POETRY & PROSE
Andrea started writing when she was twelve, penning a 450 page fantasy novel "The Element's Heir" which she is now editing with a more mature perspective. She also writes poetry which she has been periodically posting online.
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For the complete collection visit:
https://hellopoetry.com/andrea-zapiain/
String
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I seem to have left, unknowingly
tethering from the edge of a familiar window
drowning on a coffee stain
in the eyes of a memorable stranger
or hanging from the torn pieces
of my least favorite letter,
a strand of red string
It used to bind me together
tightly, perfectly
almost simulating a whole
The brick and mortar
the absolute, terrible choices
the beautiful aftermath
now left behind.
Perhaps, forever.
I flew away
the North roaring, soaring
unraveling
I burned enough bridges
to shine with the fire of a thousand Suns
so why do I feel so cold?
The gleaming city
the sunrise, somehow off
what exactly did I want before?
The string disintegrated into
a hundred different useless words
What good is my cursed vocabulary?
All I wanted to say was made of porcelain
all I ever was or could have been
deflected by the gleaming possibility
of a life away from predisposition
and even that, my friends, is a lie!
This is my warning, my truth, my curse;
I only ever learned how to unravel.
A Good Day
Green, through the open windows
if we truly were two isolated pieces
weddings, singers, possessive past
I never would have guessed
and yet, I found you intriguing
Was disclosure deterring?
If I drowned in our careless words
would it be such a horrible death?
Dead Language
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Needlepoint on glass
and other objects overlooked
wondering why they exist in the first place
if functionality is first and foremost
and this figurative language goes to flames,
shards and tired metaphors
until nothing means anything
and then what?
Love is a common place and a tired journey
the meaning lost, and found, and lost again
and I wonder if anyone stops to analyze
what their tired words mean to everyone
or if they're just making noises to fill the air
And the look you give a long lost friend
when expressed in phonetics is lost
perhaps because our language is agonizing
as we stay by the bridge watching the rivers
and the tide wipes it all away
Odio
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Amor aquejado por tantas desventuras
Ojos cansados de promesas incumplidas
Descansan sobre el lecho de sus palabras mudas
Declaraciones hechas en silencio y fantasías
Amistad corrompida por años de silencio
Días de miradas frías y completa amargura
Desenvainan la espada que ha destruido su cariño
Afilan las palabras que le llevaron a la locura
Misterios ocultos en tinieblas iluminadas
Secretos guardados por temor a la desgracia
Pensamientos que desmienten a los cuentos de hadas
Crean desplantes de falsa grandeza y oxidada audacia
Si ella hubiera escuchado sus hondos pensamientos
Si él hubiera mirado dentro de sus profundos ojos
Se habrían privado de tantos abatimientos
Habrían salvaguardado sus corazones rotos
Orgullo de él, que temía por si mismo
Cuando ella prejuiciosa criticaba sus acciones
Pero él la quería mundos, universos y abismos
Y ella le amaba sin poner condiciones