Skylark Poetry

I wake up to the sound of terror echoing from my soul. Knowing that my life needs this. Knowing that I cannot go further without this. I have been trying to avoid the gapping hole, constantly whispering sweet nothings to me, calling me to stay. -urging me to drown. Every waking morning, I question my existence. I ignore the question, I ignore the hollows of my soul. I ignore it so that I may choose life. I ignore it so that I may live. The hollows keep me insane. It keeps me cold It keeps me from getting lost in the sea of the people around me. It keeps me warm. The hollows are feeling neglected. Isla Skylark ~ @artpoetry 28 Sep 2017 ~ 11h30

In all the words I've written, I have lost myself I have betrayed myself I written words untrue to me now. I read the posts, and stories, and poems, That all I felt so deeply about. I do not feel at all now. My passions, a kindness, a true, decent human being. A radiating innocence, A kaleidoscope bubble encasing a heart. Have I betrayed her? Do I want to be her? She believed that she could change the world. She wanted to change the world. She carried so many in her heart. So many has torn her soul. So many has broken her heart. Does she still love? @Art Poetry Isla Skylark 7/9/17 @ 12h35

I sat next to her. I felt a kindred soul. Agasp by her smile. The glint in her eyes. A wave of knowing overtook my soul. I knew. Like I knew. That I know.  An echoing in my soul. Her heart, her mouth without words: Screams reverberated in the caverns of my souls. Her voice, shouting out to find me. She found me waiting.  She found me in limbo. She found me in free fall. And outstripped me with her love. A strange love. An unknown love. A love I could not help, but to love. She eclipsed me. With the ladder she built. With the tree she planted. With her voice she sang. With her freedom she held me. Her heartbeat upon my skin. Her lost strands of hair  - reminders of her constant presence. Her hands, strong, peaceful, knowing, Kind. Her soul, I call home. Written by: Isla Skylark Date: 20/11/2016 _ 18h53 @ArtPoetry

Sadness is inspiring. Depression brings distraught. Happiness holds joy, but is that enough to supply impacting inspiration. Forlorn holds love. Obsession brings distance. Infatuation is temporary, but can sometimes lead to more. Loneliness presents appreciation. Company may be overlooked. Friendships are important, but can be tedious to nurse or preserve. Relationships are precious; Some of them worthless. Mindset holds the key,  but it also holds the barrier. 2015/10/22 @21:04 by Chandra Terblanche @art poetry

It doesn't smell the same anymore... it is almost welcoming... [...    ...] Where is my home? Is my home when I am alone? Is it the space that I own? Is it the place where I was born? The place that I was raised? Is it really where my heart is? And if so, where can I find it - my heart that is? Which brings me to the question: What are my reasons for home? 2016/01/03 @ 21:18 by Chandra Terblanche @art poetry

I am crumbling away Into bits and pieces Into all that I was not before Before I could breath Before I could do Before I could learn to be To be what I thought I wanted to be To be who I desired to be To be how I ought to be Could life consist of a phase such as this? Is it to make me grow? Or is it just to spite me (So I could become cynical) I am crumbling away Pieces of me that once was and ought to be disappear As I settle like the dust that I've become. By Chandra Terblanche 16/05/2015 @15:54 @art poetry

Cutting ties are never easy Could all that I see, Could all that I breathe, Be an illusion? Could all that touch, And all that I hear, Shatter my world? Could all that I say, Could all that I taste, Be senseless? Could all that smell, And all that I think, Amount to no meaning? If all that I believe is not what I believed it to be, Then all that was me cannot be... In the times like these where reflection is necessary, And being is relieving.. For I cannot just believe and not be, For the truth is mine to keep . And although my world shatters And illusion is my future Although meaninglessness stems from my being, And senselessness be the chords I play.. It cannot prohibit me from living. 2014/12/30 @02:35 @art poetry