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tumbling into waterfalls

Miscellaneous By: fireflystar
Poetry



Definitely haven't written anything like this before. It's different.
Felt better for it though.
Also let me know if this classes as pros poetry because if it does i will get very excited lol, always wanted to write one of those.
Thoughts please. xx.


Submitted:Feb 4, 2012    Reads: 18    Comments: 1    Likes: 0   


Sadness is like the sea smashing against the rocks of joy.
Happiness is like walking on the edge of a cliff. To close to the edge.
Always on the edge of falling.
Only the best climber can climb back up, only a lead climber because the belayers are either on the edge or on the cliff face also, with no time for anyone else, because it's taking all their strength just to claw up the rocks or let the rocks crumble beneath them. Taking them to the very bottom.
What's the point of happiness if all we do is fall into the surf.
What's the point if they are reduced to cold nights in the dark when they should be allowed candle lit dinners and a walk down a street. Not on the edge of a cliff when he kisses her goodbye, and goes away to sing at university.
What's the point if she lives with her previous lover but doesn't sleep alone. While he waits in a lonely stupor. Curled up in sheets that were once tearstained and soon may be tearstained again when he is no longer oblivious.
What's the point when he doesn't love her anyway, and only believes that he is in love with another. The girl who wrapped him up in chains to try and set him free. Because he tied her down. All they've succeeded in doing is tying themselves closer together with different knots which will allow them both to tumble over the edge.
What's the point if she knows to save them both, she can never tumble into his arms again. And if he hasn't changed she knows his arms won't be there to catch her anyway. Because they never really were. But when she closes her eyes.
That's exactly where she'll be.
Their first kiss after years of waiting, or so he said, and so she believed. Lying in his arms on the grass by the stone steps.
On a cold winter night. In the dark, except for the first and last time she didn't feel the cold because he kept her warm. Though she was confused, at least she was happy.
Long summer days stretched out on a field, running and hiding and seeking. Early mornings surrounded by nothing but silence. Days when she watched him, cycling, playing football, and she was proud of him whether he won or not. Lazing in the sun drinking from ice cold cans, listening to music through phone speakers and ordering take away's in the evening light. Long nights surrounded by the smell of freshly cut grass listening to the sound of laughter. Embracing the feeling of happiness. Doing,
Nothing.
But what's the point?
She will never have these days back because she never truly had them. They are snippets of joy crammed together to make one big pointless daydream. They only did nothing because she refuses to remember what they actually did most of the time. The nights when they generally did nothing she's turned into every night, because remembering the truth just makes her tired now.
What's the point if she loves him and misses him.
And hates him.
What's the point of pretending when she is forced to remember reality.
He lies there in a lonely stupor, she wants to hold him. She wants to hate him.
He lays with his new lover his deceiver, kisses her. She wants to kiss him. She wants to warn him that she's playing him at his own game. She wants him to be happy; she wants him to hurt, so that he learns.

She wants to lay with him and cry.
For a while she walked along the edge, climbing various mountains of trust only to reach the top and be thrown to the ground.
The river of joy swept her onwards filling her mind with its glittering surface. Filling her heart until she reaches a waterfall and is washed over the edge. It crushes down upon her shoulders. Suffocating, making it impossible to stand up straight under its weight. Smashing her mockingly against the rocks of joy.
She comes to rest on a jutting out ledge and knows that it's time to move the memories aside and climb up the cliff again.
As emotion flickers back to life then dies,
The memories fade and she begins to think about climbing.
As she slumps on the cliff face, pushes others above her so that they may reach the edge,
as the mountains and the rivers hang tantalising above her, occasionally letting her remember what it is like to walk among them,
She finds herself closing her eyes and reluctantly wondering.
What's the point?





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