A Tale of Two Cups | Short Poem No. 121

A Tale of Two Cups
Photo by Alex on Unsplash

This is the tale cups. . .

It was the best of drinks. . .
. . .It was the worst of drinks.

I consumed my wisdom. . .
. . .I consumed my foolishness.

I was gorged by my belief. . .
. . .I was gorged by my incredulity.

In the night I saw light. . .
. . .In the day I saw dark.

I was inebriated with hope. . .
. . .I was sober in despair.

This poem is a pastiche of “A Tale of Two Cities” by Charles Darwin. Click Here to find a free online version, posted by Gutenberg.org.

How Do I Rip This Heart Out?

Chapter 2020. Honestly Self-Aware.

© Jonathan Swift and WritingWithStrangers, 2020, except where noted otherwise. All rights reserved.

How do I Rip This Heart Out? | Short Poem No. 120

how do i rip this heart out
Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash

How do I rip this heart out of my cold, hardened chest,
to let you see that you’re the best
of my life?

You want to run
and let it go
– our relationship –
because I can’t reciprocate
the emotions of
your love.

You walk away.
But Don’t walk away.
Can’t you see the love
inside of me?

My heart is stuck
like it’s in a cold, hardened chest
– like a diamond trapped in stone –
that I can’t
express.

You walk away.
But Don’t walk away.
Can’t you see the love
inside of me?

Postcards

Chapter 2020. Honestly Self-Aware.

© Jonathan Swift and WritingWithStrangers, 2020, except where noted otherwise. All rights reserved.

Postcards Bring You Back | Poetry Remix No. 58

sunsets on beauty, postcards bring you back
Photo by Kharytonova Antonina on Unsplash

Postcards bring you back:
Moments I can’t recapture
outside of my heart.

Seize Self-Awareness

Chapter 2020. Honestly Self-Aware.

© Jonathan Swift and WritingWithStrangers, 2020, except where noted otherwise. All rights reserved.

Speak. . .Is it over? | Short Poem No. 116

Speak. . .Is it over?
Or is it only starting?
Tell me about love. . .

Speak is it over
Photo by T.H. Chia on Unsplash

. . .As a half-moon halves the dark-azure sky.

Out Here by Myself

© Jonathan Pines and WritingWithStrangers, 2019, except where noted otherwise. All rights reserved.

If You Still Read Me | Short Poem No. 114

If you still read me
Photo by Giulia Bertelli on Unsplash

If you still read me,
Don’t be uneasy to let me go.
I know that I wilted up long ago.

If you still love me, then let me go soon.
If time was life, then your clock has struck noon.
You have a chance to find better-than-me.
Before it is night. . .And you become keen.

Can I babble, like a man who is lost?
I haven’t read you as I turn and toss.

If you still read me,
Don’t be uneasy to let me go.
I know that I wilted up long ago.

The Setting Sun Moves On

© Jonathan Pines and WritingWithStrangers, 2019, except where noted otherwise. All rights reserved.

The Setting Sun Moves On | Short Poem No. 113

You’re dead; gone like the setting sun moves on.
Vacant seats on holidays feel lonely.

The setting sun moves on
Photo by Max Ostwalt on Unsplash

What if I forget you as time moves on?
Or should I just . . .Should I just feel lonely?

Unlock My Book

© Jonathan Pines and WritingWithStrangers, 2019, except where noted otherwise. All rights reserved.