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 Dec 2020 Arya Night
Lily Barrett
“You have to move, get up.”
“I don’t want to.”
“This is sad you need to get over yourself.”
“I’m broken, and I don’t think I can be fixed.”
“Then fake it. Get up and put on a smile.”
“It hurts too much; I just want to cry.”
“No crying! It’s not worth it.”
“But I just can’t let go…”
“You have to move on. It’s the only way.”
“Please, all I want is five minutes to let it all out.”
“You’re pathetic. Fine. Five minutes.”
“Thank you,” said the heart.
“You’re welcome,” said the mind.
And the heart and mind cried together.
Just for five minutes.
Sometimes its ok to let it all out. just don't let it consume you.
 Oct 2020 Arya Night
I learned
to plant the seeds
of happiness.
There are flowers
where the scars
used to be.

 Oct 2020 Arya Night
I attached myself to you so I wouldn't be alone
I became who you wanted me to be, my goal was to please you and only you, and in doing so I lost myself, and forgot the real me,
Now it's time to move on.. to cut the ties that bind.
It's time to take back my independence and freedom... what was always mine..........
This poem is describing myself. . I have lost myself in a man I'm pretty sure is a narcissist, I've been with him for 5 years now and in the last little while I've noticed behaviors that match up to what narcissistic behaviors are like....I know what I have to do. Take back whats mine..  the only problem is.... I love him 🙈😢
 Oct 2020 Arya Night
Dear God
 Oct 2020 Arya Night
I never truly believed in you
Maybe i did once
But now i know you
As the thing people hold on to
When there's nothing left

So here I am
With nothing left
This is written as my sister is in a coma
I still taste the salt
from the sweat of our friction
your laughter echos in the cavern
where I buried my heart
the flame of your smile
fades with the days
and with it
its warmth
but lend me now
the wool of your words
and I’ll fashion a scarf
we know December looms
Y’all ever just miss someone?
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping—rapping at my chamber door.
“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—
        Only this and nothing more.”

Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
        Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
“’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—
    This it is and nothing more.”

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping—tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door:—
      Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore!”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”
      Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon I heard again a tapping, somewhat louder than before.
“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—
Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore;—
    ’Tis the wind and nothing more.”

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he: not an instant stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—
    Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
      Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
      With such name as “Nevermore.”

But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—
Till I scarcely more than muttered, “Other friends have flown before—
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.”
      Then the bird said, “Nevermore.”

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
Till the dirges of his Hope the melancholy burden bore
    Of ‘Never—nevermore.’”

But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
    Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my *****’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
      She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath
  sent thee
Respite—respite aad nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!”
      Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”
    Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
      Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked,
“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
    Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
    Shall be lifted—nevermore!
 Oct 2020 Arya Night
she is the heaven
you would go to hell for
 Oct 2020 Arya Night
Suzanne Penn
I truly have
a love...hate...

what I know
what I believe...

and toxic...
It's a detailed.

My curse...
My passion...
an ever present pull...
with stubborn intent
often directly opposed
To the path
which I am on...

When I was much younger
I developed a systemic
and purposeful mission
to design the person
I was to become

I had carefully weighed...
tested and mapped out
my "edges"
finally setteling on
habits, personalities
and a type of lifestyle...
this allows me
a precarious balance...
between honor, appearances
and fair exchange ..
friendship, acceptance and fun...

Something rare
during my colorful  
then recent

Like I said...
and well...

Once I found my path...
I stubbornly believed...
That no others...
existed...for me

Really young...
...hee hee hee

As we all know...
life happens ...

...and I rolled
and flowed...
and always seed to manage

But I didn't bloom...
I just became really good
at being me.

Just missing...
a really good second...
again become...
 Oct 2020 Arya Night
Are you exhausted, shopping all day?
Are you exhausted ignoring me? I won’t go away.
Aren’t you tired of that humdrum existence of yours?
Give me a guitar and you won’t be bored.

A shiny Les Paul or an old Humbacker –
I’ll kick out the jams until me fingers are knackered
And you say, “Are you exhausted?” and I’ll say, “Yes! That’s the one!”
(The name of me album, that is, not the song.)

You should have seen me on stage back in seventy-six,
Jamming with my old mate Jimi Hendrix.
We was gods in them days, we were gee-tar kings,
though I only started playing ‘cause I couldn’t sing.

I played with all the greats, even Chuck Berry
(I strummed along on my guitar while I watched him on telly.)
I taught them all the great licks that made them so famous.
Just look at me now: a forgotten genius.

Now I’m walking the streets with me bottle of gin,
Of course I’m exhausted but I’ve got tough skin.
Now I’m talking to meself in the centre of town,
Yes, I’m exhausted but you won’t see me frown.
“Jimi Hendrix made an album called Are You Experienced? Mine’s called Are You Exhausted?” – Homeless man I used to see regularly on the streets of Liverpool..another old poem I wrote back in my university days
 Oct 2020 Arya Night
sitting on a swing
late in the evening
stars in the sky
music blaring
pounding in my ears
feet pumping in the air
chill on my arms
warmth in my heart


white car in the black night
creeping on the road
beating in my chest
halt in my lungs
pause in my music

they turn a corner
and i release my breath

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