"In Touch With Myself"
I can't seem to find her
The reminder of yesterday
I shut my eyes for a few seconds
Only there, can I reach to bear upon her face
The moment I open my eyes
The earth opens and she disappears
Every now and then
Darkness takes form around the blank wall
It brings out a long lost silhouette.
-I inhale a small desire,
reaching and tracing every line left behind.
I Just can't seem to reach her
The girl drowning deep inside
I turn around to look and feel no one by my side
It's been long since she slowly faded away
I gaze into the mirror and miss her every day
For one second past,
I swear she was there.
Lately, I can't seem to find her
That girl I was before
Empty feelings continue to lounge about
Rejecting yesterday away.
-Honestly, I don't know why I bother,
holding on to somebody that is no longer there?
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2015
A WISH -- In Memory Of
I wish I could blow air into your little lungs,
The day my daughter brought your stillborn body into this world.
Hold your little body warm,
And tell my little girl you have her cute little nose....
Count your little fingers, and kiss your little toes....
I could look into your daring eyes,
Facing a little boy, who's ready for this world
I could tell my daughter you have her beautiful brown eyes...
Sadly, it’s not like that.
How can I tell my daughter everything will be all right?
When a piece of my heart was stolen with her's,
When giving birth to her son, my grandson
March 25, 2013---- How it Hurts!
O’ how I wish, you entered this world crying
Instead, we're the ones left in tears of sorrow
How I wish you could be,
And not this feeling you left inside
How I wish, God could explain why o' why o' why?
Mostly, I WISH grandma could fix this and make
your mommy feel, the joy she was robbed of.
In memory of my grandson: ---Bael Lesley G.
Born March 25, 2013 --- RIP March 25, 2013
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2014
I close my weary eyes
I quake and tremble
The meaning of life losing its hold,
Losing its wonder
In this magnifying, mystifying Sadness
Where is the river,
Where is the ocean
To drown these sorrows...
The dry formations in this barren land stay tall,
Pools holding life drying in the dinosaur wasteland
I am bones...
I am bones sinking in the waterless chalk
I keep these eyes shut
To hide inside my meditations
My ears have grown accustomed to the silence,
And sensitive to the drops of tears
They dry too quickly,
For the sun is against the moisture
And all for the fossilization of my soul
Where is the river?
Where is the ocean...
I do not ask with hope-
I am too ancient to beg for miracles
To dream, yet, too long I have slept
I ask on account of who I once was,
A land so lush and plentiful
See now only the dryest thrive
I am bones on the brink of history...
The elements have claimed me
Life will return elsewhere
I am become by the rock and the sun
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2015
"Until an hour before the Devil fell, God thought him beautiful in heaven."
A thousand, million years had fled
then thousand million more,
yet it was still the morning.
And there stood one, Transcendent,
whom we call God and the Divine,
whose reasoned might
stretched to clutch infinity—
and embraced eternity’s nether bounds
to fashion perfect round—
beginning's instant fused
with very end of things
that time endured no more.
Thus evening interlaced with morning,
whose conjugative spawn,
a cosmic realm, its structure fine,
yet restive, taut and yearning.
Here coherence mingled self with
destiny, and thus arose intelligence.
Among its legion offspring,
daughters of the light
and one the son of morning,
a paragon of intellect—
in depth and reason boundless,
beautiful and firm, named Lucifer.
Beloved of Transcendence and
from whom the mighty angels
fled, nobility confounded.
Across mighty heaven’s parapets
he reasoned and opined.
And many thought him noble.
Yet temerity cannot assail wisdom
nor petulance conjure faith.
He, his mighty acolytes then stood
and cried aloud, trumpeting insistence,
and became among the first
whose grasp did not exceed their reach.
And war ensued—
A war of vaunted intellect,
but also narcissistic,
and rooted in deceit.
For he would exercise free will to battle,
then in victory rob all of its gift.
Therefore a quandary stood
that would not reconcile with reason.
Defeated, Satan stood no more in heaven.
Godly was their sorrow when he fell.
Now in our eyes and hearts and minds
do not echoes of the war resound?
First Place: Julia Ward's Contest: Expand Arthur Miller's Thought from The Crucible (quote above).
Copyright © Mark Peterson | Year Posted 2016
Praise me down
In a pit of abysmal.
Your balance ego
Keeps me on the void
Behind your back.
Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2013
Kyoko walks alone in the morning tide,
comforted for a fleeting moment by salty air.
She feels the same sand between her toes
as when she was a barefoot little girl, in a time
she felt safe, when the eyes of her mother protected her
like a suit of armor - before the mighty wall of water,
the “harbor wave”, towered over her village
near Fukushima, washing her happy childhood away.
Her dear mother, her security, her everything
never came home that day.
Many months later, her father, a local fisherman,
has lost his ability to cry, laugh or tell her why.
His silent eyes, cold as frost, are dead
like the poisoned fish he nets every morning.
In many ways, Kyoko lost both of her parents
on that haunting day - forced to grow up long before
the water receded, before the nuclear leak,
before this new, austere existence.
Night deepens the despair. She is loneliest
when darkness invades. She prays for the crickets
return. They no longer sing her to sleep, and the stars
have faded, no longer shining through her open window.
Even the grasshoppers have died…
from restless sleep, night calls her to the mirror
to find her mother’s dark eyes staring back at her –
a curse she hopes will one day become a blessing,
a hope that one day her father will look at her again...
With tomorrow, her greatest burden will return.
She will wake along side the broken-winged butterfly
with her duties in mind. Then, she’ll wear her stoic face
to the marketplace. Father says he will soon lose
his fishing boat. She has heard visitors from the city say
only a fool would eat the fish from nearby waters,
the same fish she fries most every day. No one knows
the global impact, they say. She hears foreign words
like radiation, disease and mutation while she sells
the shiso and wasabi root from their garden stand,
feeling fear she does not fully understand but one day will.
She only knows how to survive today…
For Debbie Guzzi's Global Poetry Contest, 11/19/14
Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2014
Another haunted night, I watch
raindrops fall from consoling clouds,
track each plane flying south, and
I think of you.
My lungs empty a lonely sigh…
I bullet a dark, heaving sky
with my angry words as I curse you
for walking away again. I remember
the starlings that came earlier; they
circled low, then perched along
the eaves while the sun held me in
afternoon glow, as if to say goodbye,
friend. We will meet again.
I should have known.
Night after night, shadows march
a solemn procession across a long-faced
moon. I know he is mourning, too.
Weeds tangle my thoughts until I dream
in a web of mismatched memories
and neglected clues - so many questions,
left in a heap at the foot of our bed,
no answers said out loud. Loneliness plays
blackjack with my heart; mocking me tonight,
the house wins again. Why do I gamble
after losing you before? How many times
have you walked out that door?
I try to mend cracks exposed when
darkness fades into golden dawn.
I try to color my crumbling world
like a child. I paint smiles on your face
in our albums to tell myself lies.
I replay that moment you walked away;
I envision every detail down to one lace
that dangled from your new shoes,
new shoes bought to step into our new
life together. I remember when we wrapped
ourselves in our dreams to keep warm.
One day, your face will dissolve
like a rain puddle on a summer day.
One day, I’ll say goodbye and start again.
Maybe today will be that day.
At least today, I’ll try.
A lone starling in a dark, glossy suit
lands on my window sill at break
of dawn. It wakes me with its sweet,
warbled song and waits long enough for me
to rise from bed so I might feel the promise
of a new day shine through my soul. Then,
as my tears fall soft like flowing silk,
he spreads his wings and flies away.
In light of dawn’s blessings, I am
the starling, singing a goodbye song. I pray,
tonight, I dream of anyone but you.
written April, 2014
Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2015
Sometimes, there is, between the lines,
a silence, that trembles with unspoken goodbyes
Expectant and charged, like a theater scene,
in the moments before the curtains rise.
In the dream that I'm in, I am southward bound,
so I assume it is autumn
And it resounds through the changing season
with the words never said, things never did
and with more forgiveness, and threads
of reason and understanding
Debris fills the gutters, and shades are drawn
Wild thorn-berries have been picked,
Trees are barren, naked, without a sound
Grief is thick, from the fog that was a cloud
And through limbs of questions never asked,
each branch has stretched with some neglect
and light of sun, still filters through
holding deep regret
Leaves are adrift, as if disturbed,
littering a speachless sky
Unfettered words we never cried
clamor up against the sky
still pleading to be heard.
Leaves are crushed and swept away,
by a bridled hesitation.
No summer arias have ever been sung,
and words to say have disappeared.
Vaporized and turned to dust
Sunlight dims, and I am thrust
into the void of too many wasted years
100 In A Row Contest: #18
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2014
You’re dressed in gray, and
tattered like the clouds
that hover above you.
with the look of a person
who knows of his own
Like the willow that cradles
dawn's mist of unwept tears—
a practiced sorrow,
earned from decades of watching
the slow meandering river,
as it draws closer,
and the banks weather and fall.
Copyright © Rickie Elpusan | Year Posted 2005
Thin fingers burrow
Anxious eyes follow
For a new gift on a new day
Forgotten heels tremble
Under the seas cold splash
The moonlight a distant ways
Her shadows a mutant ray
Thin sand hide in between toes
Hopeful plans align themselves in rows
Written notes of lessons learned now under a strikethrough spell
Crumbled dreams find themselves somewhere deserted
Light still seeps through
Even when the dark lasts longer than the day
Copyright © njeri hunjeri | Year Posted 2016
My biggest fear is to be alone with my thoughts,
To be surrounded by the past,
Swallowed whole by my mistakes,
Stalked by what could've been, what should've been,
And being eaten alive by the insecurity I mask day by day,
I guess it can be said that my biggest fear is myself,
The person that hides behind the red lips, the soft brown eyes,
Who smiles when internally she cries for help,
The person who is suffocated .
Copyright © Ileana Leon | Year Posted 2013
Mossy vines served as camouflage for a decaying headstone
This was the first time I’d laid eyes on your final resting place
In front of me stood a grey granite slab covered in emerald moss
Green ivy clung to the stone and snaked round the nearby yew tree
It was evident your grave had not been visited for many many years
In fact, until ten days ago I didn’t know you existed …
A family secret kept hidden from me by my elderly ‘mother’
It wasn’t until her recent death I discovered the real truth
At the will reading the lawyer presented me with an envelope
Spidery handwriting revealed that my real mother died in childbirth
I discovered that I’d been adopted; my real name was Sara James
Seeing my original birth certificate for the first time was a huge shock
Now I know the reason I felt that I never belonged
With my raven hair and pale skin I looked very different from my sister Beth
I’d been told I looked like my great aunt and I’d never queried this
Now I stand in front of the plot where my real mother is buried
I spend an hour weeding, tidying and cleaning the gravestone
Rivers of tears run down my face when I finally reveal the inscription
Carved in the decaying stone I read
Ellen James - died 17th April 1953 aged 33
Fell asleep with her tiny angel
Susan James - died 17th April 1953 born sleeping
Family secrets kept hidden in the graveyard
Sobbing bitter tears I kneel down and leave a red rose
For my mother and my twin sister that until today I never knew existed
Fictional write for Camouflage me a Poem Contest Sponsored by Broken Wings
Theme 1 chosen - Mossy vines served as camouflage for a decaying headstone
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2016
The heart I had,
The feelings I possessed,
Are now in vain,
As my heart is in pain.
The glowing cheer died,
My heart now cried,
But the emotions I show,
Makes my heart bow.
The crack that widens inside,
Is getting more and more wide,
No one feel that from outside,
And no one intends to get inside.
My sun has set in my heart,
Feelings to live more depart,
But I need to live,
For the great contribution I should give...
Copyright © Karnik Agrawal | Year Posted 2016
I feel that some
people have a hard
with the truths
not only the sexual
abuse by priests,
but all the bad
I call it chosen
Ignorance is found
in people who,
if confronted with
realize that they
have to accept them
and that frightens
It is too hard,
Copyright © Jennifer Neri | Year Posted 2014
Inhale an envious mask upon your castrated
and prompt this necessary illusion to commence.
Bathe yourself in ego-filled waters till you feel superior
to the gavel, and exit without caution from this perfect
prison called home.
The audience of youthful flattery awaits you, and those
who you hunt,
Anticipate your roar, and contemplate a permanent
Masquerade around the elementary wheels of
transportation, and make sure your crown has no opposition.
Be seated in the rear levels of mischief, and target those
who sit angelically, in frontal silence.
Remember to grin until your devilish smile has a
And act without tears, your greatest show without
Be ignorant to punctual chimes that sing, and lean on
absent temptation for comfort.
Show patience for the perfectly weak; allow them their
steps upon the wax floors,
Give them their fairy tale of safety.
For they are dreamers, and you are their scheduled
Enter classrooms initially through the minds of prey.
Let them introduce the beast without forethought,
Observe their careful whispers among the intellectual
And standby till their guard sleeps.
Lastly, steal the eyes of misery from your contemporaries
as you walk in, and sit among the walls of miseducation.
For knowledge is not the vocation you seek.
Only the beauty of suffering can compensate your lust.
Begin by insulting the eager minds that roam
brilliantly in the front row.
Shout high praises from hell, belittle their flawless
And bear no breaks of mercy until tears fall.
Now shift your heinous gears toward the everlasting
prom queen, your unrequited distraction.
She does not lean towards you, therefore you must
harm her pedestal as well.
Do not hesitate to disarm this glow that will never
infiltrate your surroundings.
Confirm that your motions are approved, by the
council of expulsion,
And give them infamous leeway to imitate in your
Reminisce joyfully over sin that will never turn pure,
as you return home.
Remove the wool from your eyes, and follow sorrow
till it wants no hint of you any longer,
A similar thought entertained by parents you forever
Lastly, if you urge beyond repair, and accept that the
sheep you threaten everyday will never turn,
Despite your purpose,
Then feel free to act as those that previously harmed,
And contemplate a permanent departure.
May god bless these faithful carriers of misery.
Copyright © Jiril Clemons | Year Posted 2014
The black side of a life betrayal and choked dreams
Cries of pain that are locked into their souls
Evil twistfate deals aches and screams
Inside darkened dungeons filled with peril and woe
In the trap, feels like stuck in of eternity madness
Hands are not chained but mind is unclear
Hidden away from the world today within darkness crying
Nightmares of life's perils strike deep irons hotly burns
Blowing with the wind, flying a hurricane
Shamelessly all trying to live from day to day
Frozen ice frosting bites cold deeds creeps inside scars
Slowly from the scrapyard of life's twisted metal crushed
They cried many tear, tears of hope - wanted life to last
But life was not fair enough as the remains lay deeply covered
Unraveling out savagery of an animal cold cutting steel beast cursed
Piercing howls forgiving the past in order to be redeemed blessed
A co write written by Liam Mcdaid and
Anne-Lise Andresen :) - 20.01.2015 -
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2015
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
“The October night comes down; returning as before
Except for a slight sensation of being ill at ease
I mount the stairs and turn the handle of the door
And feel as if I had mounted on my hands and knees.”
----- “Portrait of a Lady;” T. S. Eliot
A golden afternoon,
Late October, and my thoughts
Are all of you, Suzanne…
Vestiges of your being
Appear on visages of
A hundred different people;
But none are you, not one
As green, as golden.
Hard it is to know no miracle
Will mend, no giddy hope assuage,
The scourge that slowly puts an end
To our valiant green and golden girl.
Memory takes us to days of indolence,
Of innocence, of children lying on a levee,
Deep in lush, green, summer clover --
In sunlight almost as golden
As your hair -- beside a flowing river
Bearing away our golden hours
And the painless green of youth.
Now, in your green room, reclined
In shadow, our golden girl reposes.
Your courage lights the coming night
That does not dim the gold and green
You always shared, and still you share.
Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2013
The sweetest sounds of burning trees
A gentle stroking in the breeze
The calm has lasted past the storm
Cloudy visions, Satan’s roar
Too many sights have passed my way
A time found only in the haze
The softest screams are running bare
My aching bones creak as I stare
You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark
The battle’s started at the end
No one is coming to repent
The sinners grab their wine from prey
No judgment calling here to stay
The sport is reckless to be told
The one is laughing at his souls
It falters nowhere to be sure
The power grows forevermore
Like a spirit in the wind
I have no say in where you’ve been
But cross the line to come to me
And pay the price for ecstasy
You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark.
Copyright © John Paluszek | Year Posted 2013
Dear members of Poetry Soup, here I present my most awesome poem to date.
It is best appreciated while listening to my mate Andy's recital.
So please open-
and read along.
When the sanctuary
Of sunlight sinks
And dark shadows
Lay across your thoughts
Scrape against your reason
In your mind
Out beyond your vision
In the darkness of the hour
Your doubts stir
Foul damning words
That pierce you
Slicing through your certainty
Severing the flow
Of your integrity
Spoken so close
They breeze past your ear
And settle like ice
On your dignity
Sounds of movement so near
That doubts brush
In the gloom
Your every mistake
Real and imagined
Your honest intentions
Lost in the darkness
Surrounded by doubts
From hidden self
Torn from your chest
When the sanctuary
Of sunlight rises
And dark shadows
Are chased from your thoughts
Massage your reason
Copyright © scott thirtyseven | Year Posted 2014
My past already lived,
my unknown future is the only place to travel-
beyond paradoxes or predictions,
I could stand in a world beyond a human life span,
There to begin again, a quest for knowing.
New languages, new laws, new temptations
I cannot say how I will travel there,
whether I step blindly into a parallel universe
or use velocity- based time dilation.
My imagination seems willing
but I feel stuck- in theories and Presentism.
How could there be any greater mysteries
or beauty to be discovered?
I think then of being childless.
Somehow dreams for some new Utopia
are cancelled and I
awake and sleeping
hold hands with solitude.
For Dave's Imagination Contest.
Copyright © Suzanne Delaney | Year Posted 2014
A truth in rage of insult furrows my mind
For it is only an offense given to me by myself
In the mouths of others far innocent than I
I feel the tears trickle down my cheeks
For I have surfaced into an ugly mistake
I am always inadequate in this brain
I try to shine like the advice of grace given
But confidence rarely rears its head my way
There’s a sort of shade blocking its way
A shade that darkens everyday
That very shade led me to believe my feelings are wrong
That I will never belong so long as they are not controlled
I must be careful—for the lines of love and lust run cold
I hate myself truly this night
And no one but myself will give me the right
The very right to degrade my every being
Because you are not seeing what I am seeing
There is no point
My lines run cold
Can I be so bold as to say
I still love with a pang of indistinguishable doubt
All feelings enter in
As my truth blurs and checks out
Your words pierce me so deep
I cannot describe the pain I feel
God it hurts so bad
It can’t be real
Much like the love I have come to embrace
The very love that links to your face
Tears don’t give it justice
It can’t be real
Much like the love I will never face
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013
in the depths of sorrow,
beneath a flood of doubts.
unable to surface,
I frantically search
for what weighs me down;
I feel nothing,
but the burden of guilt
that fills my soul
and then I realize
©Ana Espinola Collins
Copyright © Ana Espinola Collins | Year Posted 2015
Kill the Silent One
He has invaded, unseen
Lurking and silent
Evil destroying one and all
From cell to cell
Leaching blood and soul
Smiles are murdered
The silent one is a killer
Who must be killed
The order has been given
Command centre now on full alert
Maps perused and studied
Will be at early dawn
Men prepare their battle gear
The landing party both excited and nervous
Life depends on them
Ones death also looms
They have no guilt
For whom shall be killed
The silent one's days are numbered
Victory is their only option and concern
War has been declared
We shall overcome
The silent one
The dawn is approaching
The men kit up in their uniforms
Preparing equipment, double checking their instruments
They march forth ready to do to battle
At dawn, as the brightness above shines down upon them
They enter the theater of operations
Doctors in full dress
Scrub nurses ready for action
Technicians monitoring vital signs
The battle has begun
More saline, clamps, increase IV, Scalpels
Blood stains the heroes of the moment
The end, a silence, a satisfaction, a tear
This patient can be declared
The silent one was murdered
Tears and kisses
This battle won
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016
Hounds from Hell take their toll on your soul
as you walk the mainstreet of mainstream
and watch Saturn and Neptune dance to a simple tone
of silence in the outer space.
As you sit in the middle of the world
free yourself from the sense of hopelessness,
only see yourself in the mirror of deception
as your reflection laughs at you and looks right through you,
and doesn't have remorse for what it says or does to you.
Hounds from Hell take your soul,
chock you, cut of your air,
the smog and fog blind you in the city of ash.
Hear the hounds from hell howl for your soul,
go now, barracade your soul behind sins and temptation,
Alone, listening to your soul die away,
watch love go away from you, with suitcase in hand,
picture frames broken and collect dust through the sands of time.
Till the cleaning lady comes on Monday, to clean the mess
that you left behind.
You are gone, without a trace of ever returning.
Looks of the Hounds of Hell came for you and stole you from
comfort and warmth,
till the sorrowed heart cracks and pain spills out
and you look at it all spill out over the floor.
The Hounds from Hell have paid a consumable harmage to you,
and your rich soul of sorrowness burns away... slowly.
Fear darkens souls,
innocent souls burn with a new day,
a slumber that has no end
with nightmares haunting every light of hope
there is left in this desolate Wasteland.
Fear and darkness tears a hole in the darkened universe
and we all go to hell to see the Hounds,
who come for us all.
The graveyards fill,
and death guards the tombstones of the dead,
and the flowers burn away on the feet of the dead.
Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013
The missing light,
That love comes again...
Are like a hard glide,
In a shining rainbow's light...
All dreams and fantasies,
Can be reality,
Is based on reality...
But all histories aren't the same...
Sometimes, we dive,
In our lives...
For what you see,
For what it is...,
'Cause time passes,
But, memories remain...
To your heart,
The body, does,
The mind, thinks,
And, the heart, feels...,
While, the soul, lives...
To remember the past,
To live the present,
And to wait and pursue the future...
Listen to your heart,
Before you are telling goodbye,
Might lead to demise...,
But, remember that destiny can be changed...
Life is unpredictable,
But space and time,
Could be controlled...
And even if some die,
We may survive...
Might have an endless beginning...
All that remains,
Is to be reborn...
Copyright © Ruben A. Hernandez Diaz | Year Posted 2013
A breathless realization—
A piercing pain to the heart,
To the gut—
Low moaning in an
Utterance of disbelief
Infiltrates the body's senses.
Smoke billows, yet there is no fire,
Just an opaque veil that’s slowly lifted
From sorrowful eyes
Where flooding begins.
Deeds made bare
Requires reprehensible restraint.
As anger flushes furiously,
A fire rages out of control—
Searing, scorching, killing trust,
Destroying any semblance of caring.
A glacial numbness replaces fire—
Then—a drowning in the melt.
© Connie Marcum Wong
Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2015
How many suns have I seen?
I hope I see thousands more.
But I don't want to lie awake,
begging for sleep, for puzzle-piece dreams,
crossed wires beneath my skin.
They spark and spasm down my side.
The tingling hurts, the cold converts
the numbness into pain.
I need more time to write, to rhyme.
I need more time to love.
I need more time to watch the sea
while sunsets bleed
and rain clouds weep
upon me from above.
Where's my unchained melody?
Where's my time to shine?
Don't cheat me out of time with him,
Don't rip me from his side.
Have you ever tasted metallic fear?
It feels heavy on my tongue.
I crave today
as I hear them say:
But, how...? She's so young.
Copyright © Heather Ober | Year Posted 2015
I could not understand,
I had the whole world
in my hands.
I could be anywhere
I wanted to be,
but even then
I was not free.
I had a strong longing for,
I know I knew before,
but had somehow lost
in the struggle
of trying to become,
more and more.
I could no longer run,
I could no longer hide,
from the sorrow
which I felt inside.
So I embraced my sorrow,
and my sorrow showed me,
That wherever I go
there I shall be.
That I am home
And home is me.
That I no longer
need to become,
because I already am.
I am the answer,
I am the key,
I am the truth,
to my own reality.
All this time
all I was looking for
I am free,
I am free,
I am free.
Copyright © Yoshi Mato | Year Posted 2015
Passage to Beyond
Our loved ones leave this world
a secret smile playing
upon their lips
What do they see beyond the mist?
Is someone there? Waiting?
Others volunteer to disappear from this place
thinking it is the only solution
to their heart shattering
from events old and new
Seeking relief at any cost
no thought beyond this selfish act.
Others, beloved forever,
leave this plane in a rush of fire,
fear, fury and bravado
so careless of the ones left behind
to mourn, to miss, to try to
fit the pieces together again.
…..and if we watch...listen...very carefully
we will see....hear...our dead creeping back
to collect their footsteps.
Moths and Machettes
Copyright © Trisha Sugarek | Year Posted 2014