Ah, memory is a fickle lover succumbing to the tide
grasping for the grains of sentiment sometimes left.
In cold or torrid waves, spent passions now abide
for you have left me, long ago, I'm now, alone bereft.
Grasping for the grains of sentiment sometimes left:
beside a roaring bonfire, where sparks on night winds glide;
for you have left me, long ago, I'm now alone, bereft.
I huddle in a dune's dark shade with nothing left inside.
Beside a roaring bonfire, where sparks on night winds glide,
we conceive a wayward child, a changeling child, a thief.
I huddle in a dune's dark shade with nothing left inside,
as the waves of age and ages, return only grief.
We conceive a wayward child, a changeling child, a thief.
In cold or torrid waves, spent passion now abides,
as the waves of age and ages, return only grief,
ah, memory is a fickle lover succumbing to the tide.
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi
sometimes i talk to myself,
my mind is racing,
i dont know what to do...
so hard to explain.
depression isn't a stage
or a faze some kids go through
it shatters you...
i saw it all.
she cried silent in her bed,
blood stains covered her favorite jeans,
her every shirt,
long sleeve ofcourse...
she suffered through it all with few people to call friend
and more to call enemy
even more to say where quite dissappointed....
her first name in school,
not started by a bully
or a mean rival,
but by her sister,
and it echoed through her soul,
repeating in her mind... over and over again,
like the ripples of still water
when a pebble is dropped
flash frozen in time
over and over again...
It was the first name they gave her,
millions where created over the years,
some repeating again, just as the first had..
gothic they called her,
emo, fat, ugly....worse things.
but in her mind, things where worse.
everything was repeating,
over and over again,
finally she believed it.
she asked for help, from everyone
tried to explain to parents she wasnt well,
got called a psycho for asking to see a theripist,
not from a teacher,
not from a class mate,
but from her own father, who wouldn't, couldn't,
believe there could possibly be a thing wrong....
finally, crying, she confessed her bloody secret to a teacher.
rather then giving her time,
she is sent back to class crying her eyes out, as if she wherent going through enough...
she is sent to the principals office a few minutes later, after breaking down in class...
the princlipal says she needs help,
sends her and her dad for a risk evaluation,
her dads crying as she shows him her cuts...
they walk into a hospital room,
it smells of chemicals and hand sanitizer,
the lady at the desk gives her a smile.
then she goes into a room with a lady,
her cheeks are sunken in and shes wearing way too much makeup,
the girl is gaging on her perfume,
and she looks really intimidating....
her dark brown hair looks dead and flat
even though its a bit wavy,
and she wears somewhat of a mocking frown.
asks her all these questions,
is mommy beating her?
is daddy raping her?
is she doing drugs?
is anyone beating her?
did anyone molest her?
oxcarbezapine, trazadone, citalipran, clinazapam, colonipan,
valium, lithium, more.......
and thats what they gave her,
some numbed the pain
some brought it out
tearing through her organs,
she became an addict by the time she was fourteen....
over dose after over dose
some for pleasure
some for pain,
gashes on her legs getting deeper,
this time she didnt tell a soul,
not even those she had come to call friends....
wakeup she screamed in her head over and over again
as she dropped weight like it was nothing....
you cant controll it she argued as things became worse.
at age fourteen she attempted suicide,
she didnt quite succeed.
the medication took away her aappitite....
she liked it
she hated her body
felt out of controll
found a new way to cope
as she shoved tooth brush after toothbrush down her throat
to keep her body from nuitrients...
as she whent weeks and weeks spitting food into napkins and making excuses
I ate at my friends house....
spoken as a whisper
heard like a sentance
echoing in her mind over and over again,
along with that word, all the words,
ugy, anoying, stupid, fake, worthless, nothing...
one bite she would say
rocking back and forth
craving nothing but food
her body racked with hunger pain
one bite and there she was again
over and over and over again
back to a toothbrush
this time she sees blood
she saw her ribs
she saw her bones,
it wasnt good enough,
she almost died, again....
choking on this deep dissappointment in herself,
gaging on everything they where pushing down her throat,
their words, and their insults, their criticism.... their drugs
all shoved down her throat like candy
and just as she was was trained to do she swallowed despite the bad taste
or the hurt
or the fact that at the rate she was going she would be dead soon...
and you know why?
because daddy yelled
and couldnt accept what was happening
not because he wanted to hurt her
but because it hurt him,
and she let him believe,
because she could take the hurt if it meant he didnt have too.
because mommy didnt want to sit in her room all day
practically having us raise ourselves,
she didnt mean to take anger, or frustration or hurt out on her daughter
she suffered everyday in her solitary confinement,
and from a young age she accepted her bedroom was the cage
her mother had created for herself.
because sister didnt want to effect her the way she did
she was just frustrated
fed up with the way things where
scared, she needed someone to take her cruelty
and to help heal her pain...
because people in school
who where so cruel
had to have learned from somewhere
and she wasnt going to play into their games,
and they knew she was an easy target
because she would never attack someone so weak
and she accepted her suffering was a sacrafice
to help all these people....
to help her dad,
every person who was beaten abused or hurt
and felt so weak at home they wanted to feel strong in the one safe place they had.
because depite the fact she had died inside,
and almost passed away on the out,
it was a saccrafice she was willing to make
so that no one else would have to feel that kind of pain,
and they all inflicted it and broke her down'untill there was nothing left but a shell
of somthing that could have been
and never had the chance
because she would take it and wouldnt strike back,
because sometimes "just taking it"
isnt so much about the weakness not to do anything
but about the strangth not to hurt others the way they hurt you...
Copyright © cassie hellberg
FADE TO BLACK
My life it seems has had its share
of shining moments, recalled with
fondness when some achievement
let me stand awhile inside the light.
But when the bulb more faintly burned,
and shadows ruled the day instead.
Then it was that I have seen the rabid horde
rush to steal the fading rays and claim
that it was they who once before had
kindled the amazing spark and
more than once obtained the praise.
And so my trophies gather dust
and tarnish high upon my victory shelf—
wilted blooms of a forget-me-not life,
which no one seems to remember.
Copyright © Mark Peterson
Well there you are
I have slithered into the wrong home tonight it seems
I sniffed out the repugnant ward and I don’t like what I see
You were magnificent in the face of all beholding you
But your conceit is a trap that even I, the snake, have fallen into
You mask yourself with humility
You compliment me to gain
Begging for the summer rain
Begging for the words that would settle your brain
You got it
But instead it rained on me
Showering me with dangling promises
As typical as can be
These words so execrably wasted on you
As if for a moment I could even dare CRAVE a poem for you
I do not hate you
I cannot love you
At times I do not know what to feel
Why do you do this?
Put on a show and hope someone will notice?
Do you want a nice pat on the back?
I am armless; I am all but muscle and scales
I am a dead carcass and yet you continue to compliment
The beauty of my revulsion
I hold it to my heart
This trap you set
I helped you set it right from the start
And you have forced upon me the mere THOUGHT of you
Taking away from my bitter lines
What empty necessity I have turned out to be
Some kind of trophy coiled around your feet
Walking all over me
I’ve hissed and I’ve hurled insult
And the rain pitter-pattered my distain
You rested knowing I would remain
You needed reassurance
You always needed GAIN
Well I’ll tell you
This serpent is drained
And oh how I hiss
I will not change into that typical mistress
That settles your conscience with a kiss
You will not have me
I will never kiss those lips
For you are as fake as can be
And not even a snake like me
Will help you in the deceiving
As everyone watches your show
The only one truly believing
Don’t hesitate out the door
I’ll swallow you whole
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal
As your mind collects the memories of yesterday
Epiphanies tie into knotty strings of realization
That very moment. . .
You merely exist
Back then. . .those smiles
Those. . .distant laughs
Some you remember by name
Gone now maybe
Like the exhalation of the wind
Others dispersed in the world of arbitrary happening
Like leaves from falling, man-made trees
There is no doubt that they have
Activate the bomb
Ignite the fuse
And you’re on next year’s history book
But drained of all remaining good
That smile you gave
The warm embrace so long ago
Salt-coated with piles of rubbish
Over last remaining mental spurts of comfort
Evil, evil, evil, evil, EVIL. . .
Always absorbed and remembered
. . .though never forgiven. . .
All good and gracious sentiments
Packed up in a box set nonchalantly in Downstair’s storage
. . .that chair with the broken leg in the corner of the room
That mangled cobweb holding a dangling, lifeless spider
A drowned sailor’s hat drifting through the current of the ocean
The single tear from a soldier’s vigilant, memory-stricken eye
The frustrating thoughts of a mute
The unchanged. . .HATED deformations
Forgotten you. . .
One soul brings to light weary, unthought-of happenings
Wedged deep into what she can only imagine
With not even a hint of understanding
. . .of the pain. . . .of the bewildering distortions
Of the ugly. . .
One soul merely vomits sickly verse after verse
As humanity embraces its downfall
The poet hangs onto her unjustifiable, forgotten. . .
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal
Between happiness and sadness
—silence; an angel prays:
I kiss the loneliness of old people,
their temples like handfuls of winter;
are used baggage,
memories speak to them,
they smile and
tell me stories from their youth
silence passes unspoken
—they remember the dead.
I kiss the loneliness from their temples
and sadness lifts from their mouths.
From my first book: 'In Forbidden Language'
©dah / Stillpoint Books 2010
all rights reserved
Search Amazon Books: "in forbidden language/dah"
Copyright © Dah Lusion
Jab Meri Bechaini Mit Jayegi
Jab Mere Dilko Sukoon Mil Jayega
Yeh Khaalipan Mit Jayega
Do Pal Ki Chandni Ke Liye
Aj Bhi Zinda Hoon Main
Meri Khaamoshi Ke Ageh Aasmaan Bhi Khatam Ho Jayega
Kehne Ke Liye Toh Roz Marta Hoon Main
Thoda Aur Marne Ke Liye
Yeh Deewana Kal Phir Ayega
Copyright © shadab shaikh
Copyright © David Whalen O Haolin in ancient Celtic
Speech of Tears – Zamreen Zarook
Drops of tears from our purl conveys a lot,
Each an every shedding has a ballot,
By identifying the core, our hands should allot,
Because, some might be extremely as shallot.
Chipper and blissfulness gives you cool tears,
Whereas in console and divesting flow hot tears,
Fear and pains give drains of tears,
Nothing that can be patch with dollars.
Some deliveries are automatic,
While some productions are acoustic,
Another drain says I am really bombastic,
Tears are at last solely cubistic.
They convey the emotions,
People go in search for solutions,
They become happy when they are with the precautions,
Reactions again as the tears, it’s the real abbreviation.
Copyright © Zamreen Zarook
Woven lines patterned like the black widow's silk.
Resting upon the face and the hands.
Insidious, the crow perches on skin once like milk.
Nestled in laugh lines, the years' stark demands.
Kings and Queens reign, then they, too, grow old.
Looking back at all the scavengers stole.
Each wrinkle a regret, the grave dagger's dole.
Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders
Their petals are falling as their colors change
It wasn’t this way before but is it strange?
These roses are dying in delicate sweet sorrow
Will their love shed too? Or will it see tomorrow?
Petals and love falling slow like soft snowflakes
A little change in season is all it takes,
But will these roses bloom again in a new morn?
Will their love come back to greatly adorn?
Will their beauty be gone forever once it fades away?
Or will it come back to make everything okay?
For what will the roses be worth if their beauty dies forever?
Will the image and value from them permanently sever?
Will the light in their eyes suddenly become dark?
As their splendor and significance steadily grow stark?
Or will they rise like light at the beginning of dawn?
And be reborn more beautiful than a swan?
Copyright © Literrius Miller
Feel me standing there
on the draw bridge
that stands stubburn and erect
over the rushing waters blown by the wind
back and forth.
I listened to the crows
posted on gargoils designed
of eightenth century Gothic architecture
singing their death songs,
when the sun is setting in the far.
The voices of women passing
startle me with a feeling of sorrow
I can't breathe, I am dying.
Feel me, can you feel me rot away?
Slowly but surely rot away
as time passes with ease,
and taxi cabs take smiling, intoxicated faces
to wayward cafes, oh how they screech to a halting stop
and wave to me to get in.
"No thank you, I'd rather walk." I say to the smiling faces
highly intoxicated with the thought of the birds and the bees
rattling around in their empty minds.
Then they drive off, into the city lights and turn a darkened corner.
I look at the rushing water
and feel myself rot away
slowly but surely rot away.
Can you feel me?
Can you hear me?
Can you see me?
Feel my heart thump with slow paces
that manage to keep up with fast melodies.
Of songs that play in your mind
only the ones that make you sigh
and think those one days in Spring time
as you walked over the draw bridge
and paid no mind to the water underneth.
I hear no more talk of you and me, I hear no more talk
of the good old times we all shared.
Time has passed, as I take my last breathe
and hold my chest and shead a tear.
Feel me, can you?
If you can, put your hand to my weak heart
and feel it thump away with every second wasted
on useless items.
Now, see me a man of one time greatness
reflect his life with a reflection in the water below.
How I sigh and cry and breath heavely,
as I feel myself rot away.
The voices of woman pass me by.
Tomorrow is a new day,
for the smiling faces in taxi cabs will go home
and soak their raging hangovers with cool, wet rags.
As I still stand on the draw bridge singing with the crows,
feeling myself rot away.
Can you feel me without you, rotting away?
I surely can feel myself rot.
Such a heavy word, "rot"
So vulgare, yet a great description of me,
I pull out a shawl you once wore and I kiss it.
As the wind gusts and the sun rises and my shadow
comes to meet me, the wind shall take my last memory
of you away.
And I shall weep no more.
Then what will I do? Shall I walk the streets
and think of you.
Yes you, still rambling all throughout my head
like a lose screw.
Can you feel me? Feel me rot away
feel me think about you, and all your works.
Can you feel me?
Copyright © Chris Boskovski
Oh! The lighting bugs they light up with cry.
Tis a bright light, Oh! What an excitement;
A monster sails up in the dark night sky!
Its big and cheesy, just like a cheese tie.
This beast has so much more than alignment.
A monster sails up in the dark night sky.
I lay in wonder how it looks like pie.
Flailing in my bed, not doing my assignment.
I progress through the night’s black-blue end sky.
Never, say never, a burnt crust is rye;
Trifling for food, it’s a hell confinement.
A monster falls down in the dark night sky.
The orange and salmon abyss nears my eye.
This monster, it has a shrew new statement.
A monster falls down in the late night sky.
Tis morning time, all the birds squeak at high!
Reading mail for no future indictments.
Outside I look the window in the sky.
No monster, only the sunshine of mine.
Copyright © Trent Turney
Alone and surrounded by
Copyright © Jacqueline Rodriguez
Oh mother, dear mother, come make my bed,
for the sun grows tired and has lost its shine;
come bless the place where I will lay my head,
surround it with angels, all that’s divine.
Oh mother, dear mother, come bar the door,
count the slow clock's chime as shadows descend.
Eve's breeze is now listless, birds sings no more,
all the land lays in silence , till night ends.
Oh mother, dear mother, sing me to sleep,
drown the foul voice of fears infestation;
let us join strength, to one another keep,
safe here in your care, and consolation.
Dear father, please protect us through the night,
save us from all harm, till dawn brings us light
Copyright © T.Nicole Williams
i could sit here. day in and day out
thinking of the most proper way
to let the ink in the pen spill out
but as of late im feeling prehistoric
so much weight on my shoulders
and i dont know where to go
resuscitate my soul
look back up and head to the goal
so much evil around. i feel like the devils workin double shifts just to bring me down.
on the road to redemption
you can take a seat up in the front section
just so you can feel the emotions
in this electric notion
i've done a lot of things that hide the halo
let it all collaborate when i medicate
now look at me, mind workin like plato
formulate a new path to take so i can
maneuver through all the mistakes
we all know we cant change what we've already made
but we can change the next thing we create
startin to sound like a serenity prayer
5 steps till im thirty
and the twenty four before i was never a player
found out when the lights came back on im strictly a lover
its the strongest drink for your soul, when its thirsty
so careful how much you intake or be left hungover
even worse be the one she ran over
i dont mean to come off like im too deep
but the obstacles made there way through just to scrape through
and leave me suffocating
just for me to re-invent a new way to breathe, re-decorating
is your life so complicated
you rather wet up your pillows and revoke from the life you live
just think of your kids mourning
theyll never see that pretty face in the morning any more
cheer your self up
you got a lot to live for
your a gem and im that friend
trynna appraise the value
that you dont see inside of you
just another day for him
searchin wonderin what his purpose is
running in circles
till he found a way through all the turbulence
Copyright © pat roswell
Too young to die
They take a boy, too young to shave
Who has never lived his life
While his mates are chasing girls
They fill his life with strife
They send him off to a brand new war
Over some damned fools Ideal
I don’t understand their wars
And I guess I never will
The folk who like to run the show
Or most of them at least
Have never even been to war
They’ve never felt the beast
As he rips right into one’ intestines
That hollow hole of fear!
Each leader should be sent to war
Then the picture might grow clear
Then when they send young boys to war
They’ll see the whole damned show
The weight of endless terror
And then maybe they’ll know
What it’s like as a fine young man
To be sent out there to die
He might then know, how a mother feels
When she’s lost her little guy.
1 August 2013 @ 1443hrs.
Copyright © Peter Duggan
What I do to deserve this heartbreak,
this horrid and unnatural pain,
this cleche of events that strike me simultaneously
as the time ticks away,
and as the grinning faces pierce a whole through my soul
and my heart turns pale and slowly beats.
My heart is torn in two,
and I cannot find the doctors to stich me up.
I ask an old man,
how does love go about,
he smaked me in the face and went on.
The pain and the sorrow,
it is too much to feel,
too much to gain in one serving,
When I eat, I taste posion, not passion,
familiar faces turn grey, with ruby eyes and sharp fangs
they hiss at me, like a cat to a mouse.
I don't understand why I deserve this.
I am a good man,
who loves with open arms and a big heart.
With every hug I give,
I recieve a knife of betrayal in my back,
I feel the blood ooze from my open wounds,
suicidal tendencies roll through my mine,
but I quickly throw them out,
because Mama didn't raise no coward.
I see the blow, I clench my fists
and swing away,
God cries wanting to stop this madness,
Death laughs and soon joins in,
people join in and punch away.
I lay there on the concret blood everywhere,
my heart torn out of my chest,
each with a thousand knives stabbed in it,
as it slowly beats,
I lay their on the pavement,
looking up to the heavenly skies,
and as it starts to rain droplets of hope
I ask myself,
What did I do to deserve this?
Then, I shall close my eyes
and rest for awhile.
Inspired by all the betrayal and heartbreak I've faced, by so many cowards who didn't want to recieve my love. People I had thought who were my friends, came with invitations of humiliation and hate, and now I see who my real friends are; this pen and paper... Have a good day.
P.S. No one should ever be shown this much betrayal and heartbreak. I wouldn't even wish it on my worst enemy. Have a good day!
Copyright © Chris Boskovski
I simply love being me
for I am so good at everything
step into my city and they
will tell you who is King
one day when I am hungry
I will swallow everything
then and only then shall I
inherit the stuff I dream
even then I promise
not to settle for satisfaction
at any instant half a second
I could spring into full action
so go against me? please,
you do not even measure
up to half of the goodness
that I hold tight like my treasure
still spreading rumors about me
to try and destroy my life
can't believe I let myself get beat by
a stripper and my self-intended knife
try and say I'm gay
even though we both know that isn't the truth
just ask any woman I been with
if they ever needed proof
they'll say I was the cream of the crop
as they took it all night knowing
I just may never stop
I own the status of a legend
now what you got left to say
when I bring it twenty-four seven?
Copyright © Bj Fard
Dark clouds accompanied by blue sky.
I lifted my eyes high
Then I saw a blue sky
Black clouds drifted across slowly
she awakened my heart sorrowfully
She stopped to say sorry
As she released drops of blood
Where I stood became gory
It gradually turned flood
Holding me to ground firmly.
When I woke up,
It was midnight
I looked left, up
Upon turning right,
I lost sight
Her disappearance brought me light
When I opened my eyes,
She has taken that bone of mine.
She thawed the Ice
As she sent chills down my spine.
I moved out searching for her
But I saw white clouds shading the sky
The I passionately asked why
She then turned and said bye
I cried and still cry
I cry I cry
I was filled with sorrow
I became very hollow,
As I watch her go
I wished I could follow,
Fight her and bring back what she took
But I couldn't trace the path
She catch the wrong fish with the right hook
My world she hath
I had to face tomorrow
Though I was blue.
So If you told, yes it is true.
Copyright © CHRISDAD KOJO ARTHUR
imperial evil rings the rebellions bell
and awakens the rebels fight
allow for a new tomorrow
a skywalker will be in plain sight
his mind as sharp and committed
as the nail that split the force
a parasite of the night are we
the padawan has chosen his course!
BY Mark Taylor: ......Star Wars......
Copyright © Mark Taylor
I do not know?
The frost sets in deep in my bones
I feel it gnawing at my soul.
It tells me that each time the wind blows
I grow another day old.
But it's the cold that ages me most
In summer i was beautiful
And i would wear floral perfumes
when the wind didn't play with my hair.
But now i'm distorted in my mirror
Crushed by the weight of the rain outside.
The cold tumbles upon my head
and i cannot see the sky.
Copyright © Aimee Thomson
Growing up, and getting old
They're growing old, so very old
Their bodies wracked in pain
Their minds are working all the time
Just old minds not yet sane.
He's growing up, and gaining wisdom
They're growing old and stale
They're still playing the same old games
Not floating on the now
He so quietly takes his pain
He knows that it's 'just life'
They curse and fight all of the way
Yet he, he feels no strife
Cause he is growing up [not old]
He flows with all that is
While they grow old in misery
He grows up, with bliss!
27 September @013 @ 0705hrs.
Copyright © Peter Duggan
It was dark and dreary, and the dawn had not yet
begun to break, as I walked down the steps
to fetch the paper while my family slept.
A hint of a breeze wafted through the trees,
dawn's early light was not yet in sight.
A slight movement appeared from the corner of my eye,
something stirred, a slight crunching-like sound was all I heard.
A cat, a small animal of sorts, hard to see,
moving closer it became clear,
another of those nocturnal mammals, armored carriers
of that age old scourge was rooting by my tree.
Back in the house and out again with light and rifle
I set out to prove I was not someone with whom to be trifled.
A shot in the dark went over his head,
caused a sudden jerk out of the bed,
he turned and glared with steely eyes
and lowered his armored head,
and charged straight at me
as though to say, 'you're going to be dead'.
With gravel flying up the drive he came
like an armored freight train.
A look in the eye such as I have never seen
determined to chase me from the scene.
The crack of the rifle, again..and then again -
and he lay where he fell...with no other sound to tell.
No more will this creature from the Mesolithic age
destroy my lawn, but if truth be known;
where there is one......another on his own, soon will come.
Copyright © Richard Moriarty
First day of our life
The mother is ecstatic
Finally her pains and burdens are over
Ululations and congratulations are on
Could even be the next president
But father is in tears
Camouflaged as honest joy
Another big mouth to feed
Second day of our life
The priest is ecstatic
Finally another person in line for tithe
Could even be the next pope
But mother is in tears
Camouflaged as the touching by the word
Village thugs and whores praying for you
Another statistic of robbery without violence
Third day of our life
The teacher is ecstatic
Finally someone to be the Aristotle to their Plato
Could even be the next Einstein
But priest is in tears
Camouflaged as tears for absolution
Lawyers and politicians consecrating you
Another greedy scholar on the rise
Fourth day of our life
The couters are ecstatic
Finally we love being in love
Could even get married bells ringing
But teacher is in tears
Camouflaged as being proud of you
Another dumb romantic who never learns
Fifth day of our life
We are very ecstatic
Finally we made a new life
Could it be the need to sustain bliss human mediocrity?
But our sweethearts are in tears
Camouflaged as being happy for you
Another one escapes dying alone
Sixth day of our life
Grandchildren are ecstatic
Finally someone else full of laughter and ambition
Could it be their I-phone is the only new thing under the sun?
But we are in tears
Camouflaged as pain in our backs
Another generation who don’t know how short life is
The last day of my life
The better angels inside my head are mourning
Finally I am someone who lived in this world
Could it be because I will be forgotten?
But grandchild is happy
Camouflaged as tears for losing you
Just another man without legacy gone
Copyright © Moses Sichach
The feeling of disastrous thoughts,
Of my loved one now lost.
The pain escapes in fine threads,
Showing no end.
People come and go,
And change comes slow.
They live to forget,
To have no regrets.
Memories flourish in waves of ecstasy,
Only time can heal our tragedies.
Fear of the future alternates with loops of excitement,
And our hearts will break and mend,
The pain will eventually end.
Copyright © Sabrina Garnand
Hither I stand, at crossroads,
And then I gaze, at the yonder end-
The vague horizon from where I began;
And all that I may ever deem
Is that- my days
Have been a waken dream.
Hither I stand, at the edge of my dream;
Then I wonder, at the depth of my trance-
An adventurous journey through the wondrous woods;
An idyllic stroll through the vicissitudinous meadow;
And from the final station as I depart,
All that I can ever say, is that
Perpetuation has been a rouge
Of fleeting phases of my life.
St. Stephen’s College.
Copyright © Suyash Saxena
How queer the color of viscera
squarely foreign in my breast
To be the butcher and grim and goddess
All in one
Leaves identity succinct
Or identifies succinctness
If it has been
Then so it was always before
Therein is 'Peace'
Reposed and eyes rolling
Great, vacant saucers on vertiginous axis
She is quite the swollen beast
And on all fronts, she is terrible
If only you'll watch you may notice her growth
A malignant sort
An unwelcome appendage
I'd dash it out but I've already gone
Too pale and dogged in life to succumb
I curse her tenacity
She has a sister, I think
Or maybe a child
A child who lives down deep in my chest
A child who shrieks and tears down the walls
Perhaps she dislikes their pattern
Copyright © Chelsea Westerfield
I am the maker of miracles
a real spiritual man
waltzing through shadows
as they pull me back in
I know I must escape them
any way I can
I know the way out
like the back of my hand
It's just me and the maker
together, he and I
I told you God is in me
you just thought I was high
talking with the Zeta's
they tell me just why
everything has an ending
and the old me, must die
I'm Calm as a bomb
in the eyes of a storm
they stare upon me
as if I've been warned
turn me inside out
as a goodness is born
I wear my battle scars
so stars know I'm war torn
When the gift of life
is freed from inside
the fire starts fading
then the anger subsides
like the great phoenix,
I go back in time
a miracle is born
and now that I'm revived
in my new life, I shine.
Copyright © Bj Fard
It's sort of amazing.
The fact that I have no social network.
Always thought myself social; is it the city?
Even The Red Hot Chilly Peppers had depressed friends while I haven't that.
One moved away, another I told I'd kill when he looked down his nose at me; one disconnected and Christine got married.
So peculiar but it can't solely be
Tethered , to machines, the fact is I'm with robot while the whole world dreams.
Never won a superlative, but I played sports.
I talk to many even though there were parties when I wandered off.
I learned to play and sing, I read about one or another thing, and not just to keep it to myself.
Then why is it I'm sitting here, so tempted against all odds to take the last step?
Finish the job and turn in the phone. erase the emails and become uncle Joe?
To walk solo like Tom Hanks in Big; in a crowd behind a shroud.
The irony of it all is how it ends. In the biggest of cities without any friends. …
Copyright © Adam G.