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3d · 20
A Place For Us
James 3d
No place.
No place to go.
No place to hide.
No place for help.
No place to confide.

Hurt in between,
But not at all.
Hurt in the heart,
But not at all.

Not here nor there;
But somewhere
The hurt bears,
And it does not fit anywhere.

In the middle,
In a muddle
Of things
In life.
It's there.
It's here.
But it doesn't fit anywhere.

They've made it
For you and me.
It's there
For me and you:
A place for us.

A place to share.
A place to breathe.
A place to rest,
A place to lie.

A place for us.
In peace,
A place,
A final wake.

Let's share it,
You and I.

A place beyond.
A place above
And below.

No other to go.
So let us share
A place.
Above and below.
A poem for those who are bound in limbo.
Sep 2020 · 51
Gone Adrift
James Sep 2020
Ive been gone.
A long awaited freedom.
Gone for so long.
Ive been gone.
For too long,
Ive been gone.

In my memories,
A past lingers in a haze.
The spaces so divided,
A connection seemingly quixotic.

Its cloudy.
Its dark.
A moment in space.

It feels like an eternity.
Floating in a universe with possible impossibilities.
Yet I remain aimlessly afloat,
enshrouded in nothing.

No drift
No serendipity
No clemency
To pull me from this cold idle.

And when I see a comet hurdling by,
I can only wish to share its great journey.
Jun 2020 · 51
Wind and Rustling Leaves
James Jun 2020
When the heart gets heavy,
They say to look back.
Look back
To the times that have gone.
But, where did they go?
Where did you go?
Where did I go?

When the heart gets heavy,
They say to look back.
Back to the times
Where you and I,
Where we,
Where once,
We were.

When the heart gets heavy,
They say to look back.
Back to where you belonged,
Back to a place,
A place called home.

A place where you knew you were loved.
A place where you knew you were warm.
A place where you knew you had a family.
A place which you called home.

Home,
I'll never forget it,
But perhaps,
I've been gone for so long,
It forgot about me.

So When the heart gets heavy,
And they say to look back,
Back into the past,
Where do I look?
May 2020 · 82
Unspoken
James May 2020
An affinity sequestered away in a languid beat of my heart.
To whom I've fallen for so gravely ill, this churning affection grows a part within me.

The fire toils for a great satisfaction,
one of which I cannot fufill.
The strung voices that I provoke to keep you in the know are nothing but a timid reliance to keep me in the dark; a fault I've succumbed to, and a death I'll forever hold in disconcertion.

Perhaps it is best I keep the key for my own, but this pent affliction will be a pernicious ailment, gutting me within as the present becomes the past—day by day.

Oh, how I walk among the shadows,
lurking in a void, consumed by the daunting portents of failure.
Oh, how the hauntings of what could have been lingers.

But, alas, my silence has spoken, and now I must walk the shade of night and bear the quietude of my lonely plight.
May 2020 · 246
Going Where the Wind Blows
James May 2020
A life of serpentine-driven fate,
a flow of undulating winds,
is a life left in desuetude,
ululating for a course more driven.
Mar 2020 · 207
Our Earth
James Mar 2020
Sing the song of gratitude,
should the grass grow.
Felt beneath our feet,
the soil breathing its song.
Let it growl a languid tone,
for its tongue rests underneath its greenth overflows and wild creatures.
A picture of placidity it draws, hidden under its overtone of yellow kingdom.
Don't let it loom over you,
for its stature is everything but onerous.
Tell it why you fear not the soil nor its engulfing sky, and it shall move the winds easy.
Speak with candor and imbue it with your love.
Because when it hears your song of gratitude, it too will sing.
Oct 2019 · 199
Conceptual Reality
James Oct 2019
Like time, are we found through serendipity.
Minutes, a mere tick to unfounded revelation.
Past, are the days when we go subtly by, dissipating into the night sky.

Like time, our corporeal spirits aloft into the pitchy sky.
The tender kiss, a gentle stroke, nuanced by the caressing love of the lunar above.

Like time, are we imprisoned in our own conscious. A mere abstract picture, blown into the winds, caught adrift, and veered into the dark streams of reality's heavy rift.

Like time, we are ethereal wayfarers: youthful beings marked by ephemeral nature, merely to trance the universe's wake.

And like time, our departure ticks till the last grain meets, and the sand flipped, to start all over again, and again, and again.
Apr 2019 · 334
Gloomed Turbulance
James Apr 2019
The shadow of our tempest is a devil to curb.  
Allow it to simmer,
lest it shall disturb.
Nov 2018 · 99
Unruly Desperation
James Nov 2018
Born, I wasn't made for the riches,
They've forgotten my mother's stitches.
Borne to a home built by exiguity,
Hope to stay in for a brevity.
At a loss of hope I pondered:
What much is there to live for, I wondered.
But vengeance gathers in a bunch,
So I opened every door of ****** nonesuch.
Crawled in and sat in their hole,
Only to be withered away like a crooked soul.
Into the air I streamed,
Up into the atmosphere it seemed.
Farther from home,
I drift into a black roam.
Spacious enough to be alone,
I have found my tone.
I've finally known myself,
To fit perfectly in this akward shelf.
I was a misfit,
Too ignorant too quit it.
Played like a puppet,
By the wealthy culprit.
Justice is my unruly mission,
And they'll take watch of my disturbed exhibition.
I stumbled upon this bit, written by me years ago when I first started writing poetry. It's filled with a a bunch of nonsense that I wrote when feeling whatever emotion I felt at the time. Despite the middling quality, I thought it would be amusing to share whatever teenage, emotional frustration I had undergone.
Oct 2018 · 131
The Darkest of Nights
James Oct 2018
Nights keep the knowing in secrecy.
The trails where we once walked,
linger in obfuscation.
The man we once were,
slumber till dawn.
Far from our nature,
we go into the night.
Where we feel free,
from the measure of God.
Scream and shout,
drink and puff.
Let us release our tribulations,
through the sins of man.
For no one is awake,
to condemn our darkest of nights.
James Jun 2018
Here I stand on the ***** of my feet,
Watching as the time passes by.
The day fulfilling the dreamers,
The night exhausting the lost.
Why must I move on?
Why must I go?
I don’t know.
I don’t know.

Here I sit under a stately willow tree,
Accompanying me with its hospitality.
It droops as it stands so mighty,
It rises as it slumps in humility.
Why must the tree persist?
Why must the tree grow?
I don’t know.
I don’t know.

Here I lie in a box of plastered wooden veneer,
My eyes encumbered by pitchy darkness.
I breathe my gratitude of this quietus,
I cry my despair for my own creation.
Why must I wallow in my regret?
Why must I now feel this woe?
Now I know.
Now I know.

— The End —