Is not the poem
Is not the poet
Is the observations
Is the emotions
Is the diversity. entwined
Opposing views always sought
Is the love
Is the hate
Is the sadness
Of losing to fate
Is the laughter
Of a child’s dreams
Is the love
That is sometimes unseen
Except by the poet
Who in his lonely sadness sees
The beauty of all
That surrounds the depression in he
My heart something broke
I became cold
For childhood days gone by
A million ways
Now I write
From down below
Where darkness is the sea
That I sail in eternity
Of in the distance
I heard the notes of a symphony
So now as I sleep
A thousand deaths
For that one musical note
To wake me up
Heart and soul
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015
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
We sit alone in the shadows outside,
Blowing smoke rings in the dark;
Watching them rise and then divide,
The cherry just a glowing spark;
This is what living is all about,
I’m more happy now than I care to admit;
Talking, laughing, and hanging out,
Just sitting here with our cigarettes lit;
Blowing smoke rings towards the sky,
Your simple words tugging at my heart;
I lean on your shoulder with a satisfied sigh;
And watch as they slowly drift apart;
Doing all the things we shouldn’t do;
I liked being here alone with you,
Blowing Smoke rings in the dark...
Copyright © Tirzah Conway | Year Posted 2010
One thing that I know all about, without any doubt
The meaning of “Oppression of The Soul.”
I once shattered all my dreams, with ill-gotten schemes
Along with every single goal
Emptiness is a real dark thing
As it eats its way through your soul
I found the bottom of the pit, all I can say of it
It truly was a very empty hole
I guess every story has a meaning
Just as every game has a price
If you look closely at me, you’ll be able to see
A lifetime of pain in my advice
Oppression is a real dark word
Regardless of how the word is used
If you’re in the shadow of it, the bottom the pit
You know what it means to be abused
For years I walked in the shadows
I had nothing but hatred for the Son
I just couldn’t see, why it had to be
All the things in my life that had been done
If you were to look into my eyes
And read all the stories they have to tell
All you would be able to see, is pain and misery
A shadow that was in a living hell
I know all about oppression
For it rolls upon the shores of hate
I once looked in the mirror to see, a ghost living in me
Just a skeleton walking through his fate
I also know all about redemption
Behind every shadow there rest some form of light
With in the breath of a prayer, I learned how to care
Thus changing the course of my plight
Every story has a meaning
There is a way to right any wrong
Grasp to the light, and then hold on tight
As you search for the meaning of your song
My song once was heavy metal
I truly loved to bang my head
An empty soul, with a bottomless hole
A never-ending hunger to be fed
Now my song is a ballad
A story that is full of hope and love
I learned how to pray, and give it away
Accepting grace from the Lord above
Oppression crosses our paths everyday
It is everywhere to see
You know what’s right, learn to stand and fight
You will have learned to be all that you can be
Written for the "Oppression of the Soul Contest)
Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2009
With shadows in the dark,
Facing atrocities of the cold,
Yet drenched in the sweat,
I walk down the street
Am bound to follow what others passed by,
Crime it is as if else I try,
Tears follow the path of my cheek,
And it’s the only way my eyes speak,
Lips of mine when turn dry.
I smile I really try to,
To be happy as if I was made to,
I speak of something I don’t know
But there’s what my heart knows,
That’s what my eyes ponder,
And that’s what untold but true,
Yes I know,
Yes I do,
I am missing me in me,
Yes I know,
Yes I do,
I am missing being me……….
Copyright © Shiraz Iqbal | Year Posted 2013
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
Black feathers always absorb
the most sunshine -
a perfect fusion
of dark and light.
Ebony eyes glitter high
in the calm, cold sky.
A quick dip downwards,
the nearly invisible
the thick winter fog.
Currents suddenly catch hard
as birds of steel
thunder by overhead,
breaking the ancient focus,
with loud, powerful roars.
in a flight
of pure contentment.
Black feathers always absorb
the most sunshine -
a perfect fusion
of dark and light.
Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2010
A tortured spirit, earth bound wreaths in agony,
trapped within human body, desperate for freedom.
To be able to escape and hide from other's sight,
to escape the whispers that cut like knives.
Always chained, seeing nothing from balanced point of view.
Reading friendly gestures as threats, wanting love and yet,
unable to give back due to fear and lack of trust.
Forever tied by the silken threads of bi-polar.
Looking always with suspicion on friendly gestures
searching them for hidden agenda or betrayals.
Often over loving, smothering the participant
only to suddenly withdraw and push them away.
Talking to one's self often just privately ranting
blaming all but one's self caught up in madness.
Few things seem to relieve this sense of persecution
and so this tortured soul fights on forever trapped.
Copyright © Shadow Hamilton | Year Posted 2014
Death has Come and Gone
The full moon shines her ambient light
On the tranquility of the afterlife
Death has come and gone
The dusk forlorn… whispers of a dim song
Little has changed
I am in the same place
The same chair
Maybe needing a little air
The ice cubes exist no more
Death drifts infinitely away
Solitude was destinies tune
As all the songs quieted and died
When the great flood of sadness
Overcame the skies
Balloons shriveled on top empty playgrounds
In life such as it was
I had no friends
The irony of it all
As here I am in sitting in my chair
Unnoticed, as days become months
I am surrounded by lovers of great compassion
As they devour the evidence of my existence
Only the skeleton is left
Along with an empty song
For death has but come and gone
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016
Dead Man Tells Tales
I saw, the rot of selfish desires,
burning endlessly in clever fires
Piles of cash a mountain high
stolen by those that steal and lie
six days every week ,
while they go to church pretending
to be so mild and meek
The preacher crying all to give so much more
while he lives in a mansion with a golden door
drunks living with no other life
have sacrificed family and wife
naked women on the the street,
selling thier pride and body like meat
hustlers getting rich selling poisonous dope
as they hang themselves with an evil rope
I looked for solace and found there was none
just endless cowards crying on the run
A world teaching wrong is so damn right
blind monkeys never seeing the light
dancing in fruitless trees,
tree-rats eating with relish their rotting cheese
Looking for Spring to bring life anew
I too am blind and without a damn clue
a fool holding onto a false hope
on a tight leash and even shorter rope
Where is the miracle we each think can come
we see it shining there for some
A treasure glaring in the glimmering Sun
gifted not stolen by guile and a gun
So I finally turned to family for relief
ease my Soul, winter in my long lost belief
that Life must give us all a saving line
other than more food when we sit to dine
Ahh yes, I swing in one of those fruitless trees,
a monkey often doing just as I please
yet dare to think to have so much more
salvation on a far away dazzling shore
My arrogance is in my daring to wish to be better
a fool writing fantasy in an inquiry letter
Is death the only, the one saving grace
a vacation from this sadness infecting the human race
I wonder, can man ever journey forth without greed
without pride of the darkness in his seed
with the guiding light pointing to that place
where joy and love beams in every shining face
All the vanity I once held firmly, so damn dear
was no more than vanishing suds in my lousy beer
Standing now to look over my own selfish deeds
I see a child still lost in the tall, tall weeds
sometimes crying for help to rush on to rescue
is sweet salvation only for the chosen few
Spring came when I had completely given up on me
a beaten man , crying out in a desperate plea
Once I had lost my arrogant, foolish pride
I had no shelter in which to stupidly hide
As darkness raced to force me into its trap
that restraining leash did finally snap
I took one step into the waiting light
away from darkness of that life enslaving night
And only then, only then did I see-
The huge rot of all my selfish desires,
burning endlessly in my clever fires
Piles of my cash a mountain high
stolen by we that relentlessly steal and lie
six shameful days every week ,
while we go to church pretending
to be so damn clever, mild and meek
Robert J. Lindley, 04-20-1999
Note- This poem was written long ago. Things have only gotten worse since then.
They can lie, steal and deceive mortal men but not the One that will one furure day judge them !
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2015
The grey oppresses;
surrounded by fog,
I traverse this shadowland;
Dorothy in reverse,
stuck in this land of monochrome
Xerox grayscale in 2-D.
Hoping it is but a dream,
valiantly, I stroke in Technicolor
Only to see it erased, again
It is no more real than the specters
haunting my thoughts.
Still I stumble around searching;
hues of hope hover out of reach
as these low-lying clouds
cast a pall-- blinding me to joy.
Perhaps, I'm trapped
in Tim Burton's sketch board;
these monoliths of grotesque
caricature evidence such.
At every turn there is a new one,
popping out of the mists.
Large, unmoving blocks of black granite
ring me like Stonehenge-- surrounded--
Leaving me wandering this maze of dark surrealism.
Glimpses of color reveal themselves
in the distance through the shroud,
ephemera teasing my senses.
Blow! benign zephyrs;
sweep away the haze
invading my peace.
Rescue me the confines
of my self-induced prison.
Let me walk in daylight, once again.
Copyright © Jaycee Cervenka | Year Posted 2015
Digging in my heels I’m ready to run, onward I go with my back to the rising sun
Shadow demons be gone pester me not, I’ll run so fast that you’ll soon be forgot
Newly reborn with no sign of a savior, renouncing the old ways desolate behavior
Forged in fathoms of what could have been, not knowing how not knowing when
My legs tighten I take off in the sand, in search of tomorrow in search of new land
Burning back from the sweltering heat, blisters echo my pain in my pounding feet
Relentless I run from my shoes I break free, running as fast as I can to my destiny
Dried out earth slowly turns green, desert skies of red turn a blue and white serene
Grass under foot a new way is found, no longer am I tethered no longer am I bound
Freedom calls to me bellowing from within, where will it end where should it begin
Breaking the summit confident I leap, my dreams my desires these things I will keep
Diving down toward the crystal river, no more regret no more fear not even a sliver
Splashing down into the waters cleanse, my conviction is what my success depends
Swimming to the shore naked to the sun, it’s my time to rebuild my time has begun
Copyright © Drakavai the Wordsmith | Year Posted 2013
Venus’s light grew ever brighter as discovery marked its territory
On new faces—old ones brought to the light of sudden love-falls
I grew wary of the feelings surpassing my entire being
Wavelengths of caution holding their hands up in dominance
“Do not pass as to succumb to the charm of your desires,
Yet pause in the epiphanies that blind you”
This voice had the authority over the stars and planets,
Over the birds and beasts, and could be heard by all rebellious men
Its anger was subtly piercing, with no trace of mortal malice
Erupting for the greater good of my confused soul,
Trapped in the sentiments that have swayed me into some false conviction
“Stay here and forget the voice,” says another oh so softly,
“Take wing into heavens none have traveled before
Do not pause at the discretion of your reasoning—
Instead ride upon the back of revolution’s stride
Taste the inner cravings that have molded you together
Crunch on the sustenance of those around you
Eat it all—for the morsels are both tasty and satisfying
Be fattened in the comfort that everyone around you…FALLS”…
And then my guard was cut clean off…
By the most gorgeous face I have ever set eyes upon
I had seen this face, many a time…
Yet now it pierced me sharper than ever before
I longed to taste the lips that spoke to me
I faltered in the sound of the laughter escaping the mouth
The heart of this being was so fixated in its own reality
And the despair of my desire grew uncomfortably under boulders of Never-
Oh voice, loud as thunderous fire…
Why can I not desire what I will never have?
Will I crumble to dust by this new feeling,
Or shall I forget it all and assemble my thoughts upon new and greater
“Oh beautiful soul, take a look at your heart of gold,
Remember your time is ever so short—and though all fall short,
These desires inside you will stretch your time into success
All bottled up in alerted misery,
Why burden yourself in cold sobriety?
Embark upon the passions like the waves of the sea—
Give that heart that you so long for what it deserves…
Give it the truth—your truth
And if you fall, you fall…”
I silenced the thought with terrible thrashing tears
Wanting to listen, yet too stiff to absorb it all
I begged the voice to strengthen me,
And all I could hear was the assurance of my desires
Yet the echo of the Almighty was clearer than the sorrows I possess even
“Do not pass as to succumb to the charm of your desires,
Yet pause in the epiphanies that blind you”
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2014
Sickle moon gray above the waves
The quiet directionless wind
On the earth, and in the sky above
A veil is drawn, cutting into dark spots
Slowly round and round,
Murals are etched into the sand
The statue waits with eyes unblinking
Silent wonder, solitary armless stone
Twisted, counter-pose, forever fixed,
Wonder, what does she see under water?
Rusty bows and sterns, shipwrecks,
Silvery fish fluttering in and out of hulls, a
graveyard outside hallowed ground
Archway, the great doors dark and closed
Murky, wet light pours in vaulted windows
Through water-worn edges of stained glass
Seaweed tendrils curl around an altar
Once, quiet processions marched up the aisle
They are now only filtered ghosts,
Murmuring, wavy impressions of what was
Forever, the tide calls upon the great steeple
And the lonely under-toe,
Pulls a mote in the sand around her,
To protect the bastion in the sea,
Dark, lovely, lost forever to those above
Copyright © Jeremy Martin | Year Posted 2012
The glamour of their squalor is found
in specular highlights of crisp brown eyes
peering through mud-matted hair, crying.
Weeks of eating an abundance of whatever,
which consisted of scarcely more than bugs
fished from non-potable cesspools.
A decade seems a long time, until singularly
it accounts for one’s whole life…and yet
we won’t home them, because they are a plague.
Self-righteousness cannot bear the reminder
that “refugees” might be people…children even;
running from nightmares that persist in daylight.
Ignorance is bliss, after all…
and who chooses to come down from a high?
We have full tables, full inns, and empty hearts.
Opportunistic politicians see a platform,
borne on the backs of the starving and desperate,
they manifest feigned outrage and farcical hand-wringing.
Droves follow droves out from the gloomy dread
greeted by cool apathy or worse; outright derision…
what more is to be expected of humanity?
The squalor of our glamour is found
in hopeless disconnection to what matters, or
to the reality that we could have been them.
Copyright © The Grahamburglar | Year Posted 2015
In my heart there’s no longer
loneliness from longing for love.
Finally found someone to love,
but he is my silent sorrow manifest.
In my chest there’s still even now
a prolonging lonesomeness.
Finally found somewhere to live,
but it is my isolating incubation erect.
In my head there’s still me, myself,
and I comforting my lonely heart.
Finally found someway to befriend,
but they are my persona’s karma manifest.
In my soul there’s no longer
loneliness from longing for love.
Finally found some truth of whom I am,
but my heart’s still filled with loneliness.
Copyright © Marissa Faries | Year Posted 2013
In this haunted room I feel a presence build.
So thick is the air, closing in as you capture space.
The empty chair that was, now your body filled.
Sudden cold spot blasting icy gusts upon my face.
Heart thrumming uselessly in my frail breast.
Pounding in my ears, drowning out the comfort of sleep.
Your shape of nightmares breaking hope of rest.
The black of your image forming thickly and dark too deep.
Your silence leaves open the whispers of dread.
What lurks in this ghost activity straining against the real.
A hand so close it might reach out to my bed.
The fear, overwhelming, lies in what you may next reveal.
Mundane is the car that slows close in the drive
Louder than all it seems after this panic, slowing to turn.
Light blazes through, clashing swiftly into my chilling hive.
I wait to see clearly, such excitement and fear as I learn.
Shadows revealed, nothing I might have guessed.
So clearly I see you in this light commanding dark's defeat.
A sigh passes over my lips my truest fear confessed.
For tonight, just a chair and a badly folded sheet.
Copyright © Seline Elaina | Year Posted 2010
five fast bullets
locked and loaded
from my head
fate is held
by my true loves' hand
Copyright © janetta harrington | Year Posted 2006
She sees herself suddenly as a small girl
bare feet on the cold black and white tile
little toes curled
sees the white porcelain tub and
how pretty the light blue water was
so deep it almost came to her chin
as she climbed in
For hours she'd play with her dime store sailboat
loving it though it would hardly float
always taking on water
listing, never level
her wet skinny back hunched over
shoulder blades like primordial wings
every few minutes she'd have to shake the thing
Trying desperately not to break the spell
it was time to let the water out
she'd always stay to watch the water drain
weighing the emotional pain
both fascinated and horrified,
as the suction intensified,
by the force of the water
the unstoppable slaughter
waiting for the inevitable rotation
the dizzying spin
Slowly at first growing faster and faster
a miniature cyclonic water disaster
The dime store boat of course on its side
circling faster in the relentless tide
Then the drain would give a horrible belch
much satisfied with itself.
As she grew the tub got smaller
with shallower water
less and less room
for pretend to bloom.
Years later, dime store sailboat long forgotten,
life having been mostly rotten
working with the most cynical of cynics
ER nurses bitter that it's more like a clinic
runny noses and coughs that folks thought were urgent
working hard to save those who were truly emergent
Hearing from them the phrase: "circling the drain"
memories suddenly flooding the brain
almost able to feel herself as that young girl
watching the sailboat beginning to swirl
Feeling the blood drain, face going pale
she sees vividly the boat with its bright red sail
yellow hull and blue plastic deck
fine hairs rising on the back of her neck
She realizes now the fatigue of age
is from fighting the pull with defiant rage
The closer you get, the faster you spin
and soon the dark whirlpool draws you in
With a knowledge that seems to be purely primal
she now understands the downward spiral
And she knows that she will not put up a fight
she'd rather go silently in the dark of the night
And the dime store boat comes to rest on its side
so it's all come full circle at the end of the ride.
Copyright © Danielle White | Year Posted 2008
In Each Dark Battle Are Gems Still Hiding
I linger far too long in past glances
repairing my heart from such ancient pains.
I that carelessly took too many chances
now look back at far, far too many stains.
No shadows that follow bear good tidings
where tired spirit seeks safe shade and deep rests.
In each dark battle are gems still hiding
in green forests upon snow covered crests.
Long has been the widening path taken
where night-moon and bright sun upon man shine.
All seems so lost but hope is not forsaken
death is dark-food upon which Fate does dine.
Tarry not, road slows, end-game is in sight.
There sleep, basking in its eternal light.
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2016
Cut my veins
Drink my filth
Take me away
Make me whole
You are Satan’s Minion
I am your Eternal Damnation
Give me life, give me need
Cut my wrist and make me bleed
Through these veins dead blood flows
The sins of the heart breed jealous fiends, and dark desires.
Burning, bleeding wounds caused from blood lust and loneliness
Are the harbingers of sins of the heart. Let me die of broken spirit & destitute heart.
Let me die. Just let me die.
Blood is dripping to the floor
Feels much better, I hurt no more
I’m numb inside and feel no pain
One of these days I’ll empty my veins
For my life Is meaningless
Copyright © Joelle Zanotti | Year Posted 2008
Boastfully, I regret no deeds,
my sins are minor, lame, and weak.
These children, though born dead, are strong,
like a necromancer, I make them dance.
Machineries, and wretched whores,
all linger midst my core's hollow depths.
So violent, I reproach their names,
like demons, they return the favour.
Silence now, no not a sound,
save for my gears, grinding gold.
A littany, these vicious lines,
meant to be enjoyed in Death.
So let me sleep, wake me not,
the Grave is my truest home.
Quietly, I shall decay,
and I will become my art.
Burn this body, this sinful cage,
bound to Earth's pleading ways.
My soul is chained within,
the keys just out of reach.
Pleasantries, I crave emotion,
intoxicated, I find them here.
Cells may rot, the better then,
so that the soul may roam.
Spread the ashes near and far,
somewhere left unseen.
Not valiant, not brave,
I am the Coward's King.
So still my heart of violence,
let the impurities flow.
Diminish all your foolish laws,
this soul belongs to me.
Copyright © Saint Alphonse | Year Posted 2009
I step into the dark with fear and doubt,
the path I take- a foreign, dismal place;
no map to guide my way through twists and turns,
but I will place my steps within the dark.
I ask, my God. Why is my path so dark?
And why must I embark alone in fear?
And why is each step that I take a test?
In this great void of darkness- deep, unknown.
But I have strength and I will venture on-
The past is gone, it dwells in mind and heart;
I have my soul to guide my path today,
and put my trust in me- to guide my way.
Inspired by John Lawless's contest, Shooting Blank Verse
November 13, 2016
Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2016
I do not know?
Speaking once for some levity
Speak it twice for revenge
Speaking three times so you look at me
You’ll hear me never again
I paint you a picture
Of everything you are
If you’re honest you will love me
Too bad I’m just another scar
Speaking of how to retrieve me
I sing my little songs
But when boredom depletes me
I’ll ask you what is wrong
If I speak of how to screw you
You’re just another toy
If I tell you that I love you
You’re just another desperate ploy
Riddles become my serenity
If I can’t have you it will please me
The search for death is heaven sent
Copyright © Ian Petch | Year Posted 2006
a young girl,
hair done up in braids.
I see a smile that could stop traffic on the streets.
I see her as the sun that shines
behind the grey clouds on the horizion
of poverty and sorrow.
The malicious streets that she walks upon.
The streets she splashes in the puddles
and skips down humming a favorite tune.
I see her sitting by the ocean playing with a doll,
A doll woven by sweat and tears.
Because she knew she didn't want it.
A doll obtained by trudging through mud.
Invisible mud that only she can feel.
And the mud makers.
Otherwise it's her secret.
And it's the doll that paints this whole picture
And masks the dirt
For her own eyes.
And she knew. The doll would soon grow.
Visibility of its existence wouldn't be masked anymore.
By the brightness of the sun.
Her self create sun.
And she will be hated for it.
But - Beyond the doll in her hand
The girl is full of pain - but still
full of passion and life.
Amongst all the chaos in her world,
she still smiles as bright as the moon,
as glistening as the starry sky.
But there wass one thing I knew about her,
She was like the moon-
part of her was always hidden,
A part of her I would never understand,
she would never allow
past certain walls.
And for such a young girl
I never knew why.
But as time wore on my heart,
I learnt to understand.
The part of her she kept away from others -
was the part that kept her glowing.
Glowing through all the darkness in the world which she lived.
The only part she had left
Copyright © Faigy Grunwald | Year Posted 2016
There was no casket to be set into the earth.
Only memories were to be burried washed clean
by the bottles embrace.
Strangers do we part a vist to a familar cold place
by the oceans shore.
Words spoken never hurt when you understand
The dark inwhich I only know.
A dark river flowing unto the sea.
Its broken current flow's with no true direction.
As children we start fresh only to loose the spark.
Dancing under a shroud of tenderness apon lifes
Bitter souls reflect anger lost only tears of regret.
Me i just cast demons down in some twisted hope
I just might forget.
Sometimes you gotta realize when you crash through that glass
celling you only got to look forward to the floor.
The bottle now empty I cast into the dark waters
Along with a memory I'll pretend to erase.
Distanse is only a thought away.
The road echos my lifes song.
Underground burried so deadly the truth
just as sweet as the lie.
Barbwire and daydreams plague my soul.
Like the bottle that sit's within the depths
of a water cast tomb.
I know strangers as friends.
Night as backdrop.
Farewell seems fitting as hello.
When the river has run dry
To whom will go?
Read more: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/the-death-of-a-friend/#ixzz0suxHEd00
Copyright © John Patrick Robbins AKA Gonzo | Year Posted 2010
lost in my mind
steeped in dark emotion.
Shadows block the light from my eyes
and all I see is the blackness of pain
which holds my heart captive again.
Swift flow my silver tears
and burn my skin
Copyright © Robin L. Gass | Year Posted 2009
The Dark Journey
Authored by Chuck Keys
The solitary man walks a thin line,
With no front or back,
Nor left nor right,
Alone, among no others.
His trees have no branches,
Nor leaves, nor fruit,
With no growth or death,
Needs no nourishment.
Within himself he stands,
Fearless and fearful,
Patiently searching his soul,
Neither strength nor weakness.
The solitary man reeks of timelessness,
With no friend nor foe,
Not bright nor dark,
Timidly under the calm of his pending end.
His beginning, a shallow emptiness,
Uncherished empty years followed,
Bitter to taste what was never there,
He morbidly ends as he lived, alone.
Copyright © Chuck Keys | Year Posted 2010
Shadows and murky darkness deep
Describe the depths of lonely hearts
That lie in wait and icy chill
For fiery love to burst in flames;
That empty chests may be refilled
And taste sweet love again!
Copyright © Tara Andre | Year Posted 2013
The winds of Winter wait,
Whispering to me of the approaching future,
But still far off, biding their time
Until this span of light and warmth has lasted out its stay.
Meantime, I engage myself in taking stock;
Compiling the days that define myself to myself
Enlarging the catalog so far as I can,
Building up a narrative.
So many memories
Like fireflies in a Summer's night
Flash through the dark spaces of my mind.
Young Parenthood: Flash
Empty Nest: Flash.
Family, friends, events
Joys, sorrows, beginnings, endings -
All make their flickering passages;
All paint their images onto me
The particles dance and shift
Cells die to be replaced
The face in the mirror becomes my father's
Molecule by molecule
With each passing instant.
The particles dance and shift
Moving back towards the dark unknown
From which they came,
Yet somehow in the midst of it
The I that was
And shall be
Remains to watch the long parade unfold.
And that parade, banal and fantastic,
Marches past that inside window where I watch to see myself pass by,
As some newer self shall do the same through all tomorrows
Until the day when all the marching stops for me -
And then, my fellow marchers,
O my many, varied Loves,
On that last Winter's day,
Where will we be,
Where will we be?
What musics shall we hear?
What wonders might we see?
Copyright © William Masonis | Year Posted 2012