Young Writers Society

solivagant xv

purple is the color
you paint your heart;
i can see you doing it,
in my mind.
you crush violets and
measure out their particles
of color to 4 decimal places,
because you're scientific.
but you're mixing your own
paints in the first place
because you want to be a
part of the process,
because you care.

we read the bible together and
there was a line about forgiveness:
"I say not unto thee,
Until seven times: but,
Until seventy times seven."
i've had to forgive you
every day for the past seven months,
for the next seventy months,
because you have to leave.

I love that last one <3 It appeals to my senses and my mind c: I also just really like your writing style.

Thank you so much @TheBlueCat ! I’m glad you liked it so much. I was a little worried, since I’ve never really put religious references in poems before, but I thought it fit.

solivagant xvi

I am grey.

I am the grey in between the
black and the white,
the median between two extremes.
I sit on the fence on all issues,
refusing -- unable -- to choose a side.
It's not indecisive because
I know where I stand.

I am grey.
I am the mediator of
all debates because I want
neither side to win --
or is it both?
Maybe it takes both
to be impartial.

I am grey.
The color of quiet, rainy days.
The color of shadows and of
age and fading.
The color of invisibility.

solivagant xvii

Aunt:
Her kindness is brusque,
She shows love through quiet work:
A practical Saint.

Uncle:
His own rules falter
Because his love is boundless --
Infinite wisdom.

Father:
His mind is rigid:
For what is life without rules?
He can't help but care.

Mother:
Her words are peaceful,
Slow, though her mind is quicker
She has much patience.

solivagant xviii

I've never known the nature of things,
only of you and I.
The words we spin like spider-silk,
the expectations we defy.

I wouldn't follow you to the end of the earth,
because I know we'd walk side by side.
You've seen me sing of darkness,
and I've held you when you've cried.

Our imagination knows no bounds,
building towers to the sky;
they'll stay with me as monuments
the day you say good-bye.

solivagant xix

He's a glass half full kind of guy,
thinks that all paths
converge,
a great meeting of fate.

I'm not an optimist, but I go along
because I like the idea that
our meeting might have been
fate.
If it was, it was the
wrong kind of fate because our
ways part too soon;
I'm left with the question of
whether it was better to have
known him at all.

The glass is half empty and
draining as fast as his
heartbeat is failing,
and I think that maybe
this hurts more.
He would say it was worth it.

solivagant xx

they told me to wish
upon a star,
anything I wanted.
up in the great blackness,
the stars seemed so tiny and
far far away that
a whispered wish could ne'er be heard.
I waited 'till day to
shout up at the sun
using the loudest voice I knew,
because it was the closest star I knew.
and maybe, if I was loud enough
and the sun was close enough,
it would hear my wish and
bring my mom home.

now I look up at the sun and
imagine that it's her face,
beaming down on me and saying she's
proud, proud, proud.
I wish on moonbeams and smooth stones,
on wishing wells and ribbons,
for simple things like sun;
I wouldn't be able to face
such disappointment
again.

solivagant xxi

I push the heavy covers back.
Still dark.
Bare feet slap quietly against
the cool, wooden floors.
Fabric gently rasps against fabric
as I pull on my coat, then
slip on my shoes.
Their soles tap softly on the
sidewalk as I leave the house.

It's empty outside,
nighttime,
but there's a tingling sense to it.
As if there are noises, or at least
the thoughts of noises,
just subdued by the darkness but
under the surface anyway,
waiting to work their way out.

The air is cool on my cheeks and
goosebumps creep up my arms
despite the jacket.
It rained earlier in the night and
the air is ripe with the smell of
wet, clean earth.
It rolls easily beneath my shoes
as I ascend the hill.
When I sit, the dew seeps into
the bottoms of my legs,
but it wakes me up.
Invigorates me.

The air begins to hum and
off in the east, a hint of lightness.
The stars wink out slowly,
one by one,
fading beneath the radiance
of a closer Sun.
Clouds near invisible before
realize their own shapes and forms,
coming alive with the
dawning of the day.

A lone bird tentatively
gives voice to its early morning thoughts,
and the sky blushes pink
as if in response.
The cooling breeze warms me now,
and a tongue of light and
heat reaches above the horizon
to touch my face.

Oof. That last one's imagery is freaking amazing <3

solivagant xxii

The dog follows me everywhere.

I'm not a responsible person and
even when my parents
remind me to feed him,
sometimes I don't.
He wouldn't stay unless this was better
than what he left,
but I don't like to think about that.

There's a tattered leash
around his neck, and I don't take it off.
When he follows me home from school,
I'll hold it like I'm walking him,
though he's really walking me.
When he wanders around,
when I'm not there,
I think the leash helps others think
maybe he just got away from someone.
Maybe it keeps them from reporting him.

As much as my parents insist on
feeding the dog,
they insist he stay out of the house.
It's like they can't commit to
having or not having
a dog.
My father taught me how to use
power tools and cut wood,
so I made a hole in the garage.
My family found they couldn't
fault me for that,
and so he stays.

I haven't named him yet because
the name that would fit him would hit
too close to home.
The dog follows me everywhere.
But both of us are going
nowhere.

solivagant xxiii

Moi?
Je pense que les fleurs
sont le plus belles en hiver,
quand elles sont le plus
rares.

Une fleure -- rose --
dans la neige blanche,
ou une fleur des plusieurs fleurs,
tous en couleurs différentes?
C'est la même fleur,
mais elle est changé
par l’endroit.

Je pense que je suis
la seule fleur
dans la neige de la vie.
Je ne vois jamais
un couleur qui n'est pas
le même blanc.

solivagant xxiv

Your skin is sun-scorched,
not "sun-kissed",
because you love going out but
hate putting on sunscreen.

Your glasses are taped at
the screws, because that's where
real glasses break.
Never the bridge.
You tell me that's what marks you
as a "true nerd".

Half of your fashion is
one with what the world says;
the other half was found in
Goodwill stores.
That's how I know you're real,
because you know yourself
well enough to know
that it's okay to follow the crowd
as much as it's okay to
wear things long out of style.

Your hair is brown,
not mousy and "dull"
like all the fantasy books love to claim.
It's deep velvet chocolate and
strong rooted trees and
dried spices in jars.

You are beautiful.

Oh I really love this one here <3 It reminds me of myself(which honestly kinda spooked me xD)

solivagant xxv

the night was an indigo dream
after the fiery sulphur sunset.
the cool air washed over us like
watercolor painting,
a sharp relief after the
short-tempered summer heat wave.

the summer wasn't the only thing
with a short temper that year.

the world was descending into violence
(or so it seemed)
a terrible time of
anger and indecision,
demanding everyone pick a side.

the only side I picked
was yours.

we lay side by side in the grass;
it was brilliant green in the daytime,
but at night it was the black backdrop
to our clasped hands.
your eyes in the darkness were brighter
than a thousand summer suns.

we thought that our lives were ending,
but mine continues on.