Poetry Thursday–In Honor of Chester Bennington

Hello, I’ve returned.

I’m not going to lie.  I’ve been trying to motivate myself to write poetry all day, but I couldn’t bring myself to pick up my pen.  Today, I found out that the front man to Linkin Park, Chester Bennington, killed himself.

For the majority of my life, music has been a main outlet for me to keep moving through difficult times.  My favorite bands and the members that make them up have been instrumental in making me who I am.  Linkin Park has been one of those bands for over a decade now.  I grew as they did, and now I grieve as they do.

So today, I’m doing a throwback day of old poetry I have yet to share with anyone.  I did my best to pull things fit for honoring a poet’s dead hero.

Rest in peace, Chester.

 

 

Clinging Cold

Cold hands that come with colder hearts
Clasp desperately at anything they can
To stay afloat in oceans of despair.
You’d be surprised at what a human being
Will do to obtain the illusion of being human.

 

(3).

There was a night when
I fell asleep under a tree.
Out of everywhere I had been,
It seemed the most comfortable to me.

My dreams were vivid,
Full of colors and symbols,
But when I awoke ridged,
I found it hard to stay vigil.

A storm had kicked up while I lay asleep.
It drenched and chilled me to the bone.
That’s when I realized I wasn’t complete—
A skeleton of what I was, without any bones.

 

The Moon

The nothingness is least problematic
When looking at the moon.
Her grace sparks life into inspiration,
Her light coming and going with time,
Dependable like a clock.
Though she changes day to day,
She will always be the same,
Always return to how she was,
Watching us mere mortals from the sky.
The moon will never stop shining light
Upon those that look to her in times of night.
Though the darkness creeps across her
And consumed her until she is new,
The lady, our moon, protects us from the nothingness
By letting it possess her.

 

Reflection

It’s a sad day
When you realize
Your hero
Wears rusty armor.

 

Timing

There’s something burning, taking me away from here.
It’s cold, if you can imagine that
Miniscule feeling of frigid fire
Intensely suffocating one person’s world.
Nothing can be done when this all comes.
Give it all up for a little thing called timing.

 

Introspection

Stars aren’t supposed to be hollow.
They’re made of gasses
And passionate flames.
They shine on those around,
Inspire warmth and growth.
Stars aren’t supposed to be hollow.
Why are you hallow?

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