Emrayla's Writings - College: Sophomore year

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Small Poems

Starvation
Gaping at the sky
and why? WHY?
The saddest words
from a joyous life.
Just be here for this moment!
Just be here!
But wind enters touch,
breath enters cold,
and as the words grow old...
The feeling never does.
-Emrayla S.

Being Whole Once a Week
This is the part
where you disappear again.
Close the curtain.
hang up the phone.
Close the IM,
because nobody's home.
This is the part
where you become a dream again.
Some song I sing at night
a tune sad but hopeful.
Someday far away.
Someday far away...
This poem will make sense,
but never be real again.
-Emrayla S.

Young Gems With Sharp Edges
Slammed door,
locked door,
something off the hinge door.
Open to the cold door.
Something isn't right;
frigid in the light.
How could the fire get so cold?
and the walls are covered in mold.
Yet I feel so bold
to know that this is right.
Slammed door,
locked door,
something off the hinge door.
Please come and stay the night.
My three children: It's never alright.
I wonder why they fight...
oh yes,
They're hurt.
-Emrayla S.

Hurricane Tremble
It is a storm.
Broken glass shards
invisibly cut bridges
idges
ges
into pieces;
and we choke
on splinters.
Why would the weary eyes wonder?
Why when the waking weeks wane?
Seems insane.
Running to catch up with the eye of the storm.
Tired, weary eyes.
Tired, weary bones.
Tired.
I ask:
Where are the thunder gods?
-Emrayla S.

Day Forgotten
Something fell in the underbelly;
something fragile,
something sickening.
It gorged on black days,
and grew in the night.
Some say it was a parasite,
but really,
it was more of
a victim.
Funny how these things work out.
It really had its good intentions,
but so did the parasites.
Someday, maybe wednesday,
We'll see the underbelly is gone.
Or maybe, a hopeful, but promise-full maybe,
the parasite
will starve.
-Emrayla S.

Rather Through Glass
Glass through kisses,
miles by misses,
through a home sick groan
moments caught in stone.
Really an ache,
or a throat hollow
that's hard to swallow.
A tingle;
mingled up with want.
Something late
missing like the hours in the day.
a missing melodic mono- ...no. bi-l'amore.
Come again, I want some more.
I miss you.
l'amore.
-Emrayla S.

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Starvation Gaping at the sky and why? WHY? The saddest words from a joyous life. Just be here for this moment! Just be here! But wind enters touch, breath enters cold, and as the words grow old... The feeling never does. -Emrayla S.		Being Whole Once a Week This is the part where you disappear again. Close the curtain. hang up the phone. Close the IM, because nobody's home. This is the part where you become a dream again. Some song I sing at night a tune sad but hopeful. Someday far away. Someday far away... This poem will make sense, but never be real again. -Emrayla S.
	Young Gems With Sharp Edges Slammed door, locked door, something off the hinge door. Open to the cold door. Something isn't right; frigid in the light. How could the fire get so cold? and the walls are covered in mold. Yet I feel so bold to know that this is right. Slammed door, locked door, something off the hinge door. Please come and stay the night. My three children: It's never alright. I wonder why they fight... oh yes, They're hurt. -Emrayla S.
Hurricane Tremble It is a storm. Broken glass shards invisibly cut bridges idges ges into pieces; and we choke on splinters. Why would the weary eyes wonder? Why when the waking weeks wane? Seems insane. Running to catch up with the eye of the storm. Tired, weary eyes. Tired, weary bones. Tired. I ask: Where are the thunder gods? -Emrayla S.		Day Forgotten Something fell in the underbelly; something fragile, something sickening. It gorged on black days, and grew in the night. Some say it was a parasite, but really, it was more of a victim. Funny how these things work out. It really had its good intentions, but so did the parasites. Someday, maybe wednesday, We'll see the underbelly is gone. Or maybe, a hopeful, but promise-full maybe, the parasite will starve. -Emrayla S.
	Rather Through Glass Glass through kisses, miles by misses, through a home sick groan moments caught in stone. Really an ache, or a throat hollow that's hard to swallow. A tingle; mingled up with want. Something late missing like the hours in the day. a missing melodic mono- ...no. bi-l'amore. Come again, I want some more. I miss you. l'amore. -Emrayla S.