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EtherealOmega Apr 2017
We are not shattered glass for you to attempt to piece back together only to cut yourself using that shed blood as an excuse for us owing you.. We are not shattered glass. We are iron.. Dented by the toils of this world, and the fires of your abuse are tempering us into steel..

... We will steal ourselves away from you time and time again until our hearts learn to understand the difference between love and abuse. Until our hearts learn the meaning of the word "No."... And until yours. do. too.

                            - EPL (EtherealOmega)
It's just a small piece that I thought of. It would make a good end for a longer SW piece.
  Sep 2016 EtherealOmega
JR Potts
Sometimes when I think of you
I wish I had all the money in the world
because I want to give you all the finer things
the expensive dinners
the diamond rings
the designer clothes
the tropical vacations
the pearls
the shoes
and basically
every material
desire in this world.

Sometimes when I think of you
I wish I had nothing, nothing at all
because a man with nothing has time
to make love on a blanket
under the star-lit night sky
to kiss you a thousand times
to count the individual lines
inside of your eyes
until he knew them all
like his own reflection
he has time
to listen when you cry
and promise that it'll be all right,
even when he doesn't know
he wants you to know
it'll be all right.
He has time
to hold you tight,
he has time
he has time
he has time
for you.

Sometimes when I think of you
I wish I didn't have to choose
Originally Written 09/06/13
  Jul 2016 EtherealOmega
H.P. Lovecraft
Black loom the crags of the uplands behind me,
Dark are the sands of the far-stretching shore.
Dim are the pathways and rocks that remind me
Sadly of years in the lost Nevermore.

Soft laps the ocean on wave-polish'd boulder,
Sweet is the sound and familiar to me;
Here, with her head gently bent to my shoulder,
Walk'd I with Unda, the Bride of the Sea.

Bright was the morn of my youth when I met her,
Sweet as the breeze that blew o'er the brine.
Swift was I captur'd in Love's strongest fetter,
Glad to be here, and she glad to be mine.

Never a question ask'd I where she wander'd,
Never a question ask'd she of my birth:
Happy as children, we thought not nor ponder'd,
Glad of the bounty of ocean and earth.

Once when the moonlight play'd soft 'mid the billows,
High on the cliff o'er the waters we stood,
Bound was her hair with a garland of willows,
Pluck'd by the fount in the bird-haunted wood.

Strangely she gaz'd on the surges beneath her,
Charm'd with the sound or entranc'd by the light:
Then did the waves a wild aspect bequeath her,
Stern as the ocean and weird as the night.

Coldly she left me, astonish'd and weeping,
Standing alone 'mid the legions she bless'd:
Down, ever downward, half gliding, half creeping,
Stole the sweet Unda in oceanward quest.

Calm grew the sea, and tumultuous beating
Turn'd to a ripple as Unda the fair
Trod the wet sands in affectionate greeting,
Beckon'd to me, and no longer was there!

Long did I pace by the banks where she vanish'd,
High climb'd the moon and descended again.
Grey broke the dawn till the sad night was banish'd,
Still ach'd my soul with its infinite pain.

All the wide world have I search'd for my darling;
Scour'd the far desert and sail'd distant seas.
Once on the wave while the tempest was snarling,
Flash'd a fair face that brought quiet and ease.

Ever in restlessness onward I stumble
Seeking and pining scarce heeding my way.
Now have I stray'd where the wide waters rumble,
Back to the scene of the lost yesterday.

Lo! the red moon from the ocean's low hazes
Rises in ominous grandeur to view;
Strange is its face as my tortur'd eye gazes
O'er the vast reaches of sparkle and blue.

Straight from the moon to the shore where I'm sighing
Grows a bright bridge made of wavelets and beams.
Frail it may be, yet how simple the trying,
Wand'ring from earth to the orb of sweet dreams.

What is yon face in the moonlight appearing;
Have I at last found the maiden that fled?
Out on the beam-bridge my footsteps are nearing
Her whose sweet beckoning hastens my tread.

Current's surround me, and drowsily swaying,
Far on the moon-path I seek the sweet face.
Eagerly, hasting, half panting, half praying,
Forward I reach for the vision of grace.

Murmuring waters about me are closing,
Soft the sweet vision advances to me.
Done are my trials; my heart is reposing
Safe with my Unda, the Bride of the Sea.
  Jul 2016 EtherealOmega
Lucy
I had a dream
That life was joyful and free

One minute has passed
And I’m still in glee

No one should fear life
No one should fear death

There’s no time for this or that
Please just take a deep breath

Life will never be perfect
Nor will it be fair

But for all the perfect times
It all makes you aware

That life is precious
You're an essential part to this world.
EtherealOmega May 2016
We've been taught to hide behind prose
So that no matter what the words say nobody truly knows
What's going through our heads
Ever hour until we finally turn in to our beds.

So for me it all started as a game of hide and seek
Seen as childish by older men
Who couldn't see past the flowery words
To the core of the issues I wanted to scream
But instead played off as a simple dream.

Somehow the simple game turned nightmare, and
These words became my walls.
The cold walls of a prison I had build for myself
Splattered with the bright colors of better times;
Times I didn't see crying out for help as one of my biggest crimes.

Days passed on, and I thought my personal winter was coming.
Yet time seemed to stop when his calloused hands touched the walls.
They were neither harsh nor gentle..
Many of those before him treated these walls as a rental,
But he came to scrape the color away and remind me of where I was.

His lips spilled the secret of how some could see.
They could see past the beauty to my heartfelt, tender plea.
These were the ones my words could speak to beyond a shadow of a doubt
And these lines could be their inner heart's water in a life long drought.

This journey of poetry has had as many paths for me as the stars
And each have coincided with my own private scars.
Words have become my olive branch,
My sword,
My soul's ward against demons that can't be ignored.
A life without prose is not what I chose,
And so forever shall I walk on the path of the wild rose.
A scholarship poem from the prompt of "You, Me, and Poetry" in other words what draws me personally to writing poetry as it was further explained.
I'm not so sure this'll no too much in the way of getting me the scholarship, but I'm always looking for prompts regardless.
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