I’m holding in, the moment,
An attempt to slow it,
Hiding behind the spider webs,
Screaming in the kitchen,
They sleep in their beds,
Fearing under the sheets,
Picking away scabs,
Where the rivers meet.
Hiding within the treatment
Rendering explicit content.
Pending in agreement.
Call drama, I call it resistance I call it the system. Problems of your own, each take our turn.
Find the lesson learned.
Steps to discern,
Mass Hysteria, filter screwed, spilt and strung was a good idea lewd.
Skewed the linear, lines in the same direction and game color or fame.
Tick tock, toppled rock, pedestrian.
Your voice coming in over the bend, through the resistor radioactive waves fender and crash in a bender.
Wouldn’t trap flowers.
Full is the blender,
which harbors apologies, sparingly they are spattered out with candy.
You say to me speak.
the leaf a symbol of life left in this,
This town is,
but a tease
it grows in size, cries, and returns with rats by its sides.
Natural selection – i reckon it weeps. Seeds to speak,
I’m tired of these.
Shoes On, sewn up with deciduous trees,
Fragments at least.
Black and blue in color and we both bleed the same.
Our Knees hit harder on the choices we go to war with,
returning the army of a souls propriety. Crushing grapes near the highway.
We shift and breathe,
again we’re relieved.
Faces on pause,
people backing up in lines
that they fled,
in beauty and its relentless serpents.
Toeing the line with gathered up repents.
It’s not enough to survive,
it’s not enough to come alive,
No, I say to you it’s not enough to speak your mind.
There’s no one that doesn’t have an open ear to hear,
maybe they’re just tired of the story you should have already sent intoxicated into retirement.
I create this sad state.
Could you relate to the
A plate filled,
Yet a hunger –
Feelings for the unforgiven.
The mutters and complaints,
In a prison.
here, listen “dependance”
You hear what you want to hear.
The prism, the crystal struck in white
Without the right color to create.
Trying and failing to
Reach a temple,
Deep in recoil,
Recovery a notion,
For the extra weight,
Placed on your back,
The pain that broke the camels
I miss where we were going,
I redirected the story.
No, concerning . .
Are we learning from this,
Or repeating our former glories,
The ones we thought had been buried.
The air is thickened and burning,
Can you see me yearning.
Stomach turning, mourning.
Poem by Rebekah Burns.
I am an avid writer, based in Brick, New Jersey. I have been writing for 15 years and aspire to write professionally. My writing aesthetic is generally based on internal issues that arise in thought, and inter-personal relationships. However I have branched out to work on political, gender, and demographical poetry. I was recently published in New Jersey Bard’s Central Poetry Review. (April 2020) Poem: Misstep.