poetry by gwenyth prince


"Simple Words"

Some days are good Others are the worst Some days I want to drift off to sleep And never wake up Others I want to simply exist

I was born to be special

But don’t we all think that

Some days the walls close in on me

The air in my lungs turns cold

Constricting and restraining

Other days my mind races through a myriad

Of pointless possibilities

Tears fall off rosy cheeks

Innocence is beaten to indifference

Mustering courage

Seems like mourning catastrophes

But some days a catastrophe

Is a minuscule misstep in disguise

Why is the weight of the world

Always on my shoulders

Did I put it there?

Or did this so called God

That I am chastised for not loving?

Words often times fail me

Or maybe I just fail them

Either way I never

Really know what to say

Stuttering through life

Words trapped in throats

That rest there until they rot

Beauty is pain

But there is grief in

Everything that is beautiful

“Pretty” is a simple word

But pin it on a person

And it seems to wither

Away until it has no meaning

The person withers too

It is a tantalizing dance, this life

Teetering on an abyss

Between success and defeat

Between solitude and amity

Between failure and future

But maybe in the end

We are all defeated

And maybe only in failure

Do we find what we

Were looking for all along.

"A Price for Forgiveness"

Put a price on it

Label your repentance

With a dollar sign

Stick a sign in the window

Let the consumers in

Let them pay for your culpability

Your knickknacks made of negligence

Your porcelain made of penitence

Sell them to the highest bidder

Wrap your remorse in newspaper

Load your laxity into the

car of a charismatic customer

Mask your contempt

With delectable wares

Forged from false forgiveness

You exchange your responsibility

For cheap exoneration

Making fortunes from fortitude

Take stock of your owed apologies

But don’t worry if they’re sold out

You’ll most certainly get more

An amend does not

Have to be an Achilles heel

It can be a rehabilitation

For razed relationships

Do not sell your sorrows

Short of what they are worth

A dime a dozen

Does not do well for

A penny for your penance

A restitution is not a debt

But perhaps for you

A dollar made is more

Valuable than a

Stagnant satisfaction or

A price for forgiveness

Words by Gwenyth.

Photo by Eva.