(Goodnight)
Lay your head
on my chest,
listen as my
pulse sings
lullabies
for you
sink into this
bed, pounds
of restless
gravity
let this warmth
of my flesh
seep into your
bones
you are
safe with me
Oct 24, 2018
Oct 24, 2018 at 7:53 PM UTC
I have dreams where glass is thrown but nothing's breaking.
My hearts heavy and my hands are shaking.
I look at you and nothing's there,
Just a cold blank stare.
Like everything and everyone is something,
And I'm here alone and left with nothing.
I want to reach you but you're so far away,
Disconnected and in disarray,
Fear has taken over,
All goodbyes and cold shoulders.
Will I ever feel okay?
Will dreams all make sense one day?
Heat rushes through my veins,
It burns right through me and pours like rain.
No one can feel that but me,
I may be able to explain it, but you can't see.
So much beauty, but all I feel is hate.
I want to scream but there's no voice to penetrate.
I could yell but nothing comes out,
I'm all chewed up and spat back out.
Jan 28, 2017
Jan 28, 2017 at 10:04 AM UTC
I've forgotten the rush of pen to paper
I've diluted the taste of every life saver
I wanted to feel freedom from heartache
but couldn't feel as thought it was just a mistake
I need to write to feel alive
Letting out the toxins I use to survive
Breathing out my brains archive
Feeling free once again
Level headed and zen
Pen to paper I feel
Pen to paper shows emotions are real
Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 3:22 PM UTC
You're like pink sugar mixed with cigarette smoke.
We know that smell. If you don't you're missing out.
It's not supposed to make sense, being a sweet as sugar scent
mixed with the lingering bitterness of poison...
But together makes sense.
It's not like they knew when they invented pink sugar perfume it would mix perfectly with smoke
and create magic.
It just became a new signature,
something special that people recognize and identify with.
Being one way or completely the other, when combined is brilliant.
The two counterpoints balance one another, and something beautiful emerges.
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 4:05 PM UTC
She was beautiful, an elegance that swooned those where she traveled. She didn't say much, kept to herself, but she didn't have to. She promised the world and followed through with practically nothing, just a shadow of herself when she left yesterday morning.
So what am I doing? what am I doing here? Was it just yesterday morning when you left, my dear?
The souls in which shed swoon were The Devils and angels. Some swaying the pendulum, viewing different angels, uncertain of where to lay their heads at night. But others were drawn to the light. They viewed it so bright they could almost taste it, she tasted it, she craved it like it was the last drop on earth. All she wanted was to rid that curse, but it pulled her under deeper and deeper within each soul shed sweep.
So what am I doing? what am I doing here? Was it just yesterday morning when you left me, my dear?
She had the darkness inside her. And I wanted to hide her. It was the almighty antidote, that made sense of her train of thought she spoke. She wanted to feel, but all I could feel was her heel stepped on top of me. She was so sweet and fragile, and I wanted it all, but she had my heart pinned on her wall. She knew it was perfect and real, but it pained her to feel. Because although she was beautiful, she didnt see it. she let the darkness of the world depict her feelings.
So what am I doing? what am I doing here? Was it just yesterday morning when you left, my dear?
Or it it forever? Will you recover? Or should I just leave here. I think I may just leave, my dear. God bless you my dear
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 4:03 PM UTC
She was beautiful, an elegant grace that swooned those in where she traveled. She didn't say much, but she didn't need to. She'd promise the world and leave with nothing, just a shadow and the faint footprints of her black leather boots on the souls of whom shed swept. The souls in which shed sweep were The Devils and angels in us all. Some swaying the pendulum, uncertain of where to rest to lay their heads, others drawn to the light. They see it so bright before them they could taste it, she tasted it, she craved that taste like it was the last drop of water on earth. All she wanted was to have that light, but the darkness pulled her under deeper and deeper within each soul shed sweep. She had the darkness inside her. It was like the almighty antidote that could make things make sense for her. Seeing darkness within others was a way for her to feel something. Anything but the swooning mourns of those of whom shed sweep. Although so sweet and fragile, almost resided as much as the everlasting cry of a new born baby. She knew it was perfect, so real, but it pained her to feel. Because although a beautiful girl she was, nothing was more beautiful to her then those who didn't find her quite so beautiful. Complicating the simplicity was simple to her. She knows what she really wants, she knows how they really feel, but finding patterns was as easy as looking through a kaleidoscope {cont...}
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 11:38 PM UTC
The vampire sings
Such a lovely song
I hate to see the coming dawn
My heart still feels the ting
The darkness no longer seems gloomy
On the night the vampire sings
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 6:04 AM UTC
I'm
breathing
hurriedly...i'm
r e m e m b e r i n g
c o n c e n t r a t i n g
trying to p i c t u r e :
~~ A ~~
P--lethora of trees, flowering plants...across and beyond...surround the
L--ustrous surface of the rushing blue green water...spraying...
nourishing
A--maranths and azaleas, with its windblown mists...refreshing.....see,
C--reeping creatures underwater could not ruin the quietude it emits
I--nimitable is its Serenity...nothing else is at par.............its
D--impled surface, tiny ripples running, creating streams of dreams...
whispering
W--ords...a gentle massage, washing away rage, misery...like precious
A--methyst, jade, citrine and crystals...shimmering down under,
rebuilding, helping
T--urquoise, gently touch with its sea blues...above, under...wherever
E--merald waters, against red carnelian rocks...to weather...endure...to
R--escue someone reeling...patiently...with words mollifying...and
sprays of
S--alty mists..soothing pensive eyes, mind, soul...cleansing...healing
CHAKRA...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Placid~waters~run
b e h i n d~~me
b e f o r e~~me
deep~~within
~~ m e ~~
~~~~~
Sally
Copyright September 3, 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 6:04 AM UTC
When I was eighteen I wrote “The Bedrock”
In which I said
The Priority is to Survive.
But I’m sixty three now,
And that’s not enough.
It’s not all about Me, so
It’s time to decide
What is Good.
Well, my friend
All Life is Good.
Every living thing.
From enormous whale
To spiteful wasp,
Bacteria
To Ecosystem.
Yet some beings must be extra-cherished:
Those that are conscious,
Sentient and smart.
Intelligence as such is there to be nurtured
And knowledge learnt.
So too wisdom,
But above all
Love.
Do unto others as you would have them do unto you:
A great old saying.
Be a Humanist indeed,
But better still,
A Lifist
Who Loves Life.
All else follows on from what I’ve just said.
Go figure.
Paul Butters
© PB 25\9\2015 (2).
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 6:04 AM UTC
Cars and gasoline and traffic,
Weddings, birthdays, and funerals,
The days, the months, the years.
Failures, mistakes,
Accomplishments, burden.
Life wears thin
as time gains substance.
Lifespans measured through the good and the bad days,
All a distant memory in the end.
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 6:03 AM UTC