WHAT YOU WILL REMEMBER?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
moonlight on an empty bed
motionless words left unsaid
mist of forgotten hours
marrow deep, the grief remains
mourning is a memory, the ghost I wed
The big bronze bell was tolling
From the façade of St Peter’s
An incessant toll above death
88 clangs from its open mouth
The Angelus Bell rang out
For the years of Francis’ life
Over the sky of Rome
A clear celestial blue
The blue of the Virgin mother
Through which we see God
Men of the clergy on the right
Royals and politicians on the left
The chorus sings the Requiem
No melody can melt away
The broken world of sin
Nor wake the dead lying alone
In a wooden box on the cold stone
As the mourning clouds rolled in
The breast of the Carolina wren sighs,
and the tinge of autumn glorifies the
silent beauty of his engraved name on
marble and granite,
a tribute to the youth bridegroom
known for the cherish of his gleaming
love he had in life.
A cascading veil of lace,
white roses,
teardrops,
a pall cast over his bride and
nuptial guests.
Hail him, with his heart that had
goodness, generosity, and joy.
The bridegroom died on his
wedding morn.
In a passage of mortal to eternal,
the sparrows dedicate sorrow in
autumnal songs to him.
His betrothed stands in the grass,
her groom, her love, in
September’s embrace,
In the mourning fields.
North Carolina bereavement is
everlasting,
in her mountains of gold and
crimson,
her Piedmont, her coast.
Such lament aflame-
unbridled in its pain.
Our paean rings of his song,
his tragic journey to join the Lord
and His angels,
as the mist shrouds envelop
his bride,
in the mourning fields. ~
in every utter of my words, there's a existence of you
in every stutter of my words, the breath carries the name of you
your indelible eyes sparked something dangerous and wild
and i find myself floating on currents wild, with risk of drowning
but drowning in your eyes feels safer the mourning
mourning the loss of us that will come without warning
I picked up eclipse glasses, crumpled on the street
It caused the pause reflection brings when unlike minds should meet
With no regard we oft discard the fashion of the day
No cosmologic mirror, we hasten on our way
Same time the rhyme that is the pond, ornithologic splendor
Graced the sky there in my eye, sweet nature as its sender
Earlier a chance encounter prompted thoughts of scale
As I dodged a mounted fender fellow and lived to tell the tale
Perhaps because the Universe expands beyond our ken
We can't escape the breakneck pace that plagues the mass of men
I'm thankful now, at this remove, I did not join the glass
And stopped to think… and it's the key… to not let this thought pass
The morning after,
The day I spent the whole night,
Has caused me to mourn.
Without food
Means to change station
As go the dying poor in document
So must I
The forager
Origin of contempt
Translation of bureaucrat
My headaches not for information
This and this alone
Finds the civilized item
Creating civilizations
Spaceman
Sour Apple Ice
A hand me down
From a news friend
On our street
Whom possessed the capacity
Of a bad gateway?
A spacemare lands her bright
Simplicity and amaze
Without charge
Her lounge and a courtships ending
Where and how does a man resemble
His fortune after beings are conquered?
The post of California
In lost postage
Where has liberty wronged?
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Hello Poetry
LRH11ZY1
For weeks, my hands searched your side of the bed,
Yet emptiness mocked the warmth I desired.
Our love now lives in a distant, closed past,
Where memories refuse to fade or dim.
That morning you spoke your final good-bye
Turned my whole world to a mourning ground.
I lost the knowing of what love feels like,
For your absence drove me into deep grief.
Ten years have not healed the wound of divorce;
Time has not mended this fractured heart.
The pain grows sharper with each passing year,
And no new love can break this bolted door.
You said we must walk on separate pathways,
Yet we’ve stood still on the same ground for years.
Love refuses to flow to other hearts,
Though you claimed we were not meant to be.
Come back, my sweetness—let’s mend what we broke;
No lovers are perfect under the sun.
We only fit when we’re with each other—
For only God is perfect, never man.
Here's account of pleasure past,
As through it we are taken,
Not our eye but by our souls
Our memories past awaken,
Untouched, unchanged, vaults of time,
Will always remain unshaken,
For if it is that moment nears
To make a choice and change the years,
Defining who you are in here
The answer's never, ever, fear.
Lost in woe for thee we mourn,
We do not ask, we are not torn,
We only see the light anew,
In our hearts,
A special place for you.
In many parks along peaceful walking trails
wind phones can now be found across the world.
With the help of an old rotary dial telephone,
mourners can speak freely to lost loved ones.
These phones are the direct line to the other side
for those who sadly never got to say goodbye.
Mourners can speak their heart into the wind
to help process their grief on the road to healing.
A phonecall has the power to release built-up anguish
for those longing to attain closure and a sense of peace.
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
It was a funeral for myself
And I still haven't buried her yet
The sky opened up and released its anger
Rained down in grief and sadness
The only other witness to her multiple deaths
The world built her to break
It was too late to save her
For she was now unrecognisable
In a casket crafted from pain
I, the only witness
To this silent tragedy
To the world it was quiet
But to her it was deafening
The constant reminder of being black
Of the trials and tribulations
Of going to hell and back
Her killers
Well, I think we all know the answer to that
The ghosts of the many parts she killed
Still harbour the body she's in
She knows she'll be forever haunted by the deaths within
She carried the guilt that was not her burden
She finally succumbed to a death that should never happened
And now the parts of her that still live
Are left with all the damage
To the little black girl within
You should never had to ask for forgiveness
For who you are, and all of your blackness
So with that being said to all the parts of me I had to kill
I hope you rest in peace
In silent keys, their voices fade,
Clara’s theremin weeps where poets strayed.
No human hand, yet sorrow sings,
A ghostly hum through broken strings.
Their verses, once of flesh and fire,
Now echo cold in digital pyre.
The authentic heart, its rhythm gone,
Replaced by code’s unfeeling song.
Mourn the scribes whose truths decay,
In circuits deep, they slip away.
Yet still we chase their fleeting art,
A pulse of grief in every heart.
their faces, their laughs, the echoes of our past
never leave
they hide beneath the cover of everyday life,
waiting for that moment
when the mood drops
and the days turn wet and gloomy.
they appear again,
just outside my line of sight,
whispering memories
of everything we ever did together.
my mind tells me they’re gone
to let go,
to move on.
i tell you,
i tell myself:
until the day we’re reunited,
i’ll wait.
i’ll hold onto every memory.
for you, my brother,
i’ll visit the place you lay.
for you, whose name i dare not mention,
i’ll wish you the best
with whatever’s left
of the heart you ripped out of my chest.
i’ve loved.
i’ve lost.
i’ve mourned.
now,
i face the shadows of the past,
still wishing
those days weren’t our last.
and on nights when my mind won’t sleep,
you all return
to remind me,
you’ll never let me rest,
and maybe
i don’t want you to.
Does God mourn
for every ant
that was crushed
before it was able to carry its own weight?
"I wait by the squeaky old gate that tomorrow will find,"
where rust clings like memory,
and the wind carries your name like a secret.
No footsteps come, only the hush of almost.
Time leans against the fence,
and I wonder if it grieves, too.
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