Never Look Back

Someday she'll be gone, she'll have left all alone.

They'll catch on eventually, without having known

The puzzle pieced burden of her created norm,

How she sobbed through the nights, braving the storm.

The lightning, so vibrant, flashed 'cross the sky,

Jumping the clouds; what a horrible lie.

Thunder surrounded her mind's endless trail,

Severing her thoughts by a single derail.

Whirlwinds surpassed her expectations by far,

Tossing existance past moons and a star.

Tempests threw tantrums, hail twirled wind,

Rain flooded her vision, forcing her blind.

She stumbled through toxic droplets above,

Filled with a hope fueld by love.

How dangerous that love had turned out to be,

When reduced to a lowly state of nothing was she.

So gradually she faded from the plain sight

Of peeping eyes who see with their all of their might.

Creatures who chose to selectively view 

That her pathway was overly thrown askew.

She left in whisper, she ran to the black,

Not knowing, not caring, not turning her back.






Whatever storms may block Her path, She'll never reach the end,

For I can see deep in the black, and it's without a friend.

The wind is ever howling, like demons in the sky,

The sun is ever blinding, a sky that isn't shy.

The dark is but a nightmare, black and sly and sleek,

And the mountains are oppressing, it sleekly kills the meek. 

The rain will turn to hail, bullets turned to cold,

And frost will grab Her heart, hope becoming old. 

The darkness holds no pleasure, inside its deathly folds,

And if She keeps on looking, it's weapons won't need molds. 

I know She won't stay strong, as She flees to hope gone wry,

With all assailants nearing Her, She will begin to cry. 

Her love is gone and lost, Her haven left Her alone,

Reaching for his lover, and leaving Her as bones. 

The night will close around Her, as she succumbs to death,

Done with the pretending, done with faking breath. 

But lo, what glory yonder? What light is seen above?

How could somebody love Her? Who would send this dove?

But before She even saw it, the storm had blocked Her way,

Presenting all it's dangers, preventing light from day. 

She set her jaw-determined, to give it one last try,

And ran again into the wind, leaving deaths vile cry. 

Now, the love that She was seeking, before she wailed and cried,

Was little more than a dust speck, born anew, her old self died. 

She now knew love was not one storm, to be conquered in one night, 

Love is the eye of a hurricane, surrounded by an endless fight. 

So don't sit down with tears in your eye, get up off that old floor!

This game is not yet over, your lover requires more. 


Perhaps it is human nature to seek out hidden things?
Or is it just to reach for things unseen?
The mysteries of the mind are unsolved, and will remain as such.
Though many have tried to uncover its secrets, none will.
The mind is meant to be a maze.
Yet another of its tenacities is to serve as a field of discovery,
As to entertain the detectives of the world.
Those who seek out the imaginary problems of all but their own, 
Who piece together nonexistent nightmares, who solve endless and eternal puzzles.
The detectives stubbornly manipulate the endless mind games of others.
Prying apart lives is their habit, and piecing them together their hobby.
They maneuver players around the board, their best intentions at heart.
Believing the choices made throughout the game are up to only them, 
Refusal to alternatives is inevitable. 
When will they wrap their minds around the idea of a multi person game?
No game can be conquered alone, even Uno takes two.
But detectives’ eyes are blind, staring straight and never grasping the whole picture. 
The detectives’ stubborn clasp on the dice is unwavering and uninviting, 
The protective nature instilled long ago, walls built to touch the stars.
It is easier for them to play the game alone, then to force others to lose on their account.
If only they knew of the peace away from games.
The freedom immeasurable, the light finally achieved at the end of the tunnel. 
The detectives will one day come to realize the burden they bear, 
If only they would release the dice, pulling apart their petrified fingers.
The board game slipping through their palms would ease the pain of the game, 
Followed by the stinging and slicing of the cards, dropping one by one into the darkness below, 
Each card a sliver of time wasted.
Lastly, the pieces of the game, tumbling through the air.
These are the hardest to let go, their familiarity would be clung to firmly, 
But the detectives know better. 
At last, all of the pieces gliding by, the detectives’ freedom would be achieved. 
The games of others irrelevant, the comprehension of their own puzzles realized.
At last, they are able to remember the reason they became detectives.
The wonder, the discovery, the urgency of curiosity.
Perhaps freedom will teach them to fly.

Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741