I stare at the shed behind my grandmother’s house. So many memories filled its walls. Playing house when we were kids, or helping grandpa mow the lawn.
The house was old, as it was apparent from the outside. The roof tiles were falling in, the weathered wrought iron gate leered at passersby… and yet whomever looked at the house got the feeling that someone lived there… it didn’t feel empty. An if it did, it was only waiting for someone to get back.
I was walking down the old, weathered road. The pavement was grey-ish black, with tire treads staining it and gravel covering it’s cracks. My shoes made the softest padding noise as I started to jog, then I noticed my withered shoelaces were untied. I bent down to tie them when I noticed something from the corner of my eye.
Weathered makes me think of something old, something that has been well-used. I think of the weathered barn in our pasture. It’s cute in it’s own way. It’s old and gray and the boards creak when you step inside. It’s where our cats used to live before they were all gone. One is left, and she is precious.
Jake looked at the old man, sitting in front of him in the dim lit pub. A sad, resigned expression darkened his weathered face. The face of a man that had seen a lot of things, many of which he hadn’t liked at all. Life plays harder on some people, and, apparently, she hadn’t gone easy on him. A small, sad smile played for a moment on his lips, hovering just the time of a heartbeat, than vanished so quickly Jake could’ve easily missed it.
“You’ll learn how to to cope, son. You’ll learn.”
wrinkled down to my bare thoughts, and beaten down layers that gravity has endured for me other the years. Weathered and some say interesting, but who can say if this graceful but not at all elegant awareness has been favourable to my likeness.
He weathered the storm as any sailor worth his salt would, with stoicism and gravitas, his crew had never seen him so much as bat an eye at a storm and he wouldn’t start now.
i want to be encased in glass
in a zoo of oglers
gawked at
i remember you
how you stood there
arms akimbo
flailing wildly
flashy flashed bulbs illuminating
the curved creases in your peasant smile
oh, how you looked weathered
and how i long to be respected.
She has weathered the months since he died but at great cost, barely able to move along to the hospital where her daughter lies not seeing anyone but the ghostly image in the mirror that won’t let go its grip on her features smooth and shining, unused, unweathered, blank.
This city was pretty bad-weathered, but she loved it anyway; how could she not? It was her city, her school, her home. She had been born there and whatever the weather, she could never leave it.
Where do I start. I put my heart into everything, but at the end of the day, my soul is shattered. I can’t help but to think about you slamming me into the ground, that cold day. So unexpected from the person I used to know. Why did it have to end like this? You were my EVERYTHING. When I first met you, I didn’t think we would ever make it this far. The night you came down to my bedroom, I have never cried so hard. You held me in your arms for the rest of the night, and you didn’t even know what happened. Thats what I loved about you. That night, you didn’t even ask me what was going on, you were just there for me, to remind me that there is someone out there that cared for me. Leaving me here so unexpectedly, it’s weathered my soul to the core. I don’t know what will be next of me.
We have weathered the storm. I’m sure some people didn’t believe in us. A few probably thought we wouldn’t make it. But we did. And I like how my friends compare us to a boat. The waves may have been a bit rough at times, the wind making it hard to sail. But the distance that keeps us a part also brings us closer together. We have fostered a love that nothing, especially distance, can stop. And now we are stronger than any storm that we will ever have to weather.
the old porch is weathered from the pounding of the rain and our feet. the old chair is weathered from the hours spent idle, flipping through new pages to discover the new worlds out there. the old face is weathered from the cascades of emotions throughout the years.
We have weathered the storm. I’m sure some people didn’t believe in us. A few probably thought we wouldn’t make it. But we did. And I like how my friends compare us to a boat. The waves may have been a bit rough at times, the wind making it hard to sail. But the distance that keeps us a part also brings us closer together. We have fostered a love that nothing, especially distance, can stop. And now we are stronger than any storm that we will have to weather.
Weathered..
I don’t know whether I should write about weather or whether I should describe the climate change. All I know is that this jacket was gotten for a specific reason, and that reason has been accomplished. Black and white colors are grater with contrasts and thats a fact.
my skin weathered under the sun, i think that my skin needs better prerogative powers to just bypass its solutions and become more effective under the sun so it will be able to hold more power and do not become weathered.
weathered is also when weather takes you and you become weathered. that’s nice isn’t it?
the weathered window was illuminated as the lightning flashed across the sky. It wasn’t me…i didn’t commit the murder yet they’ve kept me here against my will claiming i was dangerous to society.
I know it wasn’t me, but fate is not in my hands and i can’t help but feel afraid for i don’t trust the person who has it in theirs.
The old shingles drooped with the weight of the air around them. Moss dripped and draped itself over cracks and crevices dug out by time and violent winds. Little bits of old wood littered the ground and windowsills.
We are weathered and tethered by the family we were brought up with; our wrinkles run as rivers of memories etched like little canyons across our faces.
She’d weathered many a storm, her deck washed clean and scoured by the pounding waves. Clean even of the crew that had held tight, but not tight enough, to rigging and mast before tumbling off and down into the churning waters. She was complacent now in her journey, taking it as she pleased with no ant-like humans scurrying over her demanding she go this way or that way when all she wanted was to drift.
All the things I had been able to get over in just a short amount of time… it doesn’t really seem that I ever really moved on from them. There are still a lot of memories that move me to tears, just remembering how they had made me feel in those times. But I guess the same goes for you too, huh? And that’s why it’s not something you are eager to revisit, to give me answers to a past you’d like to pretend never happened (or would you? It’s hard to tell sometimes). Well, I won’t push you any longer, I suppose…
Every time I see your face, it reminds me that I have weathered this storm in my heart without you. I have reached the eye of the hurricane, and I am alone. I have weathered your storm.
I have no Idea what that word means, since I`m Brazilian. Maybe something realted do weather, or the adjective to something that changes a lot, like the weather. I’m a weathered person. No, I’m not. I was.
And the weather is great right now, very sunny here in Brazil!
Trying to catch the right lines. I can hear the waves beating the cliffs, the wind from the ocean. Breathing deep, still not getting the air needed. I’m far away.
face drawn and quartered
reflected on a page distorted
history, curved in skin like a knife
rings wrung around your eyes
tired tried and dried
weathered as a storm
reminding you of every argument
some of which you had with yourself.
tattered and torn, beaten by the rain, the storm. An American flag hanging from a front porch. An elderly man’s face with wrinkles that tell stories. faded.
the feather blew onto the pile of shells i was collecting on the beach. it was a pheasant feather and was roughed by the wind and salty sea. the sea crashed at me
The tree’s bark was brittle and under the contusion of the unceasing desert sun, it cracked and turned upon itself, dropping to the ground. Underneath was not a vital body but a weathered husk, long drained and long gone.
Such worn hands.
So many years providing
Old age can’t take you.
Your soul is weathered… your spirit strong.
How I admire you and your dedication.
How I love you Grandfather.
I’ve weathered every kind of storm there is. Torrential downpour, hurricanes, blizzards, tornadoes, even those rare ones with a beautiful blue sky without a touch of breeze. But the one I haven’t been able to make it though is the one that you’ve created in my heart. All I can do is hunker down and pray to come out alive.
The porch swing outside my bedroom window is weathered, worn by time and wind–marred with the memories I can feel in my heart more than see. 2 by 4s are stacked like empty promises, and I remember when we ran our fingers against their grains, just to touch pain for a moment. Life was so painless then, but time has worn all of that away.
I stare at the shed behind my grandmother’s house. So many memories filled its walls. Playing house when we were kids, or helping grandpa mow the lawn.
wethered evenings are evenings of love, when the grey force of the sky crashes into the earth and washes away everything
The house was old, as it was apparent from the outside. The roof tiles were falling in, the weathered wrought iron gate leered at passersby… and yet whomever looked at the house got the feeling that someone lived there… it didn’t feel empty. An if it did, it was only waiting for someone to get back.
I was walking down the old, weathered road. The pavement was grey-ish black, with tire treads staining it and gravel covering it’s cracks. My shoes made the softest padding noise as I started to jog, then I noticed my withered shoelaces were untied. I bent down to tie them when I noticed something from the corner of my eye.
Weathered makes me think of something old, something that has been well-used. I think of the weathered barn in our pasture. It’s cute in it’s own way. It’s old and gray and the boards creak when you step inside. It’s where our cats used to live before they were all gone. One is left, and she is precious.
Jake looked at the old man, sitting in front of him in the dim lit pub. A sad, resigned expression darkened his weathered face. The face of a man that had seen a lot of things, many of which he hadn’t liked at all. Life plays harder on some people, and, apparently, she hadn’t gone easy on him. A small, sad smile played for a moment on his lips, hovering just the time of a heartbeat, than vanished so quickly Jake could’ve easily missed it.
“You’ll learn how to to cope, son. You’ll learn.”
wrinkled down to my bare thoughts, and beaten down layers that gravity has endured for me other the years. Weathered and some say interesting, but who can say if this graceful but not at all elegant awareness has been favourable to my likeness.
He weathered the storm as any sailor worth his salt would, with stoicism and gravitas, his crew had never seen him so much as bat an eye at a storm and he wouldn’t start now.
I am weathered from the weather. It rains, it snows, it’s gray. When will the sun come out? It seems that winter weathers me.
i want to be encased in glass
in a zoo of oglers
gawked at
i remember you
how you stood there
arms akimbo
flailing wildly
flashy flashed bulbs illuminating
the curved creases in your peasant smile
oh, how you looked weathered
and how i long to be respected.
She has weathered the months since he died but at great cost, barely able to move along to the hospital where her daughter lies not seeing anyone but the ghostly image in the mirror that won’t let go its grip on her features smooth and shining, unused, unweathered, blank.
worn out and tired … but sometimes beautiful … like old barn wood ….
This city was pretty bad-weathered, but she loved it anyway; how could she not? It was her city, her school, her home. She had been born there and whatever the weather, she could never leave it.
Where do I start. I put my heart into everything, but at the end of the day, my soul is shattered. I can’t help but to think about you slamming me into the ground, that cold day. So unexpected from the person I used to know. Why did it have to end like this? You were my EVERYTHING. When I first met you, I didn’t think we would ever make it this far. The night you came down to my bedroom, I have never cried so hard. You held me in your arms for the rest of the night, and you didn’t even know what happened. Thats what I loved about you. That night, you didn’t even ask me what was going on, you were just there for me, to remind me that there is someone out there that cared for me. Leaving me here so unexpectedly, it’s weathered my soul to the core. I don’t know what will be next of me.
We have weathered the storm. I’m sure some people didn’t believe in us. A few probably thought we wouldn’t make it. But we did. And I like how my friends compare us to a boat. The waves may have been a bit rough at times, the wind making it hard to sail. But the distance that keeps us a part also brings us closer together. We have fostered a love that nothing, especially distance, can stop. And now we are stronger than any storm that we will ever have to weather.
the old porch is weathered from the pounding of the rain and our feet. the old chair is weathered from the hours spent idle, flipping through new pages to discover the new worlds out there. the old face is weathered from the cascades of emotions throughout the years.
We have weathered the storm. I’m sure some people didn’t believe in us. A few probably thought we wouldn’t make it. But we did. And I like how my friends compare us to a boat. The waves may have been a bit rough at times, the wind making it hard to sail. But the distance that keeps us a part also brings us closer together. We have fostered a love that nothing, especially distance, can stop. And now we are stronger than any storm that we will have to weather.
Weathered..
I don’t know whether I should write about weather or whether I should describe the climate change. All I know is that this jacket was gotten for a specific reason, and that reason has been accomplished. Black and white colors are grater with contrasts and thats a fact.
my skin weathered under the sun, i think that my skin needs better prerogative powers to just bypass its solutions and become more effective under the sun so it will be able to hold more power and do not become weathered.
weathered is also when weather takes you and you become weathered. that’s nice isn’t it?
the weathered window was illuminated as the lightning flashed across the sky. It wasn’t me…i didn’t commit the murder yet they’ve kept me here against my will claiming i was dangerous to society.
I know it wasn’t me, but fate is not in my hands and i can’t help but feel afraid for i don’t trust the person who has it in theirs.
I was so tired and weathered looking. I was outside working in 90 degree weather all day.
Calm suffers no tears
On the same flow
I salute happiness
Because I meant no loan
Over the clash
She were the moon
I saw her mouth
On the loom of the catch
The old shingles drooped with the weight of the air around them. Moss dripped and draped itself over cracks and crevices dug out by time and violent winds. Little bits of old wood littered the ground and windowsills.
We are weathered and tethered by the family we were brought up with; our wrinkles run as rivers of memories etched like little canyons across our faces.
She’d weathered many a storm, her deck washed clean and scoured by the pounding waves. Clean even of the crew that had held tight, but not tight enough, to rigging and mast before tumbling off and down into the churning waters. She was complacent now in her journey, taking it as she pleased with no ant-like humans scurrying over her demanding she go this way or that way when all she wanted was to drift.
All the things I had been able to get over in just a short amount of time… it doesn’t really seem that I ever really moved on from them. There are still a lot of memories that move me to tears, just remembering how they had made me feel in those times. But I guess the same goes for you too, huh? And that’s why it’s not something you are eager to revisit, to give me answers to a past you’d like to pretend never happened (or would you? It’s hard to tell sometimes). Well, I won’t push you any longer, I suppose…
Every time I see your face, it reminds me that I have weathered this storm in my heart without you. I have reached the eye of the hurricane, and I am alone. I have weathered your storm.
I have no Idea what that word means, since I`m Brazilian. Maybe something realted do weather, or the adjective to something that changes a lot, like the weather. I’m a weathered person. No, I’m not. I was.
And the weather is great right now, very sunny here in Brazil!
Trying to catch the right lines. I can hear the waves beating the cliffs, the wind from the ocean. Breathing deep, still not getting the air needed. I’m far away.
A leaf falls from the huge tree as its now old and worn out, in short weathered.
face drawn and quartered
reflected on a page distorted
history, curved in skin like a knife
rings wrung around your eyes
tired tried and dried
weathered as a storm
reminding you of every argument
some of which you had with yourself.
tattered and torn, beaten by the rain, the storm. An American flag hanging from a front porch. An elderly man’s face with wrinkles that tell stories. faded.
the feather blew onto the pile of shells i was collecting on the beach. it was a pheasant feather and was roughed by the wind and salty sea. the sea crashed at me
The tree’s bark was brittle and under the contusion of the unceasing desert sun, it cracked and turned upon itself, dropping to the ground. Underneath was not a vital body but a weathered husk, long drained and long gone.
Such worn hands.
So many years providing
Old age can’t take you.
Your soul is weathered… your spirit strong.
How I admire you and your dedication.
How I love you Grandfather.
I’ve weathered every kind of storm there is. Torrential downpour, hurricanes, blizzards, tornadoes, even those rare ones with a beautiful blue sky without a touch of breeze. But the one I haven’t been able to make it though is the one that you’ve created in my heart. All I can do is hunker down and pray to come out alive.
leaves grass
autumn old
nostalgia
sadness
wishful
sad
but still alive
hopeful
remains of a life
vestigeous memories
tired
it was an old weathered tree, hurt from years of heavy rain and the weight of Colorado winters.
The porch swing outside my bedroom window is weathered, worn by time and wind–marred with the memories I can feel in my heart more than see. 2 by 4s are stacked like empty promises, and I remember when we ran our fingers against their grains, just to touch pain for a moment. Life was so painless then, but time has worn all of that away.
He came strolling in, with his face weathered from life. His eyes were hidden underneath the shadow of his hat. Mysterious.