the pink gloves rest softly on the table
Will Rogers III

the sun flickers upon his hand
and thoughts of the past flicker upon his mind
no time there is for school or band
when sadness, lies, and regrets are behind

freedom from all thoughts is his prayer
but that is not possible for now
he fears this time he can not bare
but he must trust Him somehow?

the pink gloves rest softly on the table
And the sun drifts softly across the heart unstable

[composed on January 22, 2014]
#lies   #freedom   #depression   #prayer   #sadness   #sun   #mind   #regrets   #pink   #gloves  
gloves so that maybe
s t a r
s t a r
May 17

i can't shake off
the iridescent stains
of your memory,
i tried to paint them
into masterpeices,
and sew them into
gloves so that maybe
my hands won't
always be so cold
without your hands
to hold them,
but the reality is the
fact that i'm not staying
and you're not coming
back. i just wonder
if your hands are
cold too.

Though my gloves,
Parsavagely Kompenere

The palms of my hands,
Caught all my tears,
And the tiring skin,
Betrays my fears.

You alone,
May know my skin,
Though my gloves,
Are beckoning.

Hold them then,
And feel me shake,
Don't let me think,
While I lie awake.

I'll let you guide me,
And let you trace,
The footsteps I,
Could never face.

Please pull me free,
With your perfect touch,
And show me how,
To be in love.

These gloves were my dad's.
Sam Stone Grenier

I follow past's,
Shadow, let it weave.
Into my hands,
Into dark winter yarn.
These gloves were my dad's.

She gave me gloves.
Jan 11, 2014      Jan 12, 2014

She gave me gloves.
Sapphire lets call her
I loved how she would
roll her eyes close
whenever i swore louder
or when i-
being in the mood
of being an arrogant snob
Told me to be, mean
and so vicious

But Lady Sapphire is kind as the
depth of the ocean and nice
as the sugar and spice
of a confused fangirl,
Who i believe
is precious as the rock
i name her from

Amanda Goodness
Amanda Goodness
Jan 27, 2014

This house is burning straight to the ground
And all you can think about
Is that you're "cold now that all the sweaters are destroyed"
"But the embers look beautiful floating by my face."
I guess you took a few too many pills,
And I didn't take quite enough.
It wasn't the flames of justice that engulfed our house.
But it doesn't really matter.
Because that house was not a home.
A home is where I live with someone I love.
So that house was not a home.
Because I didn't love you.
I loved your hips and you tits.
I fucked you and you made me drinks when I got back from work.
I never loved you.
I started the fucking fire to get a rise out of you.
You still don't care.
At least I made you fucking shiver a little.
Like that counts for shit.

sarah gentry
sarah gentry
May 4, 2014

the night shoals of city lights,
where stumping feet
gives their own interpretation
to the baseness of silence
nothing is serene
just marked time
with feral pride
stretching into tied darkness.

Anna Skinner
Nov 12, 2014

There's never enough tea, she said,
a single, cold finger tracing the lip
of an empty mug.

Adequate poem for this cold, November day in Indiana
#sad   #lonely   #alone   #cold   #tea   #yum   #onesentencepoem   #teavana   #passiontea  
The gloves. The gloves. The gloves.
C S Cizek
C S Cizek
Nov 17, 2014      Nov 17, 2014

Pure cane sugartar that sits on teeth,
sits on a canine porch swing
and swings too far, kicking the enamel
siding, wood knots, and greying-thin
windows. More exposed than Brad
Pitt's marriage or JonBenét Ramsay
on the cover of Old World News Daily
in the dentist's office. And there we
are. We're bleached white and burning
beneath paparazzi bulbs and a
a murder case. Brief case money/
two thousand fourteen and it's still
relevant, still useful blood money.
Novocain lightning flash; burn a tree.
Cali home tucked behind parsley
palms. Fortune teller, baby, O.J. didn't
do it. Not The Juice, not him.
The gloves. The gloves. The gloves.
Comfort of picket fence rainbrushed
paint stripping. Raymour retail
of a mocha-cushion couch half-off
'cause the back's spattered with
toothpaste and taxpayer juice
like Grandma's cancer handbag.
Put your feet up, stay a while.
Don't leave.

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