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 Aug 2016 Ceeam
Mara W Kayh
 Aug 2016 Ceeam
Mara W Kayh
OH tortured souls,
How well do I know you..
My heart has been shattered,
Exploded into irrepressible bits
From loving you so much.
Once annihilated,
I was able to bear the burden of
This exquisite Existence.
God help me,
I had to became nothing
To be one with all.
my heart didn't stand a chance in this world.. It had to explode to survive.
 Aug 2016 Ceeam
Isabella Watson
Maybe the reason
Your mom is so happy to see me,

Is because I'm the best girl
You ever brought home.

And maybe I'm happier

Because you left me alone.
 Aug 2016 Ceeam
Finley in Despair
being with you is like being
where the sea meets the sky
if you wake up one day gorgeous
to find that I'm gone
know that is where I am
in the sunlight
keeping warm
for you
 Aug 2016 Ceeam
 Aug 2016 Ceeam
God, it must be a magic trick, how you can make lights from pollution seem like the city beyond golden gates, the windows down, scarlet curls of frizz illuminated.
I was jealous of the shotgun, and you asked me if I had a good view, and the only answer I could think of was that I didn't, at least, not of you.
Four seasons later and I'm back in the backseat of your car, it's summer again, only this time everything is different.
You still somehow manage to summon the small hidden youth I've got left in this old soul, even though the roads are blocked and sirens are on patrol.
 Aug 2016 Ceeam
The Pen
 Aug 2016 Ceeam
The Pen
The pick up the pen;
The put it down again
(That sunken feeling, nemesis or friend?)
The pen. The Pen.
The pacing, the pressing up against
The period. Stop stopping
Again. Pick it up to put it down.
Pointless. Pshaw.
Please me simplicity. C’mon!
C’mon pen lemme pick it up
And put something down.

I’ll plagiarize the flow for a few words of my own.
I’m looking for inspiration from the great beyond.
My muse is missing.
I know the medium is a constraint.
I know inside
The set of symbols paints
Me into a corner.  The parameters
Of my pen’s head worn out. I’m ******. The metaphors
Pressed. The pen is second-guessed.

A literate piece of poetic license,

The defense mechanism
Against the prison I impose.
Me, myself, and I inside
The pen pining for a purpose.
The nexus of picking it up and putting it down
Is perplexing me, is vexing
Me like a sticky keyboard key.
So, I’m putting it all down
With the pen.

The pen.
The picking it up: who cares?
The putting it down: pensive prohibition.
The picking up; what I left out.
The putting it down: polygraph precision.
The picking up where I left off:
The putting it down: priority, what’s left of me.
The picking it up, when I don’t even know
Why I bother?
The putting it down: passion
The putting it down: plea of let me be.  
The putting it down periscope; I’m diving under  
The pressure’s mounting; I’m down for the counting on my muse
To bring me back
From that inky black abyss once again
My personal sonar is
Probing the depths, of what lies
hidden within
the pen.
I first posted this after a long first night on this site. I really didn’t pay attention that I had spaced down a 4th stanza that wound up on another page.  I am indeed grateful for the attention that this poem received.  At first I wasn’t that happy with the 4th stanza so I left “The Pen alone. However, I thought the poem ended much too abruptly; and the switch to “my” instead of “the” pen; I felt undermined the whole poem. I’ve reworked the 4th stanza, and I think this is how “The Pen” is best presented. I always appreciate any feedback, criticism , or thoughts from the outstanding writers that make up this community. Cheers!
Someone once said
That only once you've lost everything
Are you free to accomplish anything

Well I've lost everything
And I'm still waiting for my freedom
To find me

If I can accomplish anything
Why can't I go back to the way things were
before I lost it all?
 Aug 2016 Ceeam
The Revolutionist
Every storm has a particular story,
I wanna listen to them all....
 Aug 2016 Ceeam
What are fallen stars?

Are they
Faded dreams,
Streaking across the night sky
Resoundingly repeating and reminding us of our failures? or

Are they,
The gaiety of children
Running amuck amongst the planets
Causing mischief and mayhem

Could it be,
That they are missives just for me,
Of a love Waiting patiently?

A love
I have yet to find divine
A love all mine

Could fallen stars be
Remnants of a broken heart
Broken once too many,
Or love sabotaged?

For you see,
I have yet to find
My true love

But in searching
I have drowned...

In many a
Love is special. The heart knows.
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