Literary Yard

Search for meaning

‘Blue nostalgia’ and other poems by Lazarus

By: Lazarus

Blue nostalgia

In blue nostalgia—I am sinking,
and I am nowhere to be found,
I’ve descended in her deepness
and I keep on going down.

darkness engulfs me
as waters become colder,
my lungs collapse
under my shoulders.

but in obscurity there is ground
piercing the skin on my feet,
and in the absence of sound,
it’s my mind—I must defeat.

I watch the pendulum swinging,
in the blackness of the night—
the sound of the sirens singing,
I fall further from the light,

and in the solitude of sorrow,
I blindly dismiss tomorrow—
and muster the strength to fight.


The quill

“why must I be cursed—
with this wound that can’t be nursed?”

I’ve got a quill on my wrist,
mine—but without a choice,
tracing my weakened voice,
for all of the world to see,
deeply found within me—
the poet’s weak heart ignites,
and I sink without a fight
and let madam fickle speak,
she says:

“so long as you weep,
and tears flow from your eyes,
your feather will always rise,
to spill your broken heart’s ink.”


A poor man once told me…

“but, they failed to see I could
weave! from my fingertips—magic!
a gift—both splendid and tragic
oozing from my eccrine glands,
that I could paint with my hands
worlds unimagined to them,
that my nose could sniff their fear,
that my words could help them heal
from the pain they felt within,
that with my lips they’d sail the oceans,
feel the flame of my devotion
fueled by the fiends in my head,
but—they chose to run instead
to the arms of other lovers,
those who could write bigger dollars
than the ones from this poor man.”

Leave a Reply

Related Posts