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KIROKAZE
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Misplaced Lens Cap
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@thepoetwholived
Title: Pain as the seasons change
There is a day it finally stops hurting.
It will be in October,
On a Monday after a unforgiving Sunday
No grant moment of healing,
No final tears shed.
You will wake up early at sunrise,
See the autumn leafs,
And breathe for the first time in a long time.
Everything will be okay when the snow melts.
Title: Sunday Dinner
It is Sunday Dinner,
And you are loved.
Father is coming home soon,
Mother promises to let you help in the kitchen.
Your drawings are hang on the fridge,
And a childhood movie is playing on the old TV.
You are 7 again,
You are loved.
But you don't remember being 7,
You don't remember Sunday Dinner,
Do you?
Title: The Old Oak Tree
When death greets me after my final act,
He will offer a warm smile,
And lead me by the hand.
He will bury me under the old oak tree,
The moon my final view.
I will be buried beneath the autumn leaves,
The leaves a lullaby under the stars.
No regrets,
No guilt in ending the play too soon.
My life was cold,
But the leaves offer warmth I’ve never known.
And when Death buries me beneath those autumn leaves,
I will be granted the rest I deserve
Tittle: Pen and Paper
As I lay in our old wedding bed,
I listen as Death quietly calls upon me.
And now a final request.
A pen from our son,
Paper from the sketchbook that captured your final day,
And your wedding ring within reach.
On this paper,
I will pen a description of you.
Words that bleed the beauty you held,
Stanzas that depict the love never forgotten,
Written in the deepest longing literature can convey.
And as I write my final verb,
Death fills my hand with yours.
42 years of waiting a memory,
An eternity ahead,
And evidence of your beauty left behind.
Tittle: July
A christmas tree is a tragedy in July.
In December,
The tree was a symbol of love and hope.
Decorated with care,
Touched by a loving mother's hand.
But December was a long time ago.
Now the tree stands in the corner,
Confined between broken cardboard boxes.
A man leaves,
A woman cries.
And when the door closes,
The tree is not the only forgotten love once shared.
loose leaves fall
and the yellow bird sings
your heart was mine once
i’ll remember you in everything
some words grow old waiting to be spoken.
based on Alan Summers,’s prompt circa 2011 from the NaHaiWriMo’s website - regret or regrets
[ Instagram: bonepsalm ] [ TikTok: bonepsalm_ ]
Like the silence between heartbeats,
Some things are as good as they last:
If it lasts some time, it's peace;
If it lasts forever, it's death.
<Unnamed> || October 2025
being alive is like playing an instrument. just try to find the one you can play, so you can write your song in peace.
My website is in the works!
I'm working on my official blog as of today! Unfortunately wordpress takes time to work with meaning no poem today lol. On my tumblr, I post mostly revised but drafts of my poetry. On this blog you will find my true poetry collection! The poetry there will be smoothed, often rewritten somewhat and overall more emotionally hitting! Along with a few peices exclusive to my website! Once I have that up, you can enjoy not only my poetry here but my best work there!
This type of posting on my socials is to get feedback before officially adding a poem to my collection and to have a place with my best work!
I will update when the website is done!
Y'all have showed so much love already and I appreciate it! Makes it feel like my writing has more meaning
Love y'all 😊🩷
(Exclude any typos, I am too tired to spell check)
Title: Flowers
I was put to rest on Monday.
It was the day after I took my final breath,
And two days since I saw the flowers.
Tuesday,
The sun will cast gold over my grave
And to no surprise,
You were the one who angled the sun on Friday.
One day you move on as the world above continues,
And I find peace with that.
I have the sun to keep me warm.
Tittle: Hairpin
My Sunshine,
I fear our clock sang for the final time.
And that makes tonight our end.
Therefore I want to dance one final time,
Meeting our finale with love in our hearts.
I used my last hair pin to fix the record player,
And I rolled up your mother's rug.
Our audience: the house we built,
The applause whispers of endearment.
And with Sunrise
We take our final bow
Title: A Letter to Death
A letter to Death was penned on a Monday in October.
It was from a man with a beautiful wife,
From a father with golden children,
And from a son who promised he would fly at 9.
But love could not wash away the anguish burrowed deep.
And when rest was witheld,
He wrote a letter to Death.
It was written on a Monday morning.
But Death did not reply by Friday night.
Thus the man could not wait another Saturday.
He decided to fly at 29 with the stars to witness,
The moon to provide a warm goodnight.
And the silence of departing was Death's answer.
A request answered without ink,
A plea answered without paper.
A choice when no other was given.
The price was leaving,
A choice he had to make on his own.
Title: Mice
Mice are pests,
And so are we.
We search for scraps to survive the coming night.
Scraps of validation.
We search the concrete floor
Consuming each scrap as if its our last,
And wipe the tears when the scraps run dry.
But all too soon,
the kitchen is cast in the gold of the morning sun.
And suddenly we scurry,
Hiding until the next scrap is dropped by the kitchen sink.
