What is it to smile…
when the eyes you cherish
turn from you,
peering off into the distance,
seeking another sight,
encased in a theme
that does not include you?
What is it to desire…
if what you long for hides
behind curtains of pain,
blacked out windows
redirecting the sunlight
to a place
that longs for nothing?
What is it to breathe…
within a life that does not matter,
in full view of your imagination
crumbling like so much dust
beneath cushions of your heart,
mingling with lost change
alone in muffled visions?
What is it to love?
I wouldn't call this poetry
I wouldn't call this poetry because there is nothing beautiful about wanting to die. There is nothing lovely about hurting yourself, nothing symbolic about deaths kiss that I wish would kiss my entire soul.
I wouldn't call this poetry because it isn't.
I think really living is a lot like knowing there's demons lurking inside your head but checking anyways.
I think it's like getting home late and pulling back the shower curtain checking murders
even though all you have to so is pull back your own eyelids and see the very thing that's killing you
I did not sleep last night because I was contemplating ways to die while also telling myself not to do it
I think I'm in a paradox.
I wouldn't call this poetry because there is nothing moving about this.I long for safety like a deaf person longs to hear.
But how can you long for something you've never felt?
I've been applying bandaids to my heart except it's words and the adhesive they provided just doesn't stick in my mind anymore
Everyone wants to knock down my walls but I'm missing the safety the cemented in bricks provide and I promise you
Oh god I promise you
You don't want to come through my walls
I love you more than the moon loves the stars
that it appears every night just to get a glimpse.
I love you more than a bird’s need to soar through the clouds
as if it were meant to glide forever.
I love you more than a baby’s first blanket
as they cling tightly to the seams and never let it out of their sight.
I love you more than a rainbow’s love for colour
that it lets every single one stream through the clouds in perpetual awe.
I love you more than the rain’s passion for the ground
that it risks the detrimental fall just to touch its surface.
I love you more than the very first day,
and everyday after that,
till this very day, where I’ve loved you most
and have never loved anything just as much.
Every second my love grows and longs for the scent of you
and your hand in mine,
as if they were a painting
that would live through the centuries and never die.
And though my love for you seems eternal,
I am afraid you do not feel the same.
And as my love for you grows,
your love seems to decay,
just like the moon’s final seconds before every sunrise;
a bird’s tired wings;
a baby’s growth blossoming
into something less innocent, less attached;
a rainbow’s last goodbye through the puddles left to dry;
the drops of rain that only lived their lives
watching themselves fall into their unfriendly fate,
and just like the last minutes of every single day -
there will always be an end.
There will always be a “last,”
instead of something that was made to last.
And here I stand to love you, for as long as I can,
and though yours has halted, I still hold true to my promise:
to love you like it were the very first day
as if it would never require a last one.
Her tears are swept away
by headland winds so strong
and in this deserted moment
her heart pangs and longs
For she is the lost girl Friday
her hair sea salt with spray
for her never does come Saturday
never here, never that day
Looking fast to ocean blue
hope of silver wings on the horizon
she stands petite with wanting
to bear natures only son
Weather may change
but she will stand fast
for death to her
is a familiar friend
As long as she prevails
this world will last
hope springs eternal
yet even hope can dry
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
The more she is broken, the more I love her
The more I love her, the more beautiful she has become
Like her suffering has stirred the boundless mercy from my Jesus' divine heart
Now the same love which has become laden on my own heart for her
Oh soul, you are crushed under heavy weight of sins, not your own
Now new temptations of old habits most resemble the cross
Therefore, God hears your cries in anguishes
God loves you, soul, more than ever
For He know you are lost but you do care for your God
Because you always long to taste His goodness even in a broken life
Your scars and cuts invite His healing Hands
He can feel the bitterness in your heart which longs so much to love and to be loved
The Author of life, the Shepherd of love, He is
Full of sorrow and compassion for you; thus, now He sends me
To love and to behold you
In our heart
Cette vie, mon cheri, continuera
Définissez vos lèvres contre ce verre
Les cendres nous tirent vers le haut
Herbe en longs doigts doux d'espoir
Que ce contact ne se démentira jamais
This life, my cheri, will continue
Set your lips against this glass
The cinders pull us upward
Budding into long, sweet fingers of hope
That this touch will never fade away
It sits expectantly on the peg in the dim hallway
just above the miniature blackberry stained walking cane,
waiting to be pulled over that wonderful head
reigning-in errant silver, bushy brows framed.
In the pub in a cloud of smoke,
a pint of beer next to half a Guinness,
just up the road from a market stall
where it waited
A million Christmases ago.
Hide and seek,
bobbing along the top of the untrimmed hedge.
Coming or going – no difference
happiness wherever it goes.
Straining against the South Westerly
soaked in ocean rain
longs for the shoulder-carry from the beach and silly songs
sweat pouring, Friday fish and chips, tea in the pot
Radio 4, crosswords and roasts.
One step towards a dream,
One step away from you;
Traveled 1,967 miles from my heart
Left behind those I love
To chase down something I’ve wanted
Since I was a girl,
And though I feel the distance tearing us apart,
It is in the way you speak to me,
The enthusiasm on the other line;
I can hear your sincere pride in me
And it makes it a little easier,
To know that you are happy,
To know that you are hurting, too.
I spend my days staring at a blank page,
Bullshitting lines, tracking trends,
Hashtag #yolo and #currentevents
But the only current event I care about
Is flight 542—my ticket home
To be in the safest place I’ve ever known
And tonight when I look up,
Look out at the sky,
I’ll see the colors of nostalgia,
You have painted my skies
With blues and deep crimson,
Every breath you steal
Is a moment that comes to life,
Blending together like you’re sitting here, too
Looking out at the same view,
Hold onto me tight, babe,
I’m coming home soon,
I swear it,
And if you miss me tonight, squeeze me tighter
Because if you ask me to stay,
I won't fight it, just promise me,
Just don’t let go.
I don't know where I'm going with this...but I need to write. You know?
I woke up next to her, with a smile on my face, and doubt in my heart.
One night stand?
I tend to have a lot of those.
But this is different.
I met her yesterday and thinks escalated quickly.
Maybe too quickly.
Fresh out of a long, unhealthy relationship, she longs to feel resolution, peace, happiness, and an end to her torturous thoughts of what was, and what might have been.
I long to feel.
I'm learning, everyday, that life is a series of moments.
Some connected, some interchangeable, and some secluded from the others.
I wish you could choose each moments relativity to the next.
I suppose this poem is about discontent, about feeling lost, lonely- and hoping it will get better.
And above all, needing to say something, to someone...
When there is nobody who will really understand.
Wrong doing without intention constitutes no sin
Right doing with empty heart remain merely a gesture
Love beyond measure is never a blunder
For a blunder from a heart full of love is life which accepts to suffer
Such a wound should not heal but it will lie open
To cry to numerous heavens to deliver what love means
To be wide open arms which long to embrace
Or a runner's legs belong to distant purposes
Those are the ones others can't see until life ends
Those are the ones the whole world might analyze to bend
Only to make love suffered for love longs to love even amidst
The sea of sorrows for the heart has its own definition of bliss
What a empty kiss or full stare might mean
A brush kiss might hide an emotional tide if one has tried hard
And full stare might be a promise which fulfills with or without a heart
Therefore one should not try to find the core of a poet heart
In attempt to measure or contemplate on his soul
For each action he does, he does for a purpose
He has given it a piece of his soul
So it will express his meaning
And what he has meant cannot be anything but love