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I think
my time is near
this time
the end,
I do not fear
the whispers
that i hear,
I am calm,
my breathing,
it is breaking.

I still care
If you'd care
I exist no more
I am that vain
even in pain,
I'd seek more
as my mind
connects back to you.

The rain has stopped
my heart will too,
it is all part of nature,
the destiny,
we met,
but so unclear
we'd go
as destined to.

So here it is,
my last
it will be
a fragment of you.
And here it is,
it is the final goodbye,
fare well, you
Viktor Vincent
It hurts to think where, everyone was taught to fly.
It hurts when, we felt the wind of desire.
Only to find a child grieving about falling.

It hurts to feel hunger.
Reaching for your stars, with only having dreams as a meal.
It hurts to cry a handful.
When tears are just sands waiting to be a desert.

It hurts to pretend,
as if Blue will turn Red the moment we give our hearts.
It hurts to be sane,
when sanity is held by the memories of the past.

It hurts that,  
everyone chases the unfaltering pain we purposely seek.
I just let the words leave my head.
But they are so dark and heavy,
that they weigh me down even more than when they left me.

When I write, the weight is suppose to leave me
Not reappear when I read it
Where all the gates are now closed surrounding all that is me
And my heart is locked and the key is nowhere to be found


Jag lät orden bara lämna mitt huvud
Men de är så mörka och tunga att de väger ner mig mer än när de lämnade mig.

När jag skriver är det meningen att det tunga ska lämna mig. Inte läsa in mig och stänga alla grindar och spärra in mitt hjärta
A poem I started writing in Swedish but left it unfinished, so I translated the beginning and the rest just came.
i still
do not know
the poem i've been trying to write
and maybe
that's because
i haven't been
writing one at all
or maybe it's because
the poem i've been trying to write
is not ready for paper
and maybe
i'm the paper
that's not ready for it
David Lessard
I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)
taylor styles
you told me i was pretty,
but you said i looked prettier on my knees.

Yesterday I cried to the moon
as she wiped my tears away
made my worries disappear
so I could sleep again.

Today I smile at the sun
and it shines back on me,
what a wonderful world
to be alive;
to be me.
Nat Lipstadt
Ah you hate to see another tired man / Lay down his hand / Like he was giving up the holy game of poker
Leonard Cohen
Will I remain within God's house at night as shadows drift through dimming my light?
written by Weeping Willow, gifted to me, by Edmund Black

in­stant understanding, perhaps in my experiential possess,
some answerings perhaps...product of late night, many, many
theological arguments over poker games, with coarse men,
tough women, and ethically-challenged Gods, all faithful regular attendees

With a little bit o’ luck from an occasional guardian angel, even
I possess an occasional winning hand.

now we all commence with a passionate uttered blessing,
for the good beer and salty pretzels, giving thanks for having
reached this act-exact moment of being, here and now, in God’s house at night, plus a holy add-on variation, a swear-to-god (we all snicker) promise solemn, no cheating, no absolutely divine peeking/spying in soulful futures, no fun in that, sanctified & sealed with hearty amens and ****** noises offered for emphasis.

hear you scratching you head, wondering what all this to do
with a whispered prayer of soulful, on-shore drilling deep,
product of a drill bit cutting the black quietude of interstellar voids internal, where there is no censorship, lying an impossibility, and the only questions are super hard, so some never return with an answer truthful

so, I remain in God’s House, playing poker, with deities who
jealous guard their moments as human facsimiles...cherishing humans who guard with care, an ability to see that they and gods differ little, when making honest truth a shared primacy

in the intimacy
of an overnight stay
in God’s house at night,
all our coming-led light dims,
when my/their need is greatest

(written sometime this year, Jan. 2021, Manhattan)


^^ Blessed are You, L-rd our G‑d, King of the
Universe, who has granted us life, sustained us and
enabled us to reach this occasion.
Even if the closest I can get to you right now
Is just the subtle scent of you on my sheets
I’ll fall asleep with this piece of you wrapped around me
It calms me faster than counting sheep
You can only distract yourself so many times
before it catches up with you
Jeremiah Mhlongo
Beautiful Rhythms Of Love,
Vibrations of a touch,
Reaching deep in the dirt,
Are you a medium my dear?
My heart dead in waste,
You speak languages it hears,
Digging it out like diamonds bright,
In too deep I've lost this last rhyme.
Ha oh Muse, how I imagine your experience as if it exists, dont awaken my love if am not the one.
Hyphenated–Last–Name had  opinions.

Hyphenated–Last–Name was stunning & brave.

Hyphenated–Last–Name felt threatened as well as outraged.

Hyphenated–Last–Name spoke for all women everywhere.

Hyphenated–Last–Name took a bold stance for the marginalized.

Hyphenated–Last–Name spoke truth to power.

Hyphenated–Last–Name felt that strict measures were called for.

Hyphenated–Last–Name had her head up her ***.

Hyphenated–Last–Name did not believe in God.
NaPoWriMo prompt #14:
write a poem that delves into the meaning of a first or last name.

The sky looks great
When the sun is up
And the clouds are late
Spilling bright threads
Doing crochet patterns along the vast blue
Slowly, curling back into a ball of white
Swathing the sun
In rose gold silks
i spend my days
pouring myself into the cups of others

only to find that
when it’s time for myself
to take a sip

all that’s left
in my cup
is the remainder of a girl
who gave too much
self care is extremely important. most days I fight my depression by putting smiles onto others faces, but forgetting about my once bright smile.
It hurts when the darkness takes over.
After that, it hurts no more.
Dead before the storm is felt then on.
It continues on and on.

The storm is supposed to arrive but
prolonged silence is “not” heard.
It fears something inevitable.
What’s nagging is the unknown.

When the storm does not arrive at all,
the dead before it persists.
It stays there, asking about the storm.
I sigh- “It did not arrive at all.”
They burst upwards

All around this evening

There and there and there

Trees, Trees, Trees

Smashing through soil

To a darkening sky

Limbs and fingers and hands

Trunk and twig

Coiling coronaries

Pressed to the sky’s last



Earths loud art

Not solemn

Not peace filled

This evening

Trees , Trees, Trees

Explode from the earth

Like Kraken from the ocean


Reminding us

Trees Trees Trees

Four hundred million years

Before you breathed

Trees Trees Trees
Grace E
I traced the texture of your words
Like my heart was blind
And your voice was braille
She said "I'm falling in love."

I said "I'm falling apart."
What's the difference?
My entire life,
I have been waiting.
For years,
Almost two decades now
I have been waiting.
For the better parts.
For the “soon”.
For my life to begin.
I don’t feel like I have lived.
In the nearly twenty years
I have been alive
And breathing
I do not feel
In any of those years
That I have been alive.
I don’t feel like a single breath
That I have taken
Has been real.
I feel as if
All these years
I’ve been stuck
Behind a window
Watching as my life unfolds
Before me.
I feel that
I have had
Zero control.
That I am in the backseat
Letting someone else drive.
That someone else,
Is writing on the pages
Of MY life.
But no more.
I will break that window,
I will take that wheel,
And I will write
My own pages.
My life has begun,
And now -
I’m in control.
Yesterday, April 8th, was my birthday. I wrote this poem two years ago, when I was 19 almost 20, and on my 22nd birthday I find that the website selected it as a daily and I have all these wonderful people saying wonderful things about my poetry. Thank you Hello Poetry, and thank you everyone else. This was the best birthday present I could have even gotten. (04/09/2021)
Sweat stained skin
Swarming with flies
I might aswell be dead
As everything in this life
Seems like a load of lies
She was a thrifted sweater and denim and jersey knit sheets
Pizza breath and red wine and toothpaste
Alabaster skin and knotted hair and freckled shoulders
A tangible dream and my favorite good morning
She agreed to let me kiss her and I agreed to let her slip my shirt over my head before she became
Blood and tears
"I trusted you" and "I’m sorry"
Midnight poems and a drunk "I need you"
I’m afraid I loved you like the way I wrote
I should be going to sleep
But the shadows at the corner of my eye
Keep whispering secrets
I never asked for

I’m pacing down the hallways
Of my sanity
Waiting for a door to open
Down at the deep end

The peonies dance a slow waltz
In a breeze that does not exist
And the ivy crawl up walls
Over lamps, over windows

Come sit with me
Next to the pond
You cannot leave
So take your time
14 April 2021

I would love to climb Mt. Everest
Conquer storied  seas.
Login never gives peace or rest.
Seems I am never me!
Who in the world do they see?
Login never set me free.
I remember those
dark alluring eyes
Hint of yearning
and lust in plight
Warm kisses on neck
and the break of ice
Marks left as souvenir
for the comitted vice
I'm sinking farther into the sea
Air cut off, unable to breathe

But it's not all too bad
The water's warm
and the fish look nice

It's a shame I can only see this
By myself
at the end.
D Thornhill
rains fall, palm trees sway
lighting flashes, thunder rolls
storms in florida
©️ dt + b
Why is it so hard to move on?
Maybe it was the way you made me feel
Why is it so hard to let go?
Maybe our feelings were really real
Why is it so hard to forget about you?
Maybe you were my love appeal

What if I turn the wheel
Would we crash and burn?
What if you reveal
Your darkest parts
Would I walk away?
But you were my man of steel

So I can't move on
I can't let go
And I can't forget about you
Can anyone relate?? feelings for this guy... haven't heard from him in a year... and now can't stop loving him
lost cause
if i wrote my future
all would be changed
from the way i was raised
to the thoughts in my brain
if i wrote my future
no love would be lost
so i’d stand right beside you
no matter the cost
if i wrote my future
i’d bring nothing but peace
and save you from sorrow
and the darkness that creeps
if i wrote my future
you’d still be here
but you wrote my future
and i did nothing
but stare
Whether a comma, or colon:
Punctuation slows my rolling
I need no period. When I end
no Capitalization when I begin
Rulelessly I flow my art
  Not a single!
Exclamation mark
Are you not the one
Who'll know?
Where a question mark
No longer goes

Warp the structure
Bend the lines
Put in repeat
Let emotion unwind
Make yourself
Your poetry's the best
Be your own ruler
Pass your own test

Take your own road
Where ever it leads
Lover or hater
It's all poetry!
Traveler Tim

No matter who you are
You have my deepest respect!

All is vanity
The meanings of passion
The aesthetic expression
The lines we draw and stay within
Even love is beyond intent
Vanity transcends
Flowing from our pens
And so we breathe again
The North Star
Happiness is an inside job
Or so I've heard
It's so easy to get swept away with the surrounds
Like a leaf in autumn

It's an inside job because
The surrounds are broken
Better keep ourselves wrapped
Else we'll get cut

Happiness is an inside job
But it doesn't hurt to outsource it either
Happiness is an inside job
But sometimes it may come freely, externally
And who am I to say no.
I still cringe when I meet someone with your name

Your name

Like the slowest poison
It never leaves me

Just slowly eats away

Ah your name

How I wish I could eradicate it from my soul
Daisy Ashcroft
i don’t ever listen
to anything you say.
i can’t help it
when your smile turns my way.

how do you expect me to hear
the words you’re directing to me,
when a laugh accompanies it
and it’s all i can see?
My eyes watch
as the sky
is painted with colors of
soft blues & white fluffs
vivid pinks & dazzling oranges.

Soon to be
pitch blacks & deep violets
with tiny bright lights
speckled on with flicks of His brush.

Soon to be tomorrow,
strokes of
happy yellows & stunning golds.
Kyle Dal Santo
Would you believe I miss the cold?
That mudererous, diabolical cold?
The cold that penetrates your clothes,
Cracks your skin and soaks your nose.
I miss the painful freezing snow,
The silence as it falls so slow,
So delicate a cold hearted killer,
Soul less, yet I miss it so
I miss her dark towers
I miss her wretched winds,
Her army of thunderstorms
Her howling trees
They say I live in paradise,
But I want Windy more.
Forever Summer when I liked the snow,
I left because I had to.
But now I miss her so
Her trifling seasons,
Her depressing nights
I miss it all.
What's more depressing than the unpredictable?
The same thing every day
The same, boring, beautiful.
Like a dream when you just want to sleep,
A paradise you never asked for
Time slows, but still out of reach
Life stops so far from home
But try to return, and everything's changed
And everyone's different,
Though you feel the same,
No one remembers you
A stranger from a foreign land
A time traveler from a bygone age
I'll take the freezing bitter cold,
Over the freezing bitter change
You're not the Windy I knew
I'm not the boy you lost
We both have changed forever
We've grown even farther apart
We both aged,
Both for the worst.
You're not the same city,
I'm no longer a boy.
Kyle D.
A slender figure
Wrapped in a flowing fortress of red
Twirling around
In the world of peace
It’s all forgotten
Till the figure stands still
The music stops
And the red hangs down
Like a weeping tree
Alas life must go on.
It will grow till it is nice a vibrate, how it connects one to each other
Forming a bind strong to defend droplets.
Each quarter you see it to grow till peaks to fall.
Colors to create a new environment
Once it becomes cold, a disappearance is what is told.
Raven Feels
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, what is worse than shame? HUMILIATION:\

rumors fly up in the high

in the above in my ears in my skies

get my squirms of death into the rays of the red dies

and the humiliate in the tides

shed the tears in silence I fear they collide

with looks of disgust and shame they rise upon my eyes

just like an equivalence of the delves of the deep

from them of a cut to dig drips and swallow grief

arise arose arosen awake awoke awoken

trap me unnoticed and leave me broken in the heart swollen

fed on lies unspoken surrounding in the field

am I a prisoner in hell or even better in Tolkien???

I craved and carved the woods into a shade of a pink that I need

till you put the greed and stole in brief with no feels

want me dead then demand I alive to up come

burning and whipping regrets of the twos with the fives

if I not to remember wrong

counting stars and fleeing out just all in an empty round about

Check message
Check message
Check message
Send message

When did relationships
Get defined
By a read receipt?
Will we
Only measure intimacy
By a tweet?

What do we have left,
Why can’t we
Go back
To laughter
In a diner seat
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