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 | Year Posted 2012
While you sleep I tell you all of the things I keep inside throughout day.
Now that you can hear but not listen I find them much easier to say.
My hopes, my dreams, my fears, and everything in between
Your subconscious hears so keen, or so it seems.
My tongue is soft; I speak so sweetly
Knowing your reaction will never greet me.
Tonight will be different in what I want you to know.
It has everything to do with what I can’t help but show.
I hold no claim to any religion but you’ve given me a place for my faith.
Somewhere it will never stale or lose its lavish taste.
You’ve shown me something I can see, touch, and feel,
And so before it I choose to kneel.
I know I don’t say it but I miss you every day.
Sitting, thinking of the perfect words to be my choice,
Yet when you call I can’t find any of the right words to say.
I’m just happy to finally hear your voice.
Even just a moment is enough to sooth my heavy heart;
Fearing the ends of conversations knowing we’ll have to part.
I’ll never be too far from you, always within arm’s reach,
And in your days of darkness I’ll be the light that you will seek.
I’ll never let you leave too far from me, I’ll stay close behind you in this world;
Secretly protecting what is mine, you will always be my girl.
I only want the best for you so the best of me I will employ.
Faithfully yours, I will always be your boy.
I close my eyes and kiss your soft sweet lips
And see the very best of you in loving bliss.
I see past the physical which makes you attractive
And focus on the things I can’t see in which I’m attracted.
Your thoughts I’d love to hear them all.
Of the things you speak disinterest never makes its call.
My day will come, I know someday I’ll be the only one.
And you I will pursue viciously,
Because I’ve given you the greatest gift I can give, to love unconditionally.
Yes our day will come, I know someday we’ll be as one.
And you I will pursue viciously,
Because I’ve given you the greatest gift I can give… to love unconditionally.
Copyright © Kristopher Higgs | Year Posted 2012
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 | Year Posted 2013
walking on their trails
beaten down and broken
shiny as the rails
the rails of the train
over used and rusted
the system that you trusted
the silence of conformity
the quiet crying song
of people lost in apathy
monotony so long
the old man remembered
the booming days of old
and tried to warn the youngster
with stories he had told
the young man in the t shirt
can hear no warning cries
covering his eyes
with complacent misdemeanors
from mass media feeders
the heretics will scream
with no one to hear their call
the working slaves will perish
society will fall
in the pulpit yelling
sweating like a demon
with fire in his eyes
passing round a dish
to collect the workers' wage
saving souls ain't easy
so he sets a stage
profiting from fear
preparing them for death
comfort is a business
says his liquor breath
on the front row fanning
the woman says amen
waiting for the bell
so she can live in sin
forgiveness is a blessing
that god will give to few
surely she'll be one
when her life is through
the child in the classroom
with the curious mind
will be beaten and conditioned
until she too is blind
"trust in the system"
is the motto that they teach
so higher you can reach"
the land of the free
the home of the brave
only for those of us
content with being slaves
some will stand on street corners
holding big white signs
telling of injustice
held beneath our sights
but those who throw the bombs
which burn society down
those will be the shakers
for true freedom to be found
but the sheep still continue
to justify their life
ignoring others torment
blind to their strife
selling bankers souls
to keep on consuming
to get the best remote control
to build themselves a shield
what kind of life is this
numbness is a virtue
and ignorance is bliss
Copyright © JoAnna Mitchell | Year Posted 2013
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 | Year Posted 2013
Alas! Was once greatest echo of time,
When all the days were bold;
Sky and storm cried out with ferocity
And its heart newborn was old.
Bound by chains and its beauty denied,
Earth ripped deep in savage glee,
And wickedness its glory, as it lied
A Titan knocked upon its heels.
Never more! Resting in its realm pure
Nature's fate never told;
The time of mortal man's rise,
Or at what cheap price it was sold.
Seasons racing into everlasting joy,
When its age was newborn;
Now darkness invades its golden realm
Its pure heart forever torn!
LO! I am Nature, my spirit daily cries.
And hidden cuts can be seen in my skies!
Robert J. Lindley
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2015
Sometimes I admire the littlest things
A simple rock. A blade of grass.
They need no future goals, no tax exemptions
They don’t need to go anywhere or be anything
They just are.
Sometimes, especially when I’m reading life insurance policies,
I envy the rocks and the grass
And try to be like them for a moment.
I sit perfectly still and give myself to the wind-
And it whispers in my ear:
And for that moment I don’t need to go anywhere or be anything.
And at the snap of my fingers,
All the complex widgets and gizmos that make up my life
Fold into paper airplanes and fly off in the wind.
Copyright © Jacob Reinhardt | Year Posted 2013
Fall descends as Summer leaves.
Autumn cools a skewed romance.
Here we find a heart that grieves,
While the other lives to dance.
Short the span of peak allure.
Egos start to hum the blues.
Mirrors follow and procure
Any truth you wish to view.
If the other shoe be age,
Let it drop, accept the dread.
Earplugs mute his music's rage,
Yours in stacks beneath the bed.
Flattery can quickly blind
When it's served in large amounts.
Don't leave common sense behind,
With a dwindling bank account.
Rhyme / AB-AB
Copyright © Gene Bourne | Year Posted 2014
I do not know?
written 10th Aug 2013
I am God's child, first and forever
I am known by many different titles, a daughter
I am a wife
I am a mother
I am a grandmother
I am a poet
I am by several ways, known as a sister
I am an acquaintance
I am a loyal friend
I am a stranger
I am a cousin
I am an Auntie
I am a niece
But who is this person, they all call "Denise?"
She is a child to God
She is a niece
She is a cousin
She is a stranger
She is a loyal friend
She is an acquaintance
She is known to many, a sister
She is a poet
She is a grandmother
She is a mother
She is a wife
She is known as a daughter to many
She is everything, she'd ever dreamed her life to be....
She is happier than she ever imagined possible
SHE IS "DENISE"
Copyright © Denise Hopkins | Year Posted 2013
A new photograph floats to the surface
Playfully dressing up as the world around me
Hat, striped socks and all
Tiptoeing at the top for one last sweet moment
Before sinking back into my ocean mind.
One after another they arrive
Steeping my eyes in the world
As the minds shutter, ever fluttering
Strings together this conscious stream I play in.
My photographs fade in time’s wrinkled arms.
Joining their brothers and sisters at the ocean floor,
They hold hands and try to answer the question that is always asking itself:
Who am I?
Copyright © Jacob Reinhardt | Year Posted 2013
On the galley I stood. I could see, a shadowy figure,
wearing a black dress and a hood.
It’s stories I have heard. Legends of a lifeless captain,
his boat and his bird.
Fifty-four I was, till the lifeless captain took me in
his masterpiece, his work, his canvas, a sea made entirely of us.
Wifeless, lifeless, colorless. I was sure it wasn’t alive,
he or she, it, moved like a puppet, soulless.
Whilst waves of memories hit the prow, the figure proceeded to say:
“These memories are you,
I, and where you lay.”
The sentence was punctuated by a loud, distant-yet-near screech.
A black crow with a silver-like beak could be seen by my curiously intrepid eyes.
We reached the docks, and the figure left me beneath the cloudless skies.
Copyright © William Nickerson | Year Posted 2015
I am drifting into memories.
Wasting away like a million photographs fading in the sun-
Yet with ceaseless renewal,
Staining the depths of my eyes with images
In the minds shutter ever fluttering to infinity,
Stringing together this conscious stream I play in-
My stupendous God made of dust and space
Tightrope walking existence!
And to think we too are made of mostly nothing-
Chance so scarcely gracing our atoms with a single touch
In a place so lonely when counted,
Yet so abounding when felt!
So dance with the Dust God
Poised miles above the earth-
Prance on your stilts,
And peek into the great valleys beneath his skin.
Because any moment we could disappear
Copyright © Jacob Reinhardt | Year Posted 2013
This expanse of land has seen things.
Things all of us can only see in dreams.
It's seen war, it's gotten it's fair share of scars.
Bombs bursting, bullets throwing sand into the air like it's a volleyball tournament.
The sand running red with blood silently mocking our arteries.
This magnificent stretch of land has seen heroes' tears fall; dropping to their knees while sadness envelopes their fallen brothers but also looking up to their beloved whilst carrying a ring in their hand.
It's seen bright days, the sun glimmering over wet sand, footprints of past loves being washed away as the sun smacks the horizon.
This expanse of land...has seen things we can only imagine.
Copyright © Tyler Kisner | Year Posted 2013
I do not know?
Ever since I have stepped into modernization, I have been pinched with values of the ancestors,
I cannot believe that the inside does not reflect the outside anymore,
When one says he or she has changed and become open minded,
Is it only to make one feel temporarily pleased or is just to enjoy hurting a person,
Why has age become a factor or an excuse to start a new problem?
Every time a heart skips a beat, the warm sensation takes place, a friendly chat takes place,
Numbers begin to swirl around. The intellectual chat, attraction of like minds,
Or even the rebellious differences stand in a corner against numbers.
Time flies and so does one progress with various experiences.
Does it matter if you are too old or young to be with someone?
Who gets to judge about numbers?
Nothing occurs very young but takes place during adulthood with mature thinking.
How should one deal when age becomes a problem to a new relationship?
More or less, does anyone have the right to judge if one is not married at a certain age.
With observation, reading various articles, numbers have created a nuisance in the mind of shallow thinkers in many societies.
When all the feelings are right, then why do numbers go wrong?
Doesn’t sensibility, love, responsibility or even security count or is it overshadowed with age.
Still one may try to let go and filter some thoughts, but how does one filter attraction and passion.
Years have passed by and still the jackpot of excuses concerning numbers have polluted various communities. A spark of hope is still there when faith and true love will attain blessings from the higher self and well-wishers always.
Copyright © Bhavna khemlani | Year Posted 2012
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 | Year Posted 2013
this sweet sixteen self should not dare sail away from the safe habour
no matter how sweet-talking boys are or archaic parents sound
it has dumped dollies for ‘fun’ boys and has privileges and rights
but one day it has to unlearn the habit of turning on lights for
romantic rather than economic reasons when other sixteens’
ballooning bellies heave in sight because of boys` menacing
lethal guns or when their bodies lose their natural radiance
because debauchery has ruthlessly ravaged them and turned
their age absolutely upside-down
with moderation and vision and honesty l have to enjoy life
because time flies faster than a silhouetted butterfly
18 December 2012
Copyright © Ndaba Sibanda | Year Posted 2012
Modern day Empire
The same as old,
Man doesn't really have time
Just Inventions and different clothes.
Still craving our nature the two split purpose,
Consumption and reproduction
All else is conjuring vanity,
An evolving Microchip of lost perception, a tinted clarity.
Yet we entrapped ourselves into a diamond cast,
Being compounded by every grasp that meets ear, eye and touch.
Never forget the truth bearing lust,
that feeling of inner-ness that splinter-hair precision awareness
And ask the question you've subconsciously locked away
Why are you being and what are the aims?
And then at that moment your shell will fall apart
so remind yourself of the real truth the binds mind and heart,
and roam among your ancestors in the lyceum of endless fascination
in one's mighty reflection and complacence.
Copyright © Paul K K | Year Posted 2013
I find it strange this day in age
Some beautiful ones are still teens
I've talked to older women, I'm afraid;
It's almost like I'm caught in between.
You see, other Adventist Christians,
They did consider it ignorant of me.
I didn't ask for this experience;
I don't wish to be in captivity.
Is it how I carry myself?
Well, maybe it's the male physique
Which might describe the way she felt
That time when her eyes were on me.
I picked the less of two evils;
Adulthood is not simple to me.
I will never be perfect for people;
Especially, when I'm twenty-three.
©2013 Honestly JT
Copyright © Honestly J.T. | Year Posted 2013
I have a disease
It's called a desperation of the heart
It is dangerous
Yet could give you a high degree of sweetness
Such sweetness that could leave one with a high sugar level
I'm not a doctor but I know the cure
The drug is near yet far-fetched
No other doctor can heal this except one with the crown of a king
One with furious passion that can reduce this high sugar level to nought in a glimpse
The ecstasy of being locked up in love's oblivion can only be true
When my doctor satisfies my sight with his presence
And my body with his caresses.
Copyright © CHIOMA ONYEKABA | Year Posted 2015
Walking in the meadow of life on that summer day
Where she always loved to be at Una walked along the steady stream
As she picked up the white Lilly flower and put upon her hair of gold (princess of love)
And the daughter of a dander king
Una suddenly turned her head to the old orchard tree and begun to sing roman lullabies of joy
With tears of affection shed for the god who lives above the skies
At that moment she gazed back to the stream
And there the lion stood so tall just like a king eyes wide looked to una
As she went toward the mighty lion he went to her and utter'd thee words
I am a creature of pride with nothing to hide I am pure of heart true of courage with a mask of savage a mane gold as our hearts-
She became very happy and intrigued
As she laid her gentle hands on upon the lion she spoke these words
-I love thee lion and by sun and moon I love thee freely as men strive for right;
I love thee purely in my old griefs and childhood's faith
There a tiny lamb appears right next to her and the lion
So small and graceful like a gift from god above
The tiny lamb followed them further into the enchanted meadow sky as crystal blue and the wind is calm they drifted off strung into the world
To bring new love joy and courage to the world and spread good faith
Copyright © Brian Otoole | Year Posted 2013
The soul shatters upon death. Sentience fractures into a million variables that swirl chaotically into piercing eyes that melt into the color sadness, spinning into galaxies that shrink to the size of ants and you twirl in a blender of being for eternities until finally, at long last, something sticks. Perhaps it may be as simple as a strand of hair, nonetheless all possibility spins around it, flashing contradictions of rainbow transparencies, empty solids and polka dotted space, continuing until a second hair joins the first, clutching to the nothingness and refusing to move. Soon thousands of hairs arrive and synchronize above a scalp unto a face, torso, limbs… materializing ever faster… and at once you are born. And just as the memory of your trial and error experiments and prior life evaporate, you embrace the arms of a stranger, gazing into her eyes, hung between this world and the next… sobbing in a fit of omniscience, in awe of your hard earned shape.
Copyright © Jacob Reinhardt | Year Posted 2013
The time and age we live in
calls for love that is true
sweet baby I have loved before
I have been alone and lonely
in the time I have spent with you
you have gave me more love
than anyone I have ever known
you have made me fall in love
all my love and all my kisses
are for you and only you
sweet baby you are the one
I want to love and only you
Copyright © william fox | Year Posted 2015
Show me who you are and i shall paint out broken columns on the valleys of her back as if such figure is un-common
i have found no beauty bending as the vines that are her hair and the frailty of man upon her back is what she bares
bleed her body for the harvest let them feast upon her soul for the nurishment of mother is leaps beyond so bold
she is like the flower growing in the deepest of dark forests,amongst the ivy and hemlock but her skin is much too porous
to concern herself with games that tantalize the men, as they marry on crusade it is her children that she tends
sheath your swords with her ambition and tip your arrows with her will, craft your armour from her strength and in the battle you will kill
come now children from the pasture and lay each upon her side, suckle gently at your mother although theirs pain she does not hide
though the water leaks from rooftops her leaves are thick and block the rain, as the water level rises cling to her branches with no shame
she is the stone upon the beach, once a mountain pound and breached
yet still her disposition clear to love her children that are near
inspired by Roots Frida Kahlo, 1907-1954
Copyright © chriss todd | Year Posted 2013
I am not made a full blown beauty..
Nor I live a life of purity; charity & piety..
All I like to do is to live with identity..
Not of being a witty but a life of humility..
I tried to be a more social person..
Cracking out the shell I have put up..
Breaking from my own weakness..
Doing best in my found strengths..
I have craved to reach out to people..
Widening my horizon, increasing my knowledge and awareness..
Learning to acknowledge fellow human beings..
Regardless of who they are and where they from..
They said: "I must not do this as it is dangerous.."
but I stand to what I know: "Inside all human beings is the reflection of God.."
I give due and equal chance..
As my God have freely given me opportunities too..
We people are living in same earth..
Different are we because of status, faith or race..
Let not this be the reason for us to be divided..
Rather we must come in unison conquering divisions..
Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo | Year Posted 2013
I do not know?
In The Arms of Antiquity
At our age
people make faces
when we talk
of love making,
as if the thought
is too bizarre
Were it not
there would be
to make love.
So we must leave,
in old and secret
in the arms
return to the
to be truly
its need for
hand in hand
and make love
John G. Lawless
for Justin Bordner contest
Make Love To Me In That Ancient Place
Copyright © John lawless | Year Posted 2014
What if I was the man of every girl's dream,
Regrettably, they didn't know it.
Though certain things didn't exist instantly,
Yet I was him and couldn't show it.
What if you found him when you met me,
In your presence there I stood.
I had no wings of an angel, nor aura heavenly,
Yet I could do what no other man would.
You knew who I was and knew my name,
We've crossed paths and life moved on.
The quest for perfection was to blame,
Which is why misfortune stood strong.
Not to say vainly, "I'm God's gift to the world,"
Just what if I was created to be
The man of your dreams, liked by woman and girl;
Would you overlook or choose me?
©2013 Honestly JT
Copyright © Honestly J.T. | Year Posted 2013
Hopeful doesn’t mean stupid
That doesn’t mean I wasn’t stupid
I was in a state and messed up
Simple as that.
I could dramatize
Spill all the stars from my eyes and mouth and cry out for answers but,
My spirit can dance alone.
A lapse in judgement will not throw it off beat because it dances to a cosmic drum. My heartbeat and no one else’s.
Dropped my shield
Set myself on fire
Burned up a daft dream
And fell to ashes.
I’ve proven to relate to the phoenix
Both of us know what it’s like to die a quick death and come back stronger
Time and time again
Our ashes swirl into the manifestation of our desires and in that I find my comfort.
Hard topped, granite counters
Tough as nails kid
But kid is man or at least he pretends to be.
Smart phones aren’t so smart but, I’m writing this on one
Sedatives and sad, country music mood swims through my veins.
Excuse me, while I go have a drink with that phoenix.
Copyright © Alexander Schwartz | Year Posted 2013
Bubbling brown ridges strike
The confining dimensions in a hostile yawn:
Walk the world no longer, an ending beckons,
A precipice builds moments where swallows wager wings
On new seed: New breeds.
Falling buys the assurance of seconds
From a sinking well.
Remember us when the globe begins to slip,
Bang drums for our pity:
Our crescendos mean less than meaningless.
And then, when spheres crack, continue
On the whorl of a thumb,
Stretching hope to nothing.
Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013
From deep within a silence grows
Vastly spreading, yet no one knows
No one knows of what's to come
The Feeling is sudden, then it's done.
Often with pain, fits of sorrow
The Feeling leaves nothing, not even a morrow
With much haste, take one last breath
We all succumb to The Feeling of Death.
Copyright © Don Davidson | Year Posted 2013
sometimes, i get a wave of sadness over me.
i love you, and i want to be with you,
you deserve someone
a little less neurotic
a little more normal.
someone who is honest when she whispers, “I’m so happy”
under the covers.
you make me happy.
but you shouldn’t have to change me like that.
Copyright © Morgan Tate | Year Posted 2013