Dirt by Caroline Tiss

Dirt by Caroline Tiss

One day I will become the dirt
Melting into the earth
And these days of running through the night
Looking into each others eyes
Kissing her beneath a gem studded sky
Will be gone from me
And lost in the ever changing wheel of time
Laughing over fireflies in the summer heat
Weeping in the hospital
And smoking cigarettes in the fresh fallen snow
No one will ever know.

Comments

The Sun Journal Entry - Caroline Tiss 7/30/2022

The Sun - Caroline Tiss A child, a lover, a girl. Seventeen yet so surreal. I want to rise with this day dawning. The morning arises with the cracking whip of dawn, like lightning, like the fading of summer into an autumn chill, announcing the presence of her magnificence, Look upon the sun, Ask him what's his name? How long has it been since he has faced the terror of his past. Woman at his side, walking on glass. Years pass, she's torn between her lover and all she wants and more. Can we simply stop? Let us find what makes us satisfied. We are only as balanced as we become, and even then anything can change. So Swiftly, you would hear everything Cry and Bleed. So please, Look at yourself and all of the mess that we've become. You are not lost. But all is at stake. So love it or leave it, Drink it or beat it, Hate me or call me a Heathen. I do not give a damn. But look at what you have created. Please don't deny it. Just observe, think please. Don't listen to any...

Deceit poem by Caroline Tiss

Deceit To claim that you "cannot deny" is false. People can deny anything they want, and they continue to. You could deny yourself into an absolute and utter lie, You deny yourself into deceit and I will not be there to catch you if you fall, A wolf in sheep's clothing is much worse than no wolf at all.

Journal Entry - Caroline Tiss - 7/14/2022

Caroline Tiss - Entry - 7/14/2022 It’s so strange how nobody really knows, all in all it’s all just human nature. Aren’t we the same Romans and statues of Baroque. The New Gods are being born as we speak. We are the stairway to heaven, we are the tower of Babel. It’s all so beautiful and I can see it before it happens. It makes me feel like the blood in my veins is running hot with violet enchanted flames. Sometimes I feel like I could end the world singlehandedly, but then I remember the stories, and all the love letters between estranged lovers lost in the mail, lost at sea. And I remember what I live for. Somehow, someway I would love to be the archivist the librarian the bookkeeper, a scribe, a collector of manuscripts and all of the gems of poetry I have found on my journeys. I’d rather be a bit of a Pirate a bit of a vagabond Robin hood, with no real destination except all that I am. It brings me life, and it has been prophesied. The star seeds are now star bl...

Caroline Tiss Writes

Search This Blog