Stranger things

Jessiepinkss2022/01/22 21:41

A poem about life's lineage, portraying the earth and humans painful bliss. It lines also talks about how broken life's tales and happenings can be to our reality

Stranger things

Stranger Things

Stranger things of the world's stains,

Stranger things like my mama's tales.

I was but four when my father taught me the ways of the world's sinful traits.

I remember sitting by my window sill looking to the stars, wondering what is to be and what not to be, as the days go by with its eventful linens.

It seems like yesterday, when my mama would sit me to her laps, and whisper cheery tales of her childhood.

She would tell wild fantasy, how I should dream like the wind, live up fairy tales as a princess, I was only but living behind a false wall, a shrill facade.

And then I clocked thirteen, and my castle came crumbling like waterfalls, that was the day reality came knocking, coming with it, revelations.

It started with my friend, "Nancy", as she slips into the night, strolling with the lights as a guide, cradling into the devil's crib.

"She has gone to walk the path of womanhood" they said, but no more lies could I be told, for I knew of their truths.

Stranger things are when you watch life slip out of earth's fingers, simmering into the winds, as it hightails to the hills.

turned sixteen, the sweet year of the universe, as I watch the dried up autumn leafs dance to the drums of nature, the sweet smell of the air, bringing my taste bud to glee.

Stranger things are the works of nature, its delightful blossoms, its buzzing songs, its magical moments of life, the blissful climate, staging different garments to the atmosphere.

Now slipping into the sparks of "eighteen", my mama took me by the palm, this time sitting me to the couch, as she finally tries to fix me into the lines of the so said "womanhood", "might sound strange" her lips pours out, clueless of my already unraveled sights to the "world's sins", how little she knew of my streams.

Stranger things are that of my universe, its divert ways, paving stray dreams into my sill, making my revolving world stand still.

And then it was the "twenties", "the joy of adulthood" they labeled it, where the world is fully at its legal glory, where its fully accustomed to its demons, its sins.

My papa had told me a while back, "you best know your ways at twenty", I am still at clueless gates.

Stranger things are my parents built up castle for me, as they seal up my world with depressed facades, keeping my shadows still in the dark, watching with oblivion as I wither slowly with the night.

Alas, forth comes the "twenty first century", dying down their claims of beauty, as they burn incense to my pains, my still depressed heart now filled to the tip, but life goes on without a slip to its teeth.

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