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Prose Poetry Lost Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Lost

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Details | Prose Poetry | |

My Farewell

                      If I forget you, would you remember me?
                       If I still love you, would you still love me?
                      
                      If I fall when old, would you lift me up?
                       If I sleep, would you sleep by me?
                      
                          If I run away, would you follow me?
                       But If I stay, would you stay with me?
                     
                        If I see you, would you recognize me?
                               I know you would Not.
                        
                           That is why, I wish I would whisper 
                               And not hear myself. 
                         
                                   I wish I could cry 
                                   not feel my tears
                                    nor feel my fears.
                               Tonight, my final Farewell.
                  
                                     Therese Bacha
                                     24 August 2014


Details | Prose Poetry | |

GONE Anna Lo PH

? ...GONE... ?

I never knew until that moment how bad it could hurt
To lose someone you never really had,
Days can be tough and at times cruel
To much for one to bear alone..

I was hoping that you would say
If I feel that I can't hold on any longer,
You'll take my hand and we'll go through it until together.
When the time comes, that if I can't stand on my own again
And I won't need you anymore, I will let go.
I will let go, if that would make you happy..

If you're lonely and your heart feels empty, 
Just tell me and I will step inside.
But if One Day, you'll be needing that space for someone else
Don't worry and gladly I will give in my space..

Like in a painful, sad love story
It's amazing how easily to fall inlove with someone,
Who simply smiles, talks or stare at you
The only hard thing to do is to make that person fall for you.
They say that time heals all wounds, but all it's done so far
is give me more time to think about how much I miss You..

Okay, so maybe time heals most wounds, right?
Then why does it feel like it?
The wound is getting bigger and bigger every second.
Maybe Love is just a beautiful dream, and then we wake up..

Just as they always say when somebody leaves
When love is lost, do not bow your head in sadness,
Instead keep your head up high and gaze for the stars.
For that is where broken hearts have been sent to heal..

What is the opposite of Two?..
...A lonely me, A lonely You...

They say relationships are like glass 
That sometimes it's better to leave them broken
Than risk hurting oneself in trying to put it back together.

Lost in my heart, lost in my mind, I'm lost in your eyes
Entire days, weeks, months, ...a blur...
Flickers of light in the darkness 
Only to be enveloped in shadow once more.
And yet within the shadows of pain
Might be the faint flicker of love once fel,t
And that could make all the darkness worthwhile
Because a single "I Love You"
Is worth more than a thousand goodbyes..

I'm tired my Beloved.. 
of chafing my heart against the want of you,
Of squeezing into little inkdrops and writing it.
Ask me why I keep on loving you
When it's clear that you don't feel the same way for me.
The problem is that as much as I can't force you to love me
I can't force myself to stop loving you..

So I tell myself sometimes..
'Count the gardens by the flowers, never by the leaves that fall.
Count your life with smiles and not with tears that roll." ..

Though sometimes, these tears say all there is to say
And the scars don't ever fade away,
I am thankful that for a moment
I once met You, I once felt you look my way.
I once felt You within me, in my heart and mind
I once was happy and alive with You
I once Loved you and still Loving You... xoxo

P.S ..KYHYCYILY.. always.. ? ? ?

(re-edited letter)


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Mama's Song

I wander through my journey, interspersed with joy and pain, always grateful 
Though not by choice, some days are somber; yet others follow with abundant joy
In my solitude, memories come alive with the recall of some old song from another time
When life was carefree in everyway! No worries and not one care!
First heard as a child; the title now lost to me, so I’ll call it "Mama’s Song"
It’d start off soft and slow; its rhythm smooth, graceful, incredibly beautiful!
Then lingering on my mind, gently reviving memories lost somewhere in yesterday
It’d calm my spirit, take me away- away from countless, mundane tasks
All necessary things, but they arrest my days, imposing, threatening, vying for attention

There’s a constant battle that rages within, and I often ask, “Should I lay down this burden  
of joyless pursuits which hinder valid expressions from my heart?  Should I?
And to what profit?  Surely monetary gain is a necessity, but at what cost to my spirit??
Were I guardian only to myself, I’d simply choose to live lean somewhere by the sea
I would cast my net for food, and barter for grain and herbs.  However, the compass is set
So, I escape in the melodies, with my eyes closed, and fly high, above this terrain
Sailing on the massive wings of a Condor, unafraid; over rugged pathways and
Jagged edges of mountains that rise above the seas, far away from this place of constant 
weariness, on my way to a place more tranquil, somewhere in yesterday
I hover over rivers that give life to green valleys below, quite an amazing view to see!
Like black velvet ribbons they meander through the changing landscape
At an angle they shimmer like fine crystal in the afternoon sun, and in one breath,
I am there! At Mama’s feet, studying her as she sews dresses for my sisters and me 
I watch, I listen to her, softly singing; feel her contentment and peace through the song
Never complaining, never too tired to go beyond the call, to love and care for family 
Teaching by example, using less words, her quiet spirit, ever steadfast, strong
Those times when I feel I can not go on, when afraid I'll falter, I still hear the the melody 
and "Mama's Song"!

Note:  For Mama - Thank you for putting us first! For the many lessons learned which we nowteach our children.  RIP w/Papa!!


Details | Prose Poetry | |

She wrote to me

           She Wrote To Me

My secret lover I left you 5 years ago I could not take it anymore I had 
to fill my emptiness without you since I left I would cut out my heart 
every night & in the morning its full again. 
I got married to a rich noble politician thinking I can forget you I made 
myself well known here in London as a musician playing the piano in 
my own theater every night. 

The theater was full the sound of my piano was known to everybody 
living all over London due to my husbands political involvement in the 
area for many years the whole theater would be booked.

My entrance was always approached with loud voices cheering till I give 
the sign of performing .That specific night i was in a very determined 
mood to involve my audience listen to the sound of my piano around 
and everywhere the lights were on me already but no sign to begin 
waiting for another noble to make his entry in the front row.

I was wearing that long dress in black and white strapless the one I had 
worn on our first date doing my best to belong to my audience tonight 
while craving to catch a glimpse of your existence live standing opposite 
me the way we were your place was empty but not in my heart.

The audience were standing up clapping waiting impatiently to listen to 
what they had already known music from the tip of my fingers will allow a pause through their breathing.

The lights dimmed no introduction was needed I was going to play an old
tune from the 80`s called Feelings remember when we danced to that tune I am dedicating this musical evening to you my love my first lover before we were obliged to be separated due to family upbringing.

That same evening tragedy stole my expectations of living a love to 
perform an absolute change of a physical identity a living spirit awaiting 
to be executed when suddenly I collapsed unconscious on stage my fingers 
were numb my blood betrayed my heart. 

It was a heart attack paralyzing me on the left side cure or no cure 
is still unknown that had left me scarred when witnessing my dreams 
shatter in disrepair.
I have been forced retirement at a prime age left with no choice 
hide behind the shadows of the twilight abdicate my thrown 
to an unknown.

Escape was a forgotten word before this chute as an invalid carcass today 
my escape to the cottage was essential maybe a celestial miracle would prevail.

The cottage by the deep sea will become my quarantine from what was an enlighten world to a world of darkness, my retirement was a runaway from 
the mockery of mankind who might disperse my dissipated soul.

My shutters are unclosed as their usage was worthless brightness 
obscurity made no difference to me in that room.
The ocean view struck me by its calmness, huge waves were 
not prepared to release their passion and splash on the shore to bring 
forth their own melody.

I went for a walk walking like in a dream a dream with no feelings of body 
and soul the moon provided me to detect another lonely shadow of a stranger yet this time it was the shadow of a lost fish wavering on the sand nearly lifeless, our eyes met needed to be rescued I said to myself even not feeling my withered hand I bent down kindly carried it and threw it back to life what a wonderful sensation. You will do that to me my darling, I will wait.

My decision to escape to the un inhibited cottage was a knowledgeable 
step as only seclusion and spiritual wounds would heal to prompt a new attitude that will lessen my sorrow inspire my moral to long for 
a tomorrow differing than a yesterday. 

Stand by me today, my awakening will hoist a sparkling light of recovery 
during this long coming journey. Intentionally I am your free woman.
Here I will sleep now until destiny will allow both of us to cure and leave our fears behind with our past, together venture back to where we belong. 
I loved you and still love you. Me!


Therese Bacha
6/3/2013


Details | Prose Poetry | |

FREEZING POINT


The river flowing tumble of snow 
jackets the buildings and the road 
on the last twilight of 1998. 

As the sky is slowly draped by darkness and coolness, 
there I am on the coldest loneliest walk of my life.

All around, I can see some dancing colored lights.
The houses spells the happy shadows of families. 
Some sharing a meal.
Some laughing out loud near their Christmas tree.
Some on the middle of a party.

Christmas carols flying free on mid-air like:

"...But heaven surely knows
That packages and bows
Can never heal a hurting human soul..."

With only a coat, long thick black hair kissed by snow
and some old worn socks to warm me,
I traverse the street-- 
finding, finding a place I can call home.

About six days ago... I was also with my parents,
so happy, though we only share some bread and cheese
plus porridge that Christmas day. 

Me and my parents hugged every night
allowing me to stand the icy nights of December 
under the roof of our wooden worn-out home.

My parents though they can't read nor write, 
they diligently work day by day for our needs specially mine. 
I wasn't given any gift nor we can't everyday eat some meat.
However, my days with them are filled with fun-loving memories.

Not until...

a monstrous fire eat voraciously 
our home and three other houses nearby.
My father though old with arthritis 
carried me fast as he can to a safe place
and so my mother but --- 
father ran back to the house 
to save some of our things but unfortunately...
The roof of our home fell.
The fire so ferocious swallowed everything including my father.

My mom and I dealt with this pit of tragedy as one 
but later I saw my mother slowly, slowly crumbling down.
She more than me is slowly falling down faster. 
Her lamp of hope blown out. 
And not long, past six on the same day my mother died.

Hence as the surrounding gets cold 
so is the the life of me gradually reaching the freezing point.


---------------------------------
***Inspired by the story: The Little Match Girl by H.C. Andersen
and with some lines from the song: "My Grown Up Christmas List" by K. Clarkson

©O. E. Guillermo
Sponsor	Debbie Guzzi 
Contest Name	A Christmas Tale
Placed 2nd


08:33 pm, December 17, 2014






Details | Prose Poetry | |

LOST SOULS MEET AGAIN

The spring is coming in a slow pace,
But I can sense something in the air,
Something coming out of nowhere,

I stood in front of the elevator on the third
floor in a nice old hotel,
Going to a small diner with friends,
Some nice food and wine to fill my soul with
love,

The door opened, and I saw a man inside,
Thinking how I must have lost my mind, after
so many years, it can’t be You,

And I stood frozen, and You stood frozen,
Until the grey metal doors closed and brought
me back from the Universe of lost souls,

I run downstairs to stop you leave,
Seeing unfamiliar faces, seeking for you - my
ghost from the past,
While You pushed the elevator button many
times, screaming loudly: go up, third floor,
now, go, move… Is it her, or I’m loosing my
mind?

And the doors opened, but nobody was there,
You couldn't find me- your lost love, your
ghost from the Universe of lost souls.

I screamed, You screamed,
We screamed in an erupting pain so the whole
Universe can hear us,
Could it be that we lost each other again?

I took the stairs and went up,
I could feel how our pain reunites,
I could feel that a lost soul is shouting three
floors above,

And I saw You on your knees staring in the
elevator doors,
And You felt my presence coming from
behind,
You felt my steps getting closer,
And You stood up,
Seeing tears coming from my eyes,
While I touched yours going through your
face,

We didn't say a word,
But our minds were talking,
We didn't say a word,
But our eyes were walking us through our
history together,

We didn't say a word,
But our hands....
Our hands united,
Our souls united breaking these cold hotel
walls,
Breaking the ice around our harts,
Breaking the past,
Amusing the whole Universe of lost souls!


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Drowning

Gasping for air. . . you strain your neck; stretching..you look around, checking.
Struggling to keep the pace. . . you're movements, fluctuating; you panic, you try floating.
Screaming for help. . .  no one is around, you wish for a miracle; you're wheezing, yelp not helping.
Giving, no one is reaching. . . the waves starting to bring you down; you fight, your Will diminishing.
Vanishing. . . your light dimming; They look from afar, will they notice you're drowning?


Details | Prose Poetry | |

STORMS CLOUDS

                                      STORMS   DON’T ALWAYS LAST 
	
 Shipwrecked, my ship destined for destruction
 As I sailed across the ocean, storm waves beat against me 
Destined for destruction, destined for disaster
Moments of despair, silenced with fear, I tremble
My heart raced with beat of uncertainty	
Never would I imagine that this day would come 
Waters  surrounds ,  and engulfed me 
My ship continued on a course I have never experienced before
This time for sure I thought I would die 
While I sat there praying that the storm would soon be over 
Tears streams down my eyes as I battled to reach the seashore
I was lost and afraid  ,sure to sink,  lost my anchor  
Then in wink of a moment everything felt  quiet
I rush hastily  to the deck just to make sure ,it was then i realized
Suddenly the rain stopped, the thunder stop rolling 
The wind was calmed, the sea was silent 
As I gazed across I could see land for sure
It was then I recognized  that even though I go through the storms of life  
Storms  clouds always  pass.







Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Man's Best Friend

Abandoned, scared and alone he lay in his bed
Wondering if he will ever have a loving home
On the concrete floor, he lays his head
Without a care for his old bone

It’s loud and the rotten stench of shit and piss fill the air
He lay, wishing and dreaming that he didn’t have to be there
Locked up and taken prisoner he is so sad
He never thought his life could get this bad

What’d he do to deserve such a terrible fate?
Waiting for the day he reaches the end
All he is now is a cute little piece of bait
Never knowing if he will ever mend

From the terrifying experiences had
Now afraid of any large objects or yelling
He is older now and the young ones are the fad
Look in his eyes and see what they’re telling

A lost and most beautiful soul
Awaiting the day he may find love
And get out of this terrible lull
He looks up to the heavens above

All he can see are painfully fluorescent lights
Wishing so badly to see the outside
To get out of here and have play fights
What he really needs is a person, a guide

Someone to love and support him
He waits and waits for his special person
Someone who’d make his life less dim
While the pain and loneliness worsen


Details | Prose Poetry | |

THE DOMINANT - PROSE

He reached the slope of lost dreams.Mountains and snow twisting like a veil 
around shadows heavy and insisting.He watched the clouds change form,
becoming the echo of his breath.Slope of lost words.Somewhere between heaven and 
earth,he stood behind the white quietness and whispered:''Close your eyes, 
unreachable sky!Everyone who dies,remembers.To the open sea of infinity let me 
fly!''And like that, without shoes, without redemption rolled on the snow. He reached 
the white cliff and came back. If he fell, he would reached the top.White convictions 
floated on the snow.Only if time was more than a heavy diversion!
Horses of freedom were travelling with him among snowflakes and naked trees of 
passion.Their steps were leaving traces like a phantom limb,stating all these passages 
which formed the seasons' conscience.The white river was floating with a constant row
like the weapon that has even another bullet inside.''Pull the trigger!Do it!'' His scream 
was the only blow.The journey of destiny was interrupted over the icy road.
So he made his own.Returning the time that he borrowed,he changed his Thursday and 
left for the unknown.Now he is looking from the top of a white world the glass doors of 
others, throwing stones to break them.He reached the abyss of purity, as an Edenic 
mortality on hell.He was the Dominant. Nothing left to judge, nothing to condemn.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Wasteful Generation

It all started so well-life that is, under the cloudy rainy skies, under the clear blue skies.
The masters had gone-hope bekoned-now we could do it ourselves, so we taught; we, the 
renaissance generation.
But alas, we tried too much, too soon. And before we knew it, the skies had turned crimsom red-
red from the blood of the fallen that the earth had taken.
We also lost our innonence because we taught we were ready and could do it better.
Realised we were not. But really the wasted generation? No, was the answer.
Or the lost generation? No, again.  Maybe, the wasteful generation.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Thread of Hope

As all I’d ever termed wondrous bliss unexpectedly died -
As my fantasy of a reality with destruction did collide -
My hopes shattered around me like glass in countless pieces,
Fragments suspended in mocking beauty as time freezes…

The clock hand ticks forward and it all crashes to the floor
My knees hit rock-bottom when I could take no more
All I now see is blackness where once there was color
Gone appears the light from the sun and its fervor…

I begin to walk away from the pond of shattered dreams
But the glass is in my clothes and cutting through my heart, it seems
Perhaps I am too close, the smoke is clouding my full view-
Glance up at the tower, instinctively know what to do…

Run up the steps; one, two,three hundred endless stairs
And I barely catch my breath, or have time to fill lungs with air -
Before the ground beneath my feet crumbles into sand
Loud thunder above me rumbles as I fall back down on land…

And I hit rock-bottom again
Thinking this must be the end
For surely no human can go through this pain
And still see rainbows through the rain…

The whole world seems gray and black tonight
With not a speck of pure, identifiable white in sight
Nothing is untouched, gone is everything -
Then how do I glimpse in that crack a thin white string?

Among the dirt, surely this uncorrupted clean string is not real
But just to verify the hopeless doubts, I reach out a hand to feel
And to my electric surprise, it’s most tangible indeed
I yank it out attached to a note, uncrumple it and read:

“Verily, with every hardship comes ease” [Quran 94:6]

That white thread...
Of hope.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Intangible Asset


INTANGIBLE ASSET – The Transcript

He learned very young rather vaguely very untidily and blissfully unaware. He thought the only reason to do something was to do it differently to establish its difference by his own existence. It sheltered him from the world, kept a certain distance from reality, a very private person, a mythical figure conducting the water, shaping its sound until it was a bit wet, the humidity absolutely a revelation, the sudden clarity and unaffected structure sounding like a machine, not human in this phenomenal performance.

Composing, he forgot where he was he was in a trance. He would go back into his trance easily, there to attain that distance from the world that requires a lot of work, a lot of work, and he would go back into his trance quiet secluded preparing new things reworking old ones. He had enormous control over himself, transcendent ecstatic power with immense enthusiasm, a fragile person himself, throw stones at him and he will break.

And did you love him? Yes. Too. 

The more he was used the more he was consigned to the netherworld, a particular kind of genius, a total identity in himself, a moonlight sonata. There was nothing to show changes, all the juice out of him, a peculiar thing to do if you want one word. Yes, the northern part of his being. The only alternative to peace was a mind crack-up, some room to think, a space to be in by himself. That other part that wasn’t evident was hidden. Anything pretentious made him ill, but the children loved it. 

He had scattered memories for a while; that was a bit of an issue. He was actually extremely cautious and careful in a very real way, so at peace, a weekend thing, a very straightforward triangle, dead, a force of evil, sort of a variable perspective, the unexpected fruit of that rather more democratic assemblage, and he woke in the morning to find that everything had changed.

A larger theme drew him to the project, a post-Freudian glance, buying the best, and he loved the sound in there. He was mesmerized and could not believe the technique was absolute perfection from beginning to end, a little bit strange, he thought of the kind he had never had before, a world he could control, an odd instrument. 

He could not operate as time went on. He did not function. The eccentricities became more important very intense and engaged for his sake as his paranoia became more evident a limitation he couldn’t accept. His personality began to change radically. Someone else began to emerge, but getting there was something else, gaining something and losing something at the same time, farewell a goodbye. It records his frustration.

What are the reasons for maintaining, for ending he could not easily surrender? It turned out that was the reason and he was very distraught. It was a very sad moment in his life eccentric life doesn’t have to make sense. The more he stared at his own body the more helpless he seemed to dismiss it as nature-boy stuff.

He didn’t actually go to the hospital, and felt very uncomfortable about that, but at least they weren’t all aimed at him, he was his own man. Sometimes they resolved themselves sometimes they didn’t emerge with the raccoons at twilight, take a little time and pull on this section, the most glamorous person he knew: joyful exuberance.

He messed up the words he’d gone too far this different man. There are certain things that become more beautiful. He saved for life a certain fulfillment from life. He was making it worse and he was calling after a big hole that suddenly opened in his chest. Definitely shocked he was not going to make it something was wrong. The king is dying and when it finished that was the end.

	goodbye	
	godbye 



Details | Prose Poetry | |

Homelands

====================
Homelands
Arabic poem by: Adel Said*
Translated into English by: 
Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk)
=====================

At the end of the line I stand
As should a professional homeless do
Exactly at the end of the line
Before the committee on homelands distribution 
Among those who fall in the overflow
Over the needs and capacity of time, place, 
Maps, 
Population records,
And cemeteries. 

At the end of the line I stand 
Hanging like a teardrop in a funeral 
Collecting what have fallen of my years,
My fables
And my extinct dreams,
In the bundle of my childhood that missed her doll
And my deferred share of my mother’s tenderness.

I have a flavor the midwife failed to sever
With the umbilical cord
In my heart, there is still a nursery rhyme
About a duck swimming in a river
And a songs about a fair maiden’s tear dripped down with  kohl
And my fingers are still trembling
In fear of the lesson and the swish of the teacher’s ruler.

I have in the piggy bank of my life
Volumes about hunger and wars of social classes
Burned by the fascists 
Who also snuffed out the tears of forbidden love.
I have in the piggy bank of my life
Dates I saved of palm tree’s yearning for the land
And some palm pollen dust still traveling in my lungs. 

I have no signs of prophecy on my forehead 
And no halos of saints 
But my homeland that’s sitting there 
Amidst the committee on the homelands distribution
Will recognize me
And I'm in the queue 
I will not compete with the homeless comrades 
For their homelands 
And will not accept that illustrious one on the right 
And not that opulent one on the left
I’ll accept only that one,
That one whose head is a palm tree 
And whose arms are two rivers.
 
- You , O Mister!
 You who was at the end of the line,
 You haven’t been recognized
 By any of the homelands gathered in the committee,
 The exiles snuffed out your flavor
 And withered your songs;
 Despite the high level of adoration in you
 No homeland on earth
 Understands your language.

 - Even  that one? !

 - Even  that one ..
And out of pity 
We decided to grant you a berth,
A berth that will never come to an end
You will waste on it  
All that’s left in your lifetime’s piggy bank 
Of tears, 
Of dreams loitering outside the fence of life 
And of years flying, like neglected pieces of paper,
Out of the window of history! 

===========
Translated by: Em. Prof. Inaam al-Hashimi
USA
*  Adel Said is a poet from Iraq who resides in Norway


Details | Prose Poetry | |

An End to Aloneness

In my life I often feel I am alone; alone in my thoughts, alone in my musings, alone in my day-to-day movements and unsatisfying activities. I move like a ghost through hallways and down sidewalks, unnoticed and, at times, gratefully so. 
I do not wish to be eternally alone. I long for togetherness. But despite this desire for a real connection, I find myself regularly retreating from that temperamental beast that is human interaction. 

“Come on now, sweetheart. Don’t lower your head. Don’t look away. Look up! Smile at someone! No! Don’t go back into your bedroom. Don’t lock the door! Why are you doing this?” my brain will plea. 

I can’t help myself. Aloneness is comfortable. In being alone, I don’t have to worry about anyone but myself. I don’t have to please anyone else. I can think anything I want, wear anything I want, listen to anything I want, and laugh at anything I want. 

And still there remains that nagging desire to be loved and wanted and needed by somebody. I do not know the feeling of being truly desired. I do not know what it is like for someone to crave my company, my smile, my kiss, or my touch. 

                                                                              But I would like to…

I cannot make someone love me or like me or want me in some primal way. It may hurt, but I cannot make that handsome boy want to hold my hand or brush my hair back behind my ear. I can only struggle on. I can only work within myself. I can only try every God damn day to hold my head up, keep my eyes fixed ahead, a give the world the best smile I have. I and I alone can bring myself out of the safety of my bedroom and into the bright world that lies beyond that locked door. 
	
I often find myself alone with nothing more than my thoughts and the ever-strong glow of a computer screen. But no longer will aloneness be the constant in my life. It is true that never having known the caress of a man’s hand on my thigh doesn't make me any less of a woman, but I fear that if I stay confined within myself much longer I will begin to become less of a human. A flower cannot grow if it retracts its leaves and petals every time it feels the warmth of the sun or the kiss of a gentle spring rain.  
	
And I want to grow. I want to grow so tall and blossom so big and beautifully that every place on earth is touched by my shadow at some point in the day. And I will grow. I will push myself and share myself with the world, and finally
							                                 finally
								                                   finally
know the closeness and comfort of love and honest, unabashed companionship.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Lost One

Shivers my heart, by the sound of thunder,
In the world of darkness, alone the soul wander,
The twilight that has no string of light,
Seems its brightness is eaten by night,
Frightened, every particle, every life and the nature,
I find the world no longer has a  nomenclature,
All my directions lost, ways surrounded only by monsters and ghost,
Sails my ship in the deepest sea, with no sign of the coast,
The storm of life which is obstructing my route,
Rain! my only partner which makes me sooth,
When no one recognized drops of water from my eyes, 
You were the one who showed me where another world lies,
You changed my route, my life and brought back the hope of light,
Without you i would have never seen the sun so bright.                              
Waiting for my wrecked, sunk voyage to come ashore in the sun,
Sweet heart! move on, because I am now forever the lost one....

                                                                        -'Panchi' Panchal Hitesh D.

(for more please visit: www.reckonhp.blogspot.in)


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Emerging life

Your touch peels away the layers of fear and gently reveals a love
Like spring emerging in spontaneous color and wonder

I had mused - all was lost -that I would never to see the sun and blue skies again 
I was lost in winters grey, bleak bare arms- alone in my cocoon not believing I could ever evolve into a radiant flower again

But now as my growth peeks through the melted ice - I joyously unfold, unraveling 
Velvet petals-layers of trust radiate a passionate bouquet of loves ardent harvest

I believe I can produce a harvest of good fruit from my union with the pro-creator of life - He shall abundantly fulfill His goodness in my life- as sure as the sun rises in newness each day - I shall shine forth His glory in me - for I cannot hide His love - it encompasses all I am fulfilling His purpose - honey flows from the rock that is steadfast and sure I am His forever.  

© Brenda V Northeast 3 March 2012


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The moon, a golden doubloon buried in the midnight sky

The moon, a golden doubloon buried in the midnight sky, amongst a billion diamond 
speckles, shimmers in the warm summer night’s air, as it slowly climbs to its zenith. The 
lake reflects the scene back a thousands times on a thousand different ripples as oars 
silently part the dark waters leaving star trails in their wake. In the small boat a girl lies 
on the bottom, her long dark tresses hidden beneath a dark woolen cloak. Her sparkling 
green eyes squeezed closed tight. Her full lips hold no emotion in them only lay still, 
betraying nothing. Her delicate hands clasped behind her back bound there by a coarse 
rope which winds its way around her small soft breasts and makes its way down to her 
bare tender feet, trussing her up as neatly as a pig on its way to market. Yet there is no 
fear in her eyes. No tears running down her smooth pale cheeks. No breath quickening in 
her chest. Yet when she opens her bright green eyes, out emits what can only be called 
faith and hope, like sunbeams through holes in the clouds, as if she knows someone is 
waiting for her just on the other side of this moment, waiting to rescue her from a peril 
she knows not what. Yet no one does. She is now laying on a cold gray beach. The girl 
turns away. Not caring about the pain that tears through her hands and feet. Tears run 
down her cheeks in torrents. Her body convulses silently. And there in the first of the 
morning light, lying on the pale white sand, she fills utterly alone for the first time in her 
life. And as the waves crash on the shore, the suns rays burst forth filling the world, she 
lets herself go. Her hair is plastered to her face, she doesn’t notice. Someone has undone 
her bound legs. She didn’t even feel it. Slowly a strong calloused hand pulls her to her 
feet. She lets it. Empty now she lets them gently push her along a narrow trail that leads  
farther away from the place that use to be her home. She sags to the ground. Let them 
kill her. She would welcome it. She would beg for it if she could only find her voice, but 
she lost that when she lost her heart. Her heart, somewhere back on the sands, at the 
edge of the lake. Somewhere where the waves are crashing down on top of it, crushing it, 
slowly dragging it out to a dark watery grave, where it wont have to bare the light of day 
again, where it can dwell in the darkness that it so desperately wants to consume it.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Lord God

Halleluya!halleluy!
This is a shout of joy and happiness
Both streaming from my soul
Like waters from the mountains.
I open my mouth,recite and sing of his greatness,
His doings,are so much that I cant even tell
 I can only lift my hands up,open my mouth to say,
Thankyou Jesus

Many said that  I could not make it
And for a moment I thought they were right
But He proved them all wrong.
He is not mocked and His thoughts are far beyound our thoughts
He is a father to all and a provider to all,
And above all He reigns forever,
I can only lift my hands up,open my mouth to say ,
thankyou Jesus

Don't look down ipon yourself,
But lift your eyes unto Him
Let Him know of your desires and He will grant you.
He is a true friend,and will always be there for you.
He is a guider to thr lost and a counsel to all.
I can only lift my hands up, open my mouth to say
Thankyou Jesus.

What can I say?
He is beyound description,
And am lost of words to write ,
But ,I can only live to tell of His works
Lifting my hands up,opening my mouth i say,
 thankyou Jesus


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Hide and seek

The darkness covers every inch on my skin though
I'm hiding from you, you run from me.
I step loudly on a broken twig and watch as you
Frantically you search for me but
To no avail
I am lost to you but
you are not lost to me when
I still see you
Giving up your search
you run for the forests
seconds pass
before I give chase
Why ruin the game
when it has only begun
this is my revenge
for what you did to me
our relationship was
just a game in your mind
but this is my game
time to
hide and seek.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Moment of Hope The Invisible Man 30

Sometimes I have the courage to think of the things that made me what I am today,
My memory takes me back to terrible things far away far off into my bitter past,
My mind like a maze of dirty black alleys that smell of waste, loss and disgust,
The losses, the drink ripped away, not happy until it was all gone respect as well.

Invisible thinks of a garden where roses clustered with lilies scent on the breeze,
Bees found stores of honey in the petals of a thousand and one different flowers,
Lovers walked hand in hand along its winding path a beautiful dream of the man,
Bright with the embroidery of nature where children played in new myrtle flowers,

As Invisible thinks of this garden it is neglected but flowers can grow with weeds,
It could put a smile upon his face, a face that had never known any joy recently,
He hopes a gardener can covert this garden get rid of ruined waste, back into Eden,
Tending all the beautiful flowers that spring up with the weeds and smell gladness.

If he helped the gardener in his quest a hand might hold his and guide him through,
Maybe a hand would go around his waist to support him as well as guide his hand,
Dare he wish that the guiding hand and the support would be his angel from heaven,
A dear person to help him clear his garden and walk down the winding path as lovers.

An angel that would smile at him maybe hold his hand and squeeze it so very gently,
Would the angel talk to him and tell him that one day they would be together again,
Her beautiful grace shining warmly as she looks up to him, to her he is her hero,
Not a drunken mess that cannot cope, not a dirty vagrant, but her knight her love.

The tenderness of this beautiful scene in his poisoned mind became real he smiled,
He grinned as she sat down next to him as close a she could get then wriggled closer,
Warmth from her body not only warmed him but gave hope this what he has waited for,
She whispered sweetly she loved him and would be waiting for him and they kissed.

Invisible woke with a start and was she not by his side, was she ever with him,
A dream another heart wrenching let down and how could he have dreamed the dream,
It was so real he still felt the warmth, the impression of her hand holding his,
But it must have been a dream his own mind conspired to deliver the hardest blow.


Lost in a grief so deep, his loneliness complete he talks to Sam his imaginary friend.

These days get worse Sam they really do please help me,
I need to change but I need my drink more what can I do,
But I need to change so desperately Sam can you help?
My world has cracked and I've fallen into the crack,
But what I don't understand Sam that I was once good,
If I had any courage Sam I would be laying in my coffin,
Why does life drag you along with it I don't want to go,
Just a bit of icing on my cake Sam it is freezing cold,
Did you know this is where I was brought up my friend,
Did you know that most of the people that walk past I knew,
Sam! I know many of there people but they don't know me,
Why do they all walk past I wish somebody would help,
Maybe when I have drunk more cider I might feel better Sam,
I can remember being happy but not what being happy is like,

As Invisible sits drinking shoppers give him a wide berth and they look at him with hate.

These people Sam they look at me as if I have hurt them,
The people they are not our sort of people they hate me,
Has the world changed like I have but in opposite ways,
My life is full of sorrow drunkenness and dreams Sam,
Old sorrows wont go away new sorrows should take over,
So we have to face both the old and the new that's bad,
At night I try to close my drunken eyes it all returns,
Sam is that the same as you can you close your eyes,
Can you remember the valleys Sam the ones we used to play,
When we ran about all day Sam in the sun rolling in grass,
The old stream that twisted and turned, it had lost its way,
Floating lolly sticks watching them bounce away on ripples,
Buying bangers in November and throwing them into the water,
What I wouldn't do to go back for just a couple of hours Sam,
Just to feel the innocence and try to bring it back to now,
To enjoy what there is to enjoy and maybe get better Sam,
But that will never happen Sam we are lost on an island,
A well populated island but an island all the same Sam,
People are not like ships they don't bother to rescue people,
They just walk around or just walk away all the nice ones gone,
I remember my school Sam it's now been knocked down and left,
It has all gone, all gone no primroses in spring or bluebells,
Do you remember Sam the bluebells used to nod in the wind,
But they have all been built on, whats the use in talking,
Nothing changes from bad to good Sam remember that, eh Sam,

Still drinking his cider tears well into his eyes his nose runs and begins to quietly
to sob. He sits on the shopping parade seat, shaking as he sobs. His throat has a lump
in it so he stops talking to Sam. Invisible sinks his wet face into his overcoat
hides his misery from the people that walk past he just sat there lost and confused. His
greatest sadness an angel paid a visit to the maze of dirty black alleys that smell of waste,
loss and disgust,


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Why So Sad

Why So Sad?

Why do you look lonely, 
Bereft and so, so sad?
Has someone been quite nasty? 
Have you been really bad?

What lies beyond your haunted eyes,
Your melancholy stare?
Do you want to tell me what it is?
Do you want to take me there?

Your doleful gaze cements your face,
Your shoulders hanging low.
Do you want to tell me what it is?
Or would you prefer that I go?

I stand transfixed, absorbing your pain,
My breath is quick and light.
Do you want to tell me what it is?
What causes your terrible plight?

What demons grasp your very soul?
Why do they steal your smile?
Do you want to tell me what it is?
This cruel and evil bile.

Can you see through your vacant gaze?
Do you know that I am here?
Do you want to tell me what it is?
And explain what monsters are near?

What has sucked the life from you?
Who have you become?
Do you want to tell me what it is?
What nefarious deed has been done?





Details | Prose Poetry | |

Let Us All Save The Broken Wings

"Buhaha"
I laughed as my dad almost slipped
Off the steep slope
And he got up pissed

"Old men cant climb"
My brother said
As he passed by dad
While the old man went red


I,trying to keep in shape
Drops of sweat running down my chest
"At least im no size 12"
A sarcastic old man said during a rest

I narrowed my eyes
And started to climb faster
And all in all my fat was burned
And the hill was what i mastered

By nightfall i seeked for branches
And fallen woods froom trees
But what i found curled in a nest
Was none other than a broken winged bumble bee

A small little black and yellow thing
still buzzing with no energy to it left
I picked it up with fear
But the thing was no pest

I walked around to find tents
And somehow I lost my way 
below the now appearing moon
And a coyote suddenly shows  before the end of day

I stay still
Hoping no screams will let it go away
And although it began to come closer
With the bee is where i stayed

When the coyote started to dance around
I was not sure what was it i see
but i looked down at my palms
I saw no bee

The bee flunged around
Like a drunk neighbour on halloween
And the coyote runaway
Along with the bee

Although ive never in my life so the broken winged bee again
I thank it

(I was alway afraid of bees .Never liked them.If a bee appeared in my face i ran like a 
loony.What made me to pick up that obiviously living bee i dont know.But since them ive 
been quite fund of them,never afraid again.I also grow a garden to welcome them in with my 
sunflowers.Since its hardwork keeping up with a garden in the middle of this heated country 
of 40 degrees(dubai),ive lost about enough to make me a size 8)


Details | Prose Poetry | |

I Hope You Know I'll Always Love You

I am what you call a hopeless 
romantic,
But im also a lost lovers cause, my 
heart belongs to another
Yet in my head a love triangle starts 
to form, the girl I love doesn’t love 
me
She holds the heart to another and 
mine caged to the floor,
She isn’t afraid to fight for what she 
wants, not even when it comes to 
leaving another man torn
Trust me she’s happy, as that boy 
holds her heart ever so close
Seeing what I shouldn’t I smile as I 
wear my blind fold,
Blind to everything around, lifeless 
staring into air
My train of thought running so fast, 
the second I stop you’ll hear a crash
Derailing my hope, for ever finding a 
love so pure & rare
Wishing I could hold the hand of the 
lover who stole my flame,
Wish I could change the last days in 
which we parted ways,
Realizing now that we can never be 
the same
Finally saying it out loud as tears run 
down my face
You stole my happiness, as I walked 
away that day
But it’s because as of what you said 
I guessed I changed,
Now every relationship has just be 
the same,
No one can seem to bring back that 
flame,
Because a love likes ours comes 
once in a lifetime
Well at least it does to me,
But I mean you’re happy with who 
your with 
I mean I only wrote this as I heard 
exchanging “I love you” flow from 
each of your lips.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Power and Form

Power and Form

Are the two elements of a human life
Our words are sweet and sometimes sour 
However it’s a deadly trace throughout the human race
We say yes too often to satisfy our so-called rational minds
 
Is the life of a poet/poetess more fulfilling than a farmer?
Are we the expression of nature? 
Or  victims of a regimental affiliations 
We are as you know impossible and unpredictable
Because we all are crazy species

Power and form 
There is no more secret society
The secret of man is publicize under watchful eyes
The world looks into our families’ photos
Looking for the perfect quota, 
As each and everyone one of us partake in online revelry
Like an disciplinary cavalry

However, within our soul lies the truth.
I lost one year, one birthday
I rebirth and lost my power and position
Atlas!  I am in the lower realms
 Now I am in heaven


Details | Prose Poetry | |

my shell

I closed my eyes with anticipation for sunrise,
I wanted the daylight, illuminating my shell, and me
But when i opened my eyes, it was still dark
I realized, i must have awakened earlier.
so i closed my eyes , again , this time my eyes felt heavy , however i closed 
them , with a fear somewhere in my heart.
I slept
I slept and slept for as long as i could
My bones started to ache
But i tried…
I wanted to prolong my sleep just to look at the sunrise, the day, a new 
beginning
But when my heart started to tremble
I felt as i lost my breath
This compelled my to wake up, so i did
I opened my eyes
And looked at my shell
I looked and kept looking
It was still dark
There was no light, revealing me
There was no breeze blowing my hair
there was no humming of life
I kept looking -at the dark room, the dark shell
It turned my eyes gloomy and apathetic
Empty, empty as the shell
Without winking but watched
My gaping sight struck something
It was a broken mirror; it was hanging on the side wall
Just beside my bed
While it’s every broken sharp wedged piece but clinging to each other,
As a whole, struck my sight
Every broken pieced reflected
Reflected the ambushing of my misery
It reflected the darkness
It reflected my dark shell
And my empty eyes kept looking at it
Darkness of my shell reflected in the mirror, somehow made me feel, that it 
exists in me.
And As I kept looking, I looked at my face reflecting,
Broken, and my lips uttering without frowning,
Convincing _ it all exists in me and darkens day by day,
Emptying me


Details | Prose Poetry | |

We Ain't Got That Kind-a Shine

ladies of the night 
are dressed in finest lace 
while hiding in the shadows 
where they never leave a trace 
on barren - broken - bastard streets 
these ladies have no face 
with tarnished tassels in their hair 
they stand like statues there and stare 

the ladies of the night 
now lean in darkened doorways while 
they sip selected wine 
and watch two lovers writhe entwined 
upon the floor where bleeding whores 
are losing life from open sores 
where punctured veins and death remains 
inside a fantasy that reigns 
with bitter dreams of better things 
that lost tomorrows never bring 

now lovers covered - soiled and stained 
with bursting leaks from wounded veins 
where needles of inclusion 
can create and make illusion 
last beyond the degradation 
as they stride in "sharp" persuasion 
unto death of one whole nation 
in complete discreet oblation 

can't find a lot of pity 
in a dark and dirty city 
as the waste is placed in alleyways 
and vagrants void themselves 
on steamin' streets at dawn 
while new commuters stop to yawn 
as night concerns now fade to gone 

all is lost at higher cost 
inside a pride that has been tossed 
onto the gutter - 
where machismo men just shudder 
as they lose their life-time rudder 
leaving all directions and erections 
on the street's abstract inflections 
just before they lose connection 
with their soul 

forgetting obligations 
where unique configurations 
seem to supplement and compliment 
the pain 
the mutual - conceptual - PAIN 

who is the dreamer and who owns the dream? 
who is the screamer in the scream? 
it's you and I dear friend of mine 
we dream the dream and scream the scream 
as part of Eden's Garden Scene 
but we don't ever cross the line 
cause we ain't got that kind-a shine 













Details | Prose Poetry | |

HOPE

HOPE BY N3
Slashed at the throat a blow aimed not at the esophagus but at the vocal cords
Paralyzed by something worst than fear,
Speech grows limp even as silent screams are constrained by shame’s chord.
Tethered like a felon and led by wary oppressors, fragile from blows and scorn,
Our soul stands trial before a court where the judge is rightly wrong.
Fused with chains our voices are imprisoned and the tear cavernous to reveal speechlessness in our gullet is the only sign of our voiceless enslavement.
In steps the first witness clothed in the shroud of despair, hunched from the weight of her truthful lies, testimony of that night of lust.
That night plays out clearly; more vivid than a motion picture is that night of this slavery, blown by ripple of our thoughts, we wobbled from the comforts our beds into the confines of sexual promiscuity.
Then the witness speaks of how thirsty we seemed to taste from the well of fiendish desires even when our spirits recoiled from that fetish neediness.
Now we stand guilty of not only our immorality but also damned so we grope like one lost soul unsure of its mortality when kindled in hell’s fires.
Now a murmur of distaste and a sigh of revolt as the witness go on, not one, not two, not three not four of times we met.
No objections and no cross examinations, the court sits shouting silent accusations cause in the emptiness of our fall the only defendants present are our faults boldly stamped to our essence, 
So our souls are judged and found accountable of fanning wrongness, guilty of backsliding to a third degree.
Yes even when in church we decree in hymns our convictions of faith, yet we accept our blindness as rightness failing to visualize yet believing the devil as he feeds us visual lies then we accept as fate.
Now with smiles on a frown we say God bless you sister and amen brother with muted diction thinking we are fine while the entire world see the signs.
Yes we sign because we have gone deaf to Gods text and lost the strength of spoken words.
We are invariably held down sunken in the gloominess of this bright blackness and we face certain death because j663 say “the words I speak to you are spirit and life”
So our souls begin to gasp for his breath which gives life and spasm like hiccups hit every marrow of our soul.
Like addicts to a new drug, our spirits tear through the volumes of his words searching for a cure to this suicide.
In our dyingness we find Christ rose after 3 days in his glory and holiness not to cast us down but because he had to rise up a new people, he died to give hope.
So whenever we fall guilty, charged, and convicted of our transgressions and our voices swaddled to the cage and imprisoned by silence of our sexual encounters,
Christ still calls us to his pierced side.
And for that singleness of purpose we were proclaimed blameless because how do we stand in judgment when the lamb has made us spotless?
So brother, next time the accuser stands before you not to judge you but to condemn you remember that Christ paid the price and paid it fully not to judge you but to redeem. 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

House of the Rising Sun

In a smokey room, each time I awake, the dream again descends.  Deeper into the 
abyss I fall to a sea of melancholic funk.  Souls waft by on clouds of imagination, 
clinging to the dank ceiling.  The raven sits, waiting, to carry its troth to Amadeus, 
the who in charge.  Its red eyes gleaming reflections of misery and living death; of 
hell in abundance, as it collects the souls.  Amadeus, licks his lip, unknowingly.  
Small beads of spittle glow from the corners of his mouth.  He and the raven sing
soft and low.  They sing to music of pipes sucked and drawn dry.  Dry from the dying
gurgle of moisture collected in the stem, Hallelujah! Where is God for me this day,
this hour, this moment in time?  My innermost thoughts being fed to the who.  Show
me the smallest spark of a flame of divine presence.  Am I so lost as to lose the glow
of his love placed into my heart, even as in the womb, by my mother’s joy and her
presence of being in Christ.  Please Lord, travel even that thin thread to rescue me.
Not for my sake, but hers.  Not for my soul, but her legacy.  Not for my tears but her
joy.  Not for my pain but her peace.  Not for my work but her faith.  He said it is so.  I 
think it must be so.  The ground began to tremor.  It sighed as it shifted ever so 
slightly, not felt by Amadeus, but noticeable, in the fetid liquid constantly weeping 
onto the walls and puddling in the floor.  The tremors still vibrated, as I was moved 
away from the deep.  Gathering strength as Amadeus lost control, I moved farther 
and farther up the stairs, praying for no interference.  Suddenly, it seemed the  
universe was changing, moving somehow to accomadate, I knew not what.  Mind 
bending, shape shifting molecular alterations, occurring in four different planes at 
once.  I was losing uniformity, cohesion, sensibility and reason.  Light, darkness, 
sweat, transference, crept into and over me as I passed over and under things.  
Beings? semi-beings, merging, separating, into total nothingness.  Rraaammuus, 
very far off, as my head began to clear.   Ramus!  Ramus?  “Oh, you are awake.” her 
lilting voice bringing back my sanity.  “Where did we go last night Baby”? I remarked. 
“Where did we go?” she asked.  Explaining further, she had dropped me off at the 
House of the Rising Sun, over on the bay front.  I hadn’t come home up until she 
came back, about twenty minutes before.  She said I must have stumbled in, 
sometime in the last ten minutes. Strange though----I did not have my key to that 
lock---!!!

For Catie's dark prose contest


Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Lost Cause

An ugly duckling, psychotic peeping Tom
creeping along dirty Blvd.
squatting behind dumpster
hidden shadow in back alley
drowning sorrows in a 40 ounce 211 Steel Reserve beer bottle
'Cause it's the only way 
that this skid-row poet knows how to cope
there's no hope for a down and out low-life psychopath