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

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.

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)

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

They say I'm a pretty girl,

that I could have anybody...

yet my stubborn mind is stuck on you

“hey! are you okay?”
this is a conversation i have at least eight times a day,
“oh, i’m fine. just a little tired”
as if what i said could get any dryer.

The feathery touch of brush to paper
Lets me forget your nagging whispers
The colors slide down and drip
Letting go of what I miss
The inky black and blood-red paint
Remind me why I ignore your shapes
You are the puzzle I’m refusing to solve
So like paint into water, I let you dissolve

your last poetry will be a groan
with a label tied to your toe
and a white sheet over your face
it may well startle the funeral folk
your last poem, your last groan.

Hard Topics more or less Essential?
To speak your mind raise your voice
Your choice

Life fundamentals which are potentially not fun to mention or list them in a Corrupt System
That is Systematically
Problematic

Absurd to merge these choice words
with opposing verbs
To please the Masses

Seeing how The Watchers watch
and observe from an Orbital distance

For they have their Watchmen and henchmen but not to be confused with
Jehovah's true witness

For the rings of Saturn have
dangerous curves

These here I recognize as anti-Christ like
or anti-Christian affiliated or anything
remotely anti-Christ or Christian

Like a one world religion
I'm talking NWO false prophetic enlisted
Tricksters mixed in with vicious
Political figures

No figment of my imagination
hearsay or a conspiracy with a twist

I'm just down for exposing
Who's Who
Call me a Conspiracist
with a list

No.. better yet
I'm more like a Realist
with a real list

And no I'm not Heaven sent
or Hell bent on the descension of
your opinions

Because I have my own Ascension
to ascend to

With other worldly entities from other
Dimensions against me
Who hate me for being Christ affiliated
Opinionated

With a whole unholy Nation sanctioned
to alienate me with more hatred?
Big Mistake

For I'll just debate it as being Underestimated
And hold true to the Essentials
of Life fundamentals
Unabated

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

I traced the texture of your words
Like my heart was blind
And your voice was braille

"Plausible deniability" is an euphemistic phrase often used, it seems, by the CIA, among many other spying agences around the world, that really means "lying."

Is "lying" what our flag stands for? Is "lying" what we really want our flag to stand for?

When push comes to shove (too often, literally, as in "off the cliff"), that's exactly what it stands for.

What a morally grotesque, spiritually denuded flag we therefore salute unwittingly.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

She said "I'm falling in love."

I said "I'm falling apart."

Not yet,
Only,
When?

© By HF-Whisper
17/11/2020 22:57PM

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.

My entire life,
I have been waiting.
For years,
Almost two decades now
I have been waiting.
Waiting,
For the better parts.
Waiting,
For the “soon”.
Waiting,
For my life to begin.
Because,
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.

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

My eyes watch
as the sky
is painted with colors of
soft blues & white fluffs
to
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.

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.

Drown me in ink.
I don't want to see anything.
I want to be choked out
On the one thing that gives life meaning.

Slit my wrists with paper.
I don't want to live anymore.
I want to bleed crimson onto the page
And give meaning to the words I write.

It's another late night
when rain strokes the yard
into gore-blue slate strakes.
Beyond the almond-thin window
a car hurtles into a red away
at the same time
as your face pushes
through the plum-colored
angelfish orchids
right to my blanket eye
as I wake from a dream
about snow in Dublin.
A moon bathes in Judas rain,
in dense yellow shadow;
although I am so alone -
I have never been so alone -
I feel your presence
in this strange convergence
of a flower's face, and
the memory of motherless snow.

Limbs tangled
Relaxed
Gentle warmth
Distant TV noises
Golden light through window
Silences, never awkward
Perfect conversations
Shared jokes and laughter
This is the desired comfortable

smart, popular boys in third grade,
with their stupid khakis
and dumb sweatshirts.
i didnt want their popularity,
i wanted to be a boy.
a smart boy with stupid khakis
and a dumb sweatshirt

the kind, pretty girls in fourth grade
their pretty hair
and painted nails
i didnt want to be a pretty girl like them
i admired them
but i was too young,
and it was too wrong

it was wrong to want to be a boy,
to want to love a girl,
want to be a smart boy
with pretty hair
and painted nails

i should've been the perfect daughter,
but im a smart boy
with pretty hair
and painted nails.

i remember
your favorite
flower.
do you
remember
my name?

Incredible!
Donations made in trillions,
By Muslims all over the world.
A form of almsgiving in Islam,
Which is treated as an obligation or form of tax,
Whereby a Muslim must pay 2.5% Zakat on all his savings and wealth,
Be it cash, gold or properties.
Zakat is distributed to the poor
and needy in form of food, clothes, medicine and even education.
The concept of zakat is that a part of your wealth should be shared with the world in the name of humanity.
Zakat is one of the five pillars of Islam,
Its importance next to prayers.
14/4/2021

If you had used plain, descriptive words in our conversations instead of your cryptic phrases that made no sense in the context, I would have happily lived with you for the rest of my life.

You.
Are.
A.
Walking.
Masterpiece.

Now I have never kissed you before

But I have imagined it.
What it might feel like
Or what you might do

Some people say it’s magical
But do you think that’s true?

Because my Father says it’s like a raindrop,
Now I don’t understand that too

But he’s had a lot more experience than me
If I had to guess what he meant
I would say it’s soft,
Welcoming,
And sends a chill down your spine,
Is a little uncomfortable at first
But in the end, it will be just fine.

If this is true, then it’s not how it feels that makes it magical
It’s the fact I’ll be doing it with you.

Check message
Facebook
Check message
Instagram
Check message
Send message
Wait
Check
Look;

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

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

your name is
forbidden in
my mouth
or in my heart
because when
i think about
you;

i'll cry a little more,
hurt a little stronger
love a little softer
because you no longer
make me feel sober

i'm drunk on the
memory of you

If you could read my mind,
You’d see a thousand papers
Filled with broken poetries
And deadbeat proses
Full of woeful verses
With mournful pieces
Of unfinished stories
That are yet to be written
And failed to be spoken;
If you could read my mind,
You’d hear horrible screams
And earsplitting weeps
From shattered dreams,
Kept in a nasty notepad,
Scribbled on a bed
Of bloodstained words,
Ringing in my head.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see the shadows
That lurk within me;
You’d hear the bellows,
Screeching the words
“I’m tired,”
“I’m a failure,”
“I’m stupid –”
I know it sounds stupid,
It’s pathetically foolish
And seems like *******.
If you could read my mind,
You’d feel the tears
I had ever failed to cry;
You’d see the people
That make the weak weaker;
You’d see the monsters
That consume my head;
You’d hear the hollers
That failed to be freed;
You’d see the heart
That still bleeds and bleeds.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see the face
I’ve failed to show back then,
The face I’ve faked back then.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see a character
I had ever failed to become
If you could read my mind,
You’d be able to read
A book you never wished
To touch and read,
But sometimes I still wish
Someone could read my mind.

there’s no one
i’m an awful person
and the idea of slitting myself comes

I love him
I tell myself
I know that
We will be together forever
I don’t believe that
We could be separated
My thoughts tell me that
He’s the love of my life
Sometimes my heart lies and says
I could live an eternity
Without him
Like my friends say
“We’re perfect for each other”
And you can’t tell me
He’s not the one.

Now read from bottom to top.