It is quiet tonight.
The only sound is coming from
the soft murmur of the television set.
I don't know why I don't just put it on mute.
I don't want to hear what they have to say,
but I guess it is better than the sound
of silence which is deafening.
It hurts my ears, it hurts my heart.
Yesterday I was happy, but that was before,
before I stepped into the dark abyss.
I think I may have been pulled in
by the apathy of death.
Death has such long arms.
I won't ask why, I know everyone must die.
But you left on a happy day, a day we were
making plans, and I had hope,
hope that we still had time,
time to share those plans.
You made me laugh until I cried that day,
and then death swooped in
and took it all away.
It is so quiet tonight.
© Connie Marcum Wong
August 10, 2016 Poem of the Day
Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2016
Not with my arms but with a heart
that blesses your reveries, may peace reside
within your chest... is it possible to love you
less? Perhaps allow the sun to brush your hair
in the luminescence of dawn?
Even autumn envies you as white light
moves with your scent and possesses
your laughter never to be mine again in times
of harvest or falling rain…
and from stars above, may your eyes
remember our blades of grass
while I half-close the damp field of memorials
creaking on the burial of a resting place
that finds me kneeling, wailing, asking how time
can drown our adventures much too soon...
as I stumble upon this cruel, bruised night.
PD's Million Dollar Poem#1
~This was never entered in any contest
and yet it got a Poem of the Week Award
with about 31 comments.
by nette onclaud
Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2014
like visitors from outer space
they came with tears, and lined the sidewalk
long in face, and arms embracing
some (I have no inkling) who
they were or why they felt compelled to come
dozens came with casseroles
a few with flowers, wads of tissues
tender words of helpless mutterings
many acts of generous offerings
don't get me wrong, I watched the suffering
expressed in words or acts of kindness
I watched it all, and felt the love
did not dismiss the warm compassion
returned it all, with pure compliance
a thankful heart, a swollen throat
I hugged these strangers at the door
to comfort them, who shed their tears
upon my shoulder, offered them
a place to share their sympathies
a place to spend their mercy, pure
but, this was my child who loved and lost
impossible........I can't express it
protected from the very start, by
loving hands, her dad's and mine,
we watched her grow, and let her go
she grew from the vine ....into a rose
but life composed a tragedy, with goals
beyond our reach...beyond belief
beyond our wildest dreams
and left her with a loss beyond control
like visitors from outer space, we watch
as others come, and others go
they blow into their tissue wads
and empty the boxes one by one
and cry with us, and then they all go home...
do we cry........? Oh no, not yet...
instead we smile a grateful smile
and thank them kindly for the while
and for the ways they share their love
but we can't cry into our own clenched wad
of tissue from the tissue box
she needs us to be strong, somehow
and so that is the way it is, we vow...to hold back all the tears for now
for, this was my child who loved and lost
impossible........I can't express it
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2013
an impression of the world
stands before me
Left is right, and right is wrong,
and the mirror reflects a melancholy song.
i the mirror
the babbling brook,
the rippled river
whose images tell harmless lies.
who was once held in the
weak, shivering, hands of a life nearing its end
on broken, crushed bones, crumbs
one thousand shards
the jaded moments of my life.
an unintended semblance in the raging waters
crashing against the killing rocks of the rushing falls.
never utter the curse
"it can't get any worse"
the serpent swallows the swollen cow,
swallowed - the farmer's wife,
swallowed - her son,
swallowed - the thorny toad,
the black widow spider devours them all!
i the empty frame
the bits and bites of carpenter ants.
a perverse facade
what should of been
NEVER utter the curse
"it can't get any worse"
will bring me peace,
will deliver me,
burn my body whole
dig me a deep hole
throw me void of soul
the waters of the screaming ocean
who herself dies a slow painful death.
Dec 20 2015
with a major contribution by
Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2015
With every breath I take my body aches,
When I lie in bed I feel my insides hurting.
With every reminder brings me pain.
No more can I find comfort in my home,
The cries of babies stains my mind.
I'm trying my best,
But of course from day to day hour to hour,
I find myself crying.
Memories that morning come to me every day,
Nurses surrounding me my doctor getting on her knees,
Her head looking down,
The thoughts that ran through my mind.
My life entering a new course,
One full of grieving.
He had my face,
My son, my beautiful angel.
He's watching me now,
He left me in tears but he is in my heart.
Copyright © Royal Ninja | Year Posted 2013
When my final shadows cling on desperately
Where I fight formidable battles
to merely hold the light
I send you loving vibrations
and soul sustenance
Deep from the cathedral
of one heart to another
where today no choirs sing
nor symphonies play
Yet it is here where we meet
in spiritual solace
here to surrender
and exchange inestimable treasures
like unopened letters
Galaxies are stretched
over chronicles of shared history
Nebula birthing stars
will be exposed
in forth-coming conversations
bringing short-lived fulfillment to you
Hungry to feast
now will be the time
to approve your blood art vision
and with my own haunting surrender
as dappled shades ink stain your chest
I will reside with you and share, mesmerised
pens - by branding
as this will be your written reams to me
your artist's pallet or brushed canvas
no need for words
and yet creating
mysterious magical moments
Bitter-sweet the music
that dances taut guitar strings
but now blood approved
please go kick your heel up
return to your laughter
and ride on the breeze
for not all are lost
for I am with you always
to love, listen and comfort as one
with you in me and I in you
Copyright © Anna-Marie Docherty | Year Posted 2013
Laughter drifts through the house, ....it has been such a while
Debate filters in, from the kids in the kitchen
The rafters are rattled with two strong opinions
Girls against boys, with opposing positions
I've watched them shuffle their cards and argue who won,
They seem to be lost, in the light masquerade,
of bittersweet happiness that is dim from the gray
Dipping their chips into onion laced cream
smacking their lips, and drinking their cokes
They are betting a few of the red plastic discs,
that will ante' this round
...I listen, and smile, it's a beautiful sound, ...
So long overdue,.......
we are embracing the mood... and it is time that we do....
Now a new game ensues.....
Monopoly, perhaps? Or charades, they will play
Whatever it is, ........ let it fill up the day
Let it take them away,....away from the gray
I let up the shade
to watch the evening come in, bringing umber and rust,
as earth swallows dusk, which is fading away
From the living room window, I am hoping to see
geese flying back to their warm winter homes
All nature seems normal, routine, once again
Winter is coming and a new year begins
How will it be now, this journey, untried,?
As we move on, wearing smiles, wearing grief on our sleeves
Smiles, for awhile, hiding anguish, and pride
Cold days are arriving......and there is talk on the hill
where tall pine trees are whispering,
reminding the creek, and the ash trees are shedding
and katydids will not call out condolences in the dark
Soon enough, when the lark sings, wet grass will need tending
stacks of shutters will need painting,
and snow will yet need to be pushed aside
How will they cope..?
He's not here to do it...but somehow we hope
they will wade their way through it..
But for now , at a kitchen table
for these brief moments, they are able
to laugh, argue, and have fun...
Someone shouts out, "I won!"..
Joy is hard work...but it needs to be done
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2013
Trying to get myself together,
I book my dentist appointment.
In the waiting room I sit.
Finally, they call me,
I sit on the all familiar dentist chair.
Looking up, the light shines on my eyes,
Giving my headache advancement,
I close my eyes.
Suddenly they speak of cavities.
“Would you like to get fillings today?” they ask.
Sure, I thought aloud.
They numb my mouth,
Nothing I felt, they asked me one more question.
“Would you like the gas to feel more comfortable?”
“Yes please”, I replied.
Next thing you know I am gazing off,
It leads to my mind wondering, I feel strange.
Images of all my emotions pop up,
They start to seem more real.
I am off into a deep sleep,
Me sitting in a chair carrying my son,
He opened his longing eyes,
My heart felt the joy of this dream.
I was rocking him so peacefully,
My little angel came to me in a deep sleep.
I wake from the drilling of my teeth feeling at peace,
The dentist told me of how peaceful I seemed,
Moreover, of how tired I must have been that I fallen asleep.
No idea they had of how restless I was,
Nor that I am a grieving mother who had just lost a piece of her heart.
I did not expect to had left the dentist feeling happy,
I had a vision a created memory that put me at peace.
Crazy you might think but I look forward to my next dentist appointment.
~My son Bael forever in my heart and if I’m lucky in my dreams he will visit me~
Copyright © Royal Ninja | Year Posted 2013
America the Free ~ America the Brave ~
Freedom with price Capitalism attacked
the many taken hearts broken still
one World try to rebuild
sadness and tears fall hard with fears
guilt by association many accused still
souls evaporated shattered dreams
tears fall on innocence left with anger
The proud fearless knew the inevitable
policeman fireman many lives lost
grieving does not stop 12 years later
New York city once proud & shameless
refusing to let fears in protecting ours
left in shock still question's unanswered
nothing learned nothing gained
ready to attack many left behind
anger greets denial anger meets rage
unacceptable still refusing new love
wanting days to rewind let us go back in time
acceptance allowing the victims leave in peace
the brave taken young leaving us sadly old
haunting dreams lost spirits dwell
no answers to hate never forgetting that day
Evil entered suddenly unforgiving fate
entering our City we stand with the fallen
How to fix how do we Change
This can be read many different ways ~ This is a poem I am so proud to write ~
Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013
Grief is not something we “get through”…
you “get through” a bad day
Grief is not something we “get over”,
“you ”get over” a cold”
Grief is not something we “move on from”
you “move on from” a bad relationship”
But Grief is… a companion we “move forward with”,
learning from and growing, with each agonizing step.
Grief is… a heart-wrenching process, not bound by time,
But sets us on a “lifelong journey” of finding truth and meaning…
Grief is not a crutch we hold onto for pity
It is not a lack in character
It is not a weakness that needs to be strengthened
Or a problem that needs fixing
It is not an enemy to be slain
Or like a wild animal, to be caged
Grief is… “A METAMORPHOSIS OF HUMAN LIFE”
YES! that needs “time”… “A LIFETIME”
Grief is… an acknowledgement of true love shared
and true love lost
Grief is… a love we hold so deep within our souls
That our tears fall to caress the pain…
“God given tears”, full of purpose and meaning
For each one carries with it a piece of our heart
grief hugs us and holds us close
to a great love we can no longer touch…
grief is… our friend for without it
our lives would have been a lie.
Grief is…purely and simply a journey of love
It is a friend, to those of us who mourn
A friend who sees what we need and allows us to be us
Grief is a release of unimaginable pain…
a release of a great indescribable loss…
Grief is… the bridge that crosses repentant oceans,
spans desolate canyons, and fear filled mountain tops.
that we may cross over this tragedy to a renewed heart
by means of the love we shared and continue to share
through the love of our Almighty God
A pain we can use, to broaden our hearts
and the hearts of all those around us
it is… a road we must travel to gain wisdom.
A level of wisdom you will never achieve by playing strong.
For only when we sink to the bottomless pit of grief
Will we be awakened by the light of truth.
Do not judge it… for it contains Gods secrets
Secrets you can only hear by listening
through the blare of the pain.
It is a sacred contract to be in awe of and inspired by
To learn from and grow from
To gain compassion and understanding from
It is a journey that holds a sacred contract
That will be signed by each and every one of us
Who has the strength… and the courage…
to love with all your heart and all your soul.
It is not a journey I would wish on anyone
But now that I am here I will walk it with honor
And purpose, with my head held high and my feet in stride
For at the end of this road there you’ll be,
waiting to take me home.
Copyright © Bernard Colasurdo | Year Posted 2013
The hideous and the humble
Blood peppers falling snow
As world hurtles to the tipping point
Life chokes on ignited air
Wrenching love from hungry mouths
Stars fall without sound
Some weep helpless, day through night
Ever wondering how
Never knowing why ...
Copyright © Patricia L Graham | Year Posted 2014
Moonless Nights over South Sudan
heartless Moon, don’t tell me
that you weren’t looking
when soulless soldiers dragged me
from my mama’s terrified arms
in our village in Rubkona County
I know you covered your ears
so you wouldn’t hear
my screams piercing the fetid air
as those butchers dropped their pants
repeatedly ripping my body and soul apart
and I saw you cover your eyes
so blinded that you wouldn’t see
the stark horror reflected in my own eyes
the hot tears scorching my cheeks
sobbing for childhood forever lost
oh Mother Moon, Mother Moon
please cover your face
behind billowy black clouds
so that you can’t see
your daughter’s dejected, dead eyes
cowardly Moon, I forgive you
even after you turned your back on me
filling my days only with your dark side
as I sink deeper into a black hole
with no hope to guide me safely home
but helpless Moon, how can I blame you?
for you’re only a mere observer
powerless to defend me
feeling guilty for abandoning
your innocent children
Moon, you’ve witnessed it all before
the torn and bleeding
the tortured and maimed
all tied tightly to weeping trees
reeking of despair and pain
Moon, will you soon forget
my body dripping with bloody shame?
will anyone even remember me?
am I no one…with no name?
will you, Moon, mourn for me?
like you Moon, I am already ancient
over a hundred years it seems
yearning for freedom…
waiting for death…
and I’m only twelve years old
Note: This piece is dedicated to all the women and young girls who have been abducted, raped, and/or killed in the secret rape camps in South Sudan over the past two years. According to a human rights investigator, many of them are held indefinitely, tied up with hundreds of other women in these camps and used as sex slaves. Those women who escape from the sex camps are the lucky ones.
Copyright © Pandita Sanchez | Year Posted 2015
My thoughts let go of a thousand memories,
Like faces, dates, times and places;
Yet, I can easily recall each and every detail,
On the day of your funeral.
O the grieving . . .
In the middle of a snow storm I followed,
And the wind blew back my long hair;
As we meandered down a winding cold path,
The wild storm paused in the trees.
O the weeping . . .
Snowflakes fell on me from the tangled branches,
Falling like crying tears cascading down;
I am lost and moaning in this forever, ever memory,
And now the snow drifts in the cemetery.
O the sadness . . .
A headstone is buried deep in the pure white,
And but one engraved word is revealed;
In this pristine cold, dead winter wonderland,
Only one word can be seen, mother.
O the lamenting . . .
Hidden beneath the snow . . .
I will treasure your arms last embrace mother
Till this heart stops beating . . . .
September 24, 2014
Written by Broken Wings
Entered into the contest, A poem not entered in a contest, sponsor, Poet Destroyer
Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2014
Anger flies with swift wings
As tedious pleas for more time reverberate through his mind
He is the servant of Time- yet takes the blame
When her clawed hand unwinds the clock
He, the sovereign of the dark, the one and only truth!
Is at the front of the onslaught of screams
He moves soundlessly, a shadow in the world
Tormented whispers scattering around him
Fear spreading wildfires' shrill promise
Mercy, a withering carcass in a crude burial
He became Hope's last regret
When he became the prince of darkness,
Forgoing all he once was, and all he could have been
When he sailed away from home, his love for Time burned
He had loved her, caressing her supple frame
Faithfully staying by her side,
And Time managed to wrap her cruel talons
Around his frozen heart
Dwindling him down to nothing more, than abject self-loathing
And she trapped him within her bondage, for eternity
Now he wanders, over and over again in his servitude
A trapped guardian of the dark
The fog horn groaned its complaint of “too.late”
Under darkened sea that once birthed horizon
And Hark! a maelstrom of black ink
Behold its terrific evil and terror!
A swirling whirlpool announcing you-have-been-fooled
And the cries of fright forever ruled
Scream in delight—“He suffers our fate…in pain we celebrate!”
He no longer looked along the swirls in terror
But was now part of its ferocious cycle
Tears mixing with the agonizing laughter
Amidst salty moans and tepid sweat
Soon… exhausted by the chaos… he sank into a most foggy pit
Ashamed, naked, barren of all past wit
A cowardly frame, shivering in unknown terrain
Inside a place where Time is gone….
But always looming in the brain….
As the errant fogs lift,
The grizzled trees’ feet curl in sensuous fervor of the cold
He envies e’en the trees, with heartless relish of their misty exhalations
Under shuttery breath he no longer truly breathes, … he sighs…
Might I never reach the heights of even the mel-lowed fog?
Shall I burn upon the dead leaves, rising only to fall?
From that day forward,
He wandered blindly
Both loving and loathing pulsing tempos of silence
“I’m still in love…” He whispers softly. “Oh how I am in love…”
The dark that once befriended him almost smiles now…
…then why do I feel so alone?
The wind blows in almost an unnerving jeer
A cool wisp enunciating Time’s uncouth rejection
For she loved no one, yet all
Loving with a cruel wish to watch the other fall
How many has she taken, he would never know
For in shadow comes confusion and woe
—and the voices he hears do not sound of his kind
But who am I? What am I?
A slave in Time’s forever grind…
A very special collaboration with Rebecca Larkin
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2014
It was such a small thing
It happens all the time
Fathers and sons disagree
Fathers and sons argue
Fathers and sons say things
Things they don't really mean...
We exchanged words
Harsh words over nothing, nothing at all
Childish words over petty differences
Angry words which are critical
so critical now to recall and to relive
over and over again…
You were ready to drop the matter
You were ready to relent and apologize
I was not ready to drop the matter
I was not ready to relent and apologize
You were the adult, I was the child
I reversed the roles, you reversed them back
You wanted to relent. I refused to relent
I refused and let you walk out that door
Yes, I let you walk out that door
That front door, that door to forever
the last time I didn't say goodbye to you
the last time I didn't say I love you
the last time I saw you
the last time I saw you alive…
Copyright © Tim Ryerson | Year Posted 2015
How can you look someone in the eyes and tell them it's the end?
How can you possibly do that without shedding tears?
Or even blinking?
Do you not feel it? That pain, that pain that's taking over
Their soul, as you tell them their life is ending?
Or maybe it's just that you have lost your own soul?
In that instant when you found out that the greatest part of yourself
Is about to disappear,
That its light was about to be permanently extinguished.
Can't you feel it? That sorrow that slowly shutters their hearts?
Or the fear that's taking over their minds? it's a furious fire,
Cutting off any glimpse of hope with its smog,
That fear, its suffocating their soul into its last gasp.
Can't you see it? How that laughter ends sharply, in pain?
How it breaks in half every time, never to relapse into its fullness?
How the darkness stealthily takes over those, once life-filled, eyes?
That following calm,
It's the call of darkness,
Smoothly enchanting their soul into submissiveness.
Until all is in deadly silence,
Their bodies still, their souls forever gone into unknown.
Do your tears come then? Do you feel their pain then?
Do you see it? Or do you stay the same?
Unchanged, unemotional, shell shocked,
And forever unbelieving still?
Copyright © Alina Councilman | Year Posted 2013
That childhood faith, vehemently spirited,
Difficult to bend, impossible to tame.
That still-cradled heart, curiously open,
Eschewing fear, shunning struggle,
Accepting of each coming day.
The journey so hazardous.
Now a cold-forged and unyielding heart
Beats out each agonizing minute.
Jared by indolence and disappointment,
Vision unrecognizably scarred.
The journey so quickly done.
Needing to chance upon that child again
To lightly touch the angel's brow.
Copyright © Charles Hamouth | Year Posted 2015
I used to count the years, the months
The days, the hours
The minutes, even the seconds
Since the last time we spoke
I remember the moment I looked
Into your green eyes,
The light shining down on you,
Below your eyelashes—the prettiest glare
Those eye contacts off-centered...
Plastics never quite fit you,
Just as I never did. .
Hope has a funny way of fleeing
Even when time ticks mercilessly on
And truth is never beautiful
When the mouth runs dry
And the eyes go blind
I used to count the years, the months,
The days, the hours,
The minutes, even the seconds….
“You actually understand me. . .”
And your intense amusement watered your eyes
It wasn’t until I started counting that
You stopped seeing me for who I was
You stopped understanding. . .
You never quite understood.
My grave mistake was waiting
For every last second
That every moment without you
Would count forever
But no one counts the tears
No one counts the beats of a broken heart
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2016
A muffled voice barely audible
his words are like ice
cold enough to freeze the warmest heart
as heavy as lead
slowly drowning me
pulling me into a never ending abyss
my own madness taking control
surrounded by my own desperation to be in control
the more i struggle
the more i become the rusty weather worn anchor
burning oxygen deprived lungs
gasping at any change to feel alive
Copyright © Stephanie LeAnn | Year Posted 2016
R.I.P. William Dale Eubanks
d. July 1, 2012, aged 68 yrs., Tennessee Ridge, Tennessee
Death came as no surprise
the first Sunday in July;
it claimed you, on a ridge in Tennessee,
with kin who took you in and waited with you
through the last hard days.
You kept what fears you had well hid,
did not betray with loud complaint
the fate you could not but know awaited.
A smile, a joke, a hug – exotic meals –
And genuine interest greeted all you met.
And you were, certainly, never boring
but well-traveled and smart
beyond the telling.
We’ll miss your wit, your bright demeanor,
and will remember all you freely gave ---
and what you took from us
with your passing.
Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2012
Why must the mourning come
with every dawn?
The sky is crying again today.
I heard her sobbing
as I laid in bed.
She would calm down
for a little while,
then it would start up again.
Did I do something
to upset Mother Nature?
I watched in solemn silence
as her tears
streak down my window pane.
I wonder what I can possibly do
to comfort her.
There are no tissues large enough
to wipe away
a streaming flood of sorrow.
Maybe this is just Mother Nature's way
and soon it will pass.
The newborn flowers
open their blossoms
to receive and embrace
Mother Nature is so beautiful
even when she cries.
May 13th, 2014
Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2014
“Once very near the end I said, 'If you can -- if it is allowed –
come to me when I too am on my death bed.”
“Allowed!' she said. “Heaven would have a job to hold me;
and as for Hell, I'd break it into bits.”
Oh God, God, why did you take such trouble to force
this creature out of its shell if it is now doomed to crawl back
-- to be sucked back -- into it?
~ C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed
The division should be acute,
the before her, the with her,
the after her.
There is this constant
rattling of doors, though they remain
locked, in theory. I think of her
as gone until I turn a page,
read a passage of pompous
dialogue and she returns,
My Joie de Vivre,
entertaining me with that puckish
She smiles in the dusk with crusading
colours that bend dark horizons,
changing clouds, unexpectedly.
What was I before Joy?
Content, pleasant, productive.
But was I alive, aware of life,
its blissful rhythms?
the heart which awakened stone
no longer beats.
Finally, I understand.
Lessons are sharp things
which infect both fresh
and aging amputations.
What do I do with this knowledge?
It is like learning a language
that is no longer spoken,
a long monologue
unbearably forlorn, painful.
Faith dismisses hauntings,
yet she does so in daily degrees.
O, the sweet ghosts that peer
from those notes,
my name underscored in margins.
Why is there only one glove
in the sewing box?
Agony hunts me
in the garden. Perfume almost,
but not quite a match.
Some rooms have snares.
I dare not open a kitchen drawer.
Pain waits there.
The specter of my former self,
a staunch gent, so sure
of Heaven's role,
that cold bloke follows me
into the shadows,
land of man’s rage
and despair. There is no pretty
death, no words can comfort
the ravaged left behind,
There is no poetry
in our departing.
I only pray
there is Godspeed in mine.
Copyright © Cyndi MacMillan | Year Posted 2012
The moon so bold seems cold
with a halo of midnight glow
I sit mesmerized as the night grows old.
I bleed still, even after all these years
and I wait again through the night
aching in the depths of my soul
that no other seems to know
the Loneliness that has become my companion.
In the darkness we wait and confide in the other
our deepest fears as memories fade
in and out each season of change
the nostalgia tempers the wars of pain
this tempestuous foe of ours
wails at the gates of midnight
howling the warble of humanities last grace.
How the comfort of minds and hearts
turn from light to deep dark in the face
of eternities long time clock...
I ache with wanting, with need and passion
it is a lie that time heals and wounds scar
each night is fresh like the first
when I faced realities shock.
Who can wait with me?
Who can hold this hound at bay?
Who can cherish what little love left in me
and make the broken whole?
I ache to be loved again as the love that burns
and waits inside of me.
Who can comfort this emptiness and fill the void
that so many leavings have left?
Cherish and love to honor and protect
but who can slay these demons that hold my heart in wrath?
Who will walk the sulfur clouds of hell to save my mind
and deliver my world to the gates of heaven
with life, not death bridging the distance of pain?
I sit and wait at the floor of the moon each night
waiting for that bridge to carry me yonder,
this moon who hangs heavy and ripe with the yearning of my soul
with clouds aglow as if I could sweep them across a canvas
with the brush held in your hand
I rage at her as I wait, but still I wait and weep
as Loneliness and I keep each others company
wishing the clouds of that great moon could truly create
a way to find the lost, a pathway to home, lit by the legacy our love.
Copyright © tara jennings | Year Posted 2013
Laying her back on the wall of her prison
Why was it different
It hurt more
Grief affecting her
This terrible ache consuming every pore
Harder to swallow
It was him she's sure
She loons at me
I know the look
She's hiding behind the sofa
Saying he's been back banging on the door
I know it was the tumble dryer upstairs
Her eyes are bloodshot
A beautiful bright blue bloodshot
Wide as fish eyes
She's been pacing all night holding a knife
She's holding an umbrella
I took the knives last time she cut her wrists
She's in torn clothes as she tears at her flesh
I feel my flesh tear
That's her last nice dress
No longer nice but torn and red
I give her trousers and a belt
My own only just brought
They drown her
At least she's covered
She says he's been calling her all night on the phone
I took the phone when she smashed it on the wall
I try to think of everything
In the bathroom there's hair in the chipped shabby sink
She's been pulling it out by the roots
I feel my scalp it's sore, alien
I feel everything
I removed the scissors when she shredded her scalp cutting her hair off
Saying this is why he had her
Her long golden hair
In the cabinet, too many
Too many pills
She should of taken these
Promising to take her pills, begging don't send me back to hell
But at the secure unit she's safe
Says she'll have a bath and
be better tomorrow
She's settled, I'm settled
So I leave
I'll come back in the morning
I sleep soundly
First night in months
The morning light gives me slight hope
I can't remember this feeling much
I hear a crash
I'm taking too long
Kicking the door in
I thank God for kickboxing
She's swinging from the oak beam in the ceiling
My belt around her neck
I look for a knife
I look for scissors
To cut her down
Cut me down
I look for a phone to call an ambulance
I feel my body juddering
My heart stop beating
The new belt
I hadn't thought about the belt
Copyright © little known nothing | Year Posted 2014
Why is it that pressure feels so heavy?
When pressure isn't solid.
Why is it that tears of anger hurt more?
When anger isn't sorrow.
Why is it that life is a challenge?
Life should be a gift.
Why is it that car was there?
In that right place. At the wrong time.
Why must I live my days in memory?
Ten years still don't block that moment.
Why can't I be stronger?
Make you proud of me. I know you're watching.
Why is it that you didn't look the same?
In that bed. In the hospital.
Why did I hug that woman?
The one who hit you. She brought a plant.
Why did I say 'She'll be okay.'?
I hoped. Knew it wasn't somehow.
Why did it have to happen right after our phone call?
Two more seconds you'd still be here.
Why are we left with all these questions?
Spoken out into empty air.
Why am I still here?
There must be something I'm meant to do.
Copyright © Sam Beloved | Year Posted 2014
Anger shrouds my sorrow,
a storm rages deep within.
Questions without answers
swirl around my mind.
Damn! this emotional confusion.
Why the sacrifice?
Why the trade off?
Was it loneliness?
Was it greed?
Damn! the sadness I cannot feel.
Did you love me?
Were you proud of me?
Did you even care?
Why didn’t we talk?
Damn! your legacy of silence.
Rage! Rage! against the death of the light.
I curse the words unspoken, the truth not shed.
Why God?...Why?...Why must we part before the heart to heart?
Copyright © Kim Morrison | Year Posted 2013
Cries for help went awry ,
anguish and pain went in vain
lost battle of life before a coward.
Groping and forcing on a girl does not
make a man strong just proves that he is a beast,
and unfit to be among people.
Taking away a girl's modesty
is not a most heroic act
but a heinous crime which
even ferocious beast would not have.
Curse the moment when these
sick are born with lust all the time.
Even girls are afraid to
be mothers,raise kids like these.
The power of a man lies in character
and heart but not in sexual supremacy or desires.
(Dedicated to Nirbhaya,who was brutally raped and died fighting for her life.And all those who have been victims.Let's raise our standards and respect women everywhere ,without her there is no world.)
Copyright © kenisha shines | Year Posted 2013
How can one express the baffling depths of obscurity?
How can one behold to open the shafts of the mind?
I have never been able to solve the mystery—
Of myself. . .
I wish at times that my life was no more
That I could live as another and finally see things right
But I am always stuck in this darkness
And I cannot see this mind in light
There are beasts. . .demons prowling through the wasteland
Searching for any remaining life
And if they are ever found—
They are doomed and consumed
Fear is their downfall and they never fail to smell it
Their ashes remain, dancing with the imaginary breeze
It is silent here—there are no answers
I wish there were answers. . .
But maybe there was never a reason
No answers. . .
Talons extend and clench around my heart
They will never seek me out—they left me here
It is like they knew…I had no reason—that was the answer
I feel the pulse of my dangling life
Alone in the dark, whimpering like a child
I have scared myself, becoming this dragon-daggered youth
No balm in Gilead!
No eyes to see
All I know will never be free
I don’t need anyone!
You are a disgrace—scum of the waste!
You have everything, you ungrateful little nothing
You are a joke. . .
So swallow it all up like the pushover you are
Stand your lowest and trudge right through
No questions. No answers. Just . You.
Or just lie back down into the mush of disease
It has already infected you to the core
Accept who you are, you ugly pestilence!
I hate you
Who are you to be glorified?
Dream snatcher. . .murderer of all things bright
Saturated in what you call light
I see right through—even as the reflections shatter
All of the dead kept you alive—they all matter…
But alive you are the worst there is
False savior—edited attention whore
I never want to see your face again
See, that’s why I hide. . .
Desperation. . .desperation. . .
I sob and cry kneeling in defeat
For once I am right. . .I am right
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013
“It’s a terrible love
And I’m walking with spiders…
It’s a terrible love and I’m walking in
Its quiet company…”-Birdy
Three long claws enclosed around a lone beating heart
Stone talons gripping in happy malice, silently angry by its pulse it cannot feel…
The longer I stare into the hollow sockets seeing only ugliness,
The easier it becomes to break into pieces over the mere thought of you
I thought it was a dull beat- a throbbing, fading beat disappearing into the night…
Though your image, once so grainy, is becoming clearer and clearer in the fogs of my consciousness
I thought it was just a dull, callous beat…
But the more it throbs against the stone, the more the stone cracks
The more the demon cries in anguish…the more I fall
So deeply in love have I become,
I can barely breathe in this misty embrace
The suspense of your blows make my innards whimper…make my mind shiver
My tearful eyes cry for your assurance
My body changes through the peeks of your light
It is all a joke!
This is all pathetic, low, meaningless!
Surely these claws over this heart do not exist
Holding onto nothing but dead spiders who once weaved miracles
Dust and spider legs….spider eyes…they had seen so much…felt so much with their prickly appendages
Through a lovely peephole beyond the three stoned fingers…
I see the entire world where they must have crawled
A world holding you…
If only I could hold you too…
Something tells me I would never let go if I had the chance
Something tells me I would crush you
I would turn you into dust and spider legs…
And yes, as all demons enjoy, I would lose you
In the grip of the three stoned fingers
You were that heart I thought I had seen…
The heart that continued to beat long after it was ripped out
The clenched heart that throbbed despite its crushing cage
The very heart that bled and bled for no body and all for the sake of love
Beating and beating, cracking those frigid fingers
And all of the fallen limbless creatures would gather round…
And they would tell me… “He lives yet still…”
Weaving in their webs the very bloods and salts you pumped
Within me…and beyond me
Dead spiders weave and weave and weave…
And unlike human hearts, their ideas never tire
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2014
When words don't help
Knit and purl the agony out
Your hands will learn how
Inspired by Ann Hood's book "The Knitting Circle" (one of the saddest books I have ever read)
Copyright © Black Eyed Susan | Year Posted 2011