sad, but comforted more.

Still He thought he should be thankful

To his haven, his place, his girl.

He would take the drawings,

Build a frame,

And frame each one.

A piece of himself,

For protection.

Little did he know,

His was not the only soul

Who’d made this place

A haven. 

(an original poem by Alexis Acosta)

Tagged: She and Helovepoetrypoemslove poemsnarrative poetryfree verse

20th December 2012

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Sometimes I Think of a World I Used to Know

Sometimes I think of a world I used to know

Tainted by this new found scenery

The past six feet in the ground below

So close, so far away from me

Tainted by this new found scenery

I slowly change from who I used to be

So close, so far away from me

I try, I try to stop and think

I slowly change from who I used to be

The future ever quickly approaching

I try, I try to stop and think

Forced to think of the place I should be going

The future ever quickly approaching

The past six feet in the ground below

Forced to think of the place I should be going

Sometimes I think of a world I used to know

~An original poem by Alexis Acosta

Tagged: poetrypoemtraditional poetrypantoum