Poetry

Angsty teenage Krystal inc.

Currency - 2019

Spend an hour
Earn a coin
Which profession shall I join?
Spend a coin
Buy a minute
How much life can I fit in it?
Need a dollar?
Spend a year
Each spare moment seems more dear
Save a little
Things are fine
One day I’ll buy back my time.

Running Water - 2014

The withered flowers lose their hue.
The colours fade; the fragrance, too.
And though the sky's still brilliant blue,
The river's cold and grey.

Watching its motions, secret oceans,
There comes to me a subtle notion, 
Wondered sweetly,
How completely happy it must be? 

But fog descends, the river bends,
And in its winding path,
I sense a fear;
A storm is near,
The tempest's stubborn wrath.

Softly called by wind and shadows,
Crawling to that river's shallows,
Leave behind the fields and fallows;
Fall into the water.


Before too long there comes the song
Of raindrops on the shore.
The ripples grow, the rivers flow,
And I am gone once more.

An Ending - 2012

I watch my end completing
As if it were not mine,
As if I were but sleeping
Awash in all my lies.
So soon my heart stops beating;
So soon my eyes fog blind;
A part of me is grieving,
But mostly I don't mind.

Until the darkened shadows
Come seeking my demise;
Each one a faded memory,
A waste of precious time.
They whisper ever softly,
Remind me as I die,
That all my life is darkness,
That all their faults are mine.

They count my laboured breathing,
And tell me of my crimes,
Each one a moment fleeting,
An evil left behind.
I feel my own soul leave me;
I hear my final sigh;
My dying thoughts deceive me;
There's no one left to cry.

Mediocrity - 2010

The sunrise tolling has begun
Like every day
For every sun
Reminding when to eat, to sleep
That dawn has come
What time to keep
There and then and never after
Hoping seconds don't tick faster
Instinct hardly seems to matter
Clock hands shifting are our master
Controlling, holding
Every way
The tolling of the day.

The Turning - 2010

I never cried when you fell ill.
I never tried to keep you still.
You never died; you never will.
You're violet blooms; you're daffodil.

And though winds cry of winter's chill,
Though birds leave shy your windowsill,
Until I die I'll see you still
As violet blooms and daffodil.