My love is a black hole,
silent, vast, misunderstood.
It doesn’t explode. It swallows.
Soft things. Sharp things.
Every memory. Every maybe.
I give and give and still it spins,
pulling everything in without return.
I don’t know where it leads,
only that it holds so much:
letters never sent,
touches never returned,
hope that clings even when hands let go.
People think black holes destroy,
but I know they preserve.
They hide the ache behind my eyes,
keep the laughter I didn’t get to share,
fold time into itself
until it’s hard to tell when I began
or who I was before I started reaching.
There is no light at the centre,
but there is truth.
A gravity made of tenderness.
An ache too big to be named.
And maybe one day,
someone will see the beauty
in a love that deep,
and not be afraid to fall in.
As high as you go,
You must go just as low,
It's the wave flow of life,
Carrying you where you want to go.
Muscles won't grow,
If you don't show,
Drop your fear and go,
In the direction of your connection.
Change your perception,
Experience heaven,
Fall into another lesson,
It's a natural progression.
A necessary step in ascension,
Learning to love less than,
The hand hurting you,
The fire in your view,
As you burn through the swell.
It hurts like hell,
Hard to tell if you'll make it,
Take it from me, you will.
It's a tough hill,
You have the power of will,
A still strong voice in your head,
Keeping you moving ahead.
Climbing again,
Reaching heaven,
Grateful for the blessing,
A present for progressing.
Second guessing our projection,
We fall for another lesson,
A conceptual conscious connection,
Creating every section,
As we use our intention,
Giving attention to what works,
Enjoying all the perks,
As the wave of life jerks you back up again.
It’s hard to tell if they’re playing tag,
or thrusting nectar-drunk love at each other—
mid-June attempts at getting it.
Maybe they’re fighting over first flowers—
legs twitching in hypoglycemic half-paralysis,
like the buzz of waking mid-vacation,
still dazed, muscles aching, but that stinger,
coiled stiff for the week.
Their terror-tails would end me,
or at least suspend me, breath held between
here and wherever histamine takes it.
I appreciate the bees, I really do,
their work, their faith in growing things.
But the anaphylactic risk of their existence
in relation to mine turns close proximity
into a kill-or-die situation:
all stabs and fury, and neither of us
wanting it to end that way.
One
grain drops.
Time begins,
or keeps going—
it’s hard to tell which.
Necks pinch into purpose.
Pressure makes the moment's weight—
its glass throat narrows in, knowing:
the longer it holds, the less it means.
We reflect shapes only edges can name.
We reflect edges only shapes can name.
The longer it holds, the less it means—
its glass throat narrows in, knowing
pressure makes the moment's weight.
Necks pinch into purpose.
It’s hard to tell which.
It keeps going—
time begins.
Grains drop.
One.
One
eye blinks.
You were here—
then you weren’t. Dust
settles in the bowl
of what we almost kept.
Hands can learn from repeating.
As they grow, smoother, more resigned,
an hourglass flips with no permission.
No one votes on the descent of return.
No one votes on the return of descent.
An hourglass with no permission flips.
It just grows smoother, more resigned.
My hands learn from the repeat,
of what I almost keep,
settled in the bowl—
you are now dust.
You aren't here.
Eye blinks.
One.
Memories getting me down
New day a new town
Forgotten where I was bound
Silence has its own sound
Memories of days gone by
Silent is the tears I cry
Yesterday can hold you back
When memories choose to attack
Feeling a little lost now and then
Remembering when
hiding feelings deep inside
My soul cried
When love died.
A future not looking so bright
Say I'm alright
As the days pass on by
Can only try
Facing a world alone
My heart has grown
Can hide it so well
Hard to tell
Against my will
I love you still
When will she come to me
To take me to that place
Where I suppose, we shall be free
Like spirits in the space
The fortuneteller gave reply
Ambiguous and wise
But no advice on what to try
Should I just close my eyes
Engage myself into the realm
Of pure imagination
And it’ll make me overwhelmed
With the enforced elation
There, on the boat of dreaming fools
Under the stormy sky
I’ll be, submissive to the rules
That can’t be clarified
Death, Five of Cups, and Hanged Man
These were the cards I drew
A penny for old Charon
For taking me to you
It’s hard to tell, and hard to take
The simple fact of death
Denies a dream I have to make
No life without breath
Seems possible, we need a flesh
For birth, rebirth and all
You name it, and I press refresh
To hear my fortune’s call.
he said its not all men,
but whilst that is true,
why would you pick this precise moment to make it about you,
it's not all men,
but it's almost always someone we know,
every woman has something she can contribute to the horror show,
whether that's crossing the street because there's a man behind us,
or sitting with a jacket over your legs on the bus,
it's not all men,
but it's enough men,
that's why we feel scared,
that's why we walk onto the street prepared,
checklist in hand,
ensure I can grab everything on command,
pocket knife,
check,
pepper spray,
check,
keys between fingers,
check,
oh, and I mustn't forget to walk with purpose,
never show off the way that I'm nervous,
oh, and I mustn't forget to cover up,
because after all I don't everyone to erupt,
what were you wearing?
is there really a right answer,
should we really be comparing,
comparing my clothes to the disaster,
the disaster the society is in,
but after all it's not all men,
but then again,
not all snakes are venomous but it's hard to tell which ones are,
so you're cautious around them all to avoid leaving a scar
It's hard to tell from this beautiful day,
that a gigantic storm is on its way,
threatening to blow down the house
and get rid of the mouse
that you just couldn't catch yesterday.
This morning, the sky looked a beautiful orange and lavender gray.
Scientists say it's pollution makes them look that way.
Still, some people think it's real pretty to see
and aren't aware of the possibility
that this beauty might kill them some day.
Glenn Hughes is great
He sings so strong
I love his act
He does so belong
He plays the bass
Yes, loud and clear
He makes you want
To come closely near
Fifty years of music
Since he was young
So hard to tell
When it all begun
So we dance tonight
To tunes so nice
It is just simply
A grand pure delight
Come with me to the place ~
where the sun hides its face;
to pour its golden light,
on trees and vines in sight.
Even silence speaks there ~
on the peaks, in thin air;
where skies turn brightest gold
and trees, both young and old.
No animals appear;
perhaps they feel the fear.
Birds too are out of sight;
perhaps lost in their flight.
Yet beauty holds its charm,
within this gentle calm.
A scene pleasing the eye;
where trees reach for the sky.
Is this where angels dwell?
In places hard to tell.
The plants still brightly glow,
even with waters low.
These memoriesI try to bury never Go away,
These burdens that I have to carry,
haunt me everyday, I gave that girl my soul,
and my heart she went and stole,
it seems thateven love, will always take it's toll ,
I remember that day, when she looked me in the eye ,
Turned right around and never said goodbye.
Itd like I learned right then,That nothin lasts forever,
like a moment lost in time, that youl always treasure
I fall apart at night, lost inmoonlight,
Waiting for the sun to come and reignite,
I've become an empty shell, it's not hard to tell
I could really use some help, or a wishing well.
I Got so many bad habits , I took to many tablets,
now I'm here with an empty medicine cabinet.
Il put my pain in these words ,
and hope it never returns
And try to go and heal from all of lifes burns.
I look at up the stars that circle round mars
while I try to remember , There's beaut
Each second dies so brief it stays
among the minutes, hours, and days
of living’s murmuration spell,
in which we mortals have to dwell;
as each moment slowly decays.
Time is inconstant; it betrays;
traps you in it’s alluring maze;
then so, quite when, it’s hard to tell,
each second dies.
Time is not all that it portrays,
that of a roll of endless days.
Too soon, you’ll hearken your death knell,
tolling seconds fond farewell;
as fickle time, with you, it plays,
each second dies.
I no longer write love poems
Cause all the love I have left,
is for her and only her
It's hard to write when all you'll write about is her
While it's for me to know how amazing she is
And for you to see her smile
Cause it will be there to see
For my love is hard to hide
I no longer write love poems,
Cause all the words disappear,
every time I think about love
It’s hard to write about when you get lost in the feeling
And you left thinking about her
And wonder what she might be up to
Cause a day barely goes by
Without you wishing she was there by your side
I no longer write love poems
Cause every love has its own story
And it's hard to tell it as the lovers would
So you let everyone enjoy it as it comes
The PO£T
Love is so elusive
Hard to tell, easy come
And easy go, blue streak
I am a boor, but I see and hear a lot
You have to answer for your action
After tomorrow you are not single anymore
It's your business whether
You are happy or not
You can't blame someone else.
Why can’t I just be honest?
Why is it so hard to tell you?
I’m more terrified of rejection
Then being left in the dark.
Why am I having trouble
To trust you and your intentions?
Am I getting too paranoid
Or should I trust my gut this time?
Cause when I mess up with you
I always keep blaming myself.
Whenever I think there’s problems
I always think I’m the one in trouble
Your reassurance is what I thought I needed
But I’m relying on your approval too much.
The dynamic in our relationship
Outweighs the balance on a scale
I’m not sure how this relationship will end
If it keeps moving like this, it’s gonna crash
And I’m tired of being left in the smoke
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