Aug 12 Mack
Crazy Diamond Kristy

Promises are soft whispers
spoken in sands of time.
Eternally seeping
through
the
hour-
glass
of forget
into heaps of burdens
harbored in memory's shore
buried behind past regret,
never to be anything more
.

K.R.Dalton
8-12-17(C)

I'm fine, everyone. I'm just going where my muse takes me. Thanks for reading! K:)
  Aug 12 Mack
Jobira

When I was alive,
I had seen many things through life.

I saw the cover page beauty of this world
with its soft thorns to the touching skin
but inside a rotten flower that blossomed
poison and toxic to the human souls,
souls that became casualties
of its mesmerizing rose petals, yet who numbed
their hearts and minds to others,
except gravitating towards their own
self indulgence and desires
as none cared but just passed by me
without a gaze at my painful eyes.

When I was alive,
I lived with broken hearts
and broken homes, among
dysfunctional families and
lost and bitter friends, none
which saw me dying from the inside
now, standing here mourning their
last farewells or their lifetime regrets.

These strangers are the walking dead
whose dry tears and mopping are
eroding my forever home like mudslides
they even got the nerves arguing about
my gravestone size, how it should be big or small
as I am trying to lay peacefully under the ground
I still hear the sound of their pitting cries, yet
I took my last air and gave my last laughter because
soon I will even be forgotten by all.

Stop crying and beating yourselves  up
for it's pointless now,
pouring your dry tears like summer rains
do you know why you're crying?
is it for me or yourselves?
is this true farewell or your lifetime regrets?
you saw me in pains, but you never lent a
ticking second from your lives,
therefore, save your dry tears
because your souls won't be saved,
your regrets won't be washed away
over my dead body.

This poem is inpired by Seema's "Fallen Flowers."
After I read her amazing writing, immediately a thought came to mind to write the opposite of her poem.

Written with a first draft
  Aug 11 Mack
Poetic T

Voices cradled
             in hollow cribs.

Loitering whispers are
            ingested haphazardly.  

Comatose I linger awaiting
my voice to blossom again.

I will again be myself
                in an empty room..

  Aug 11 Mack
Lady RF

Shall I stop writing
Because you do not read?

Shall I stop trying to get through life
Because you think
I will not succeed?

Shall I stop planting my thoughts -
Each poem a precious seed,

Shall I stop being myself
Because you do not see beauty
In self-expression,
Or because you see a wildflower
As a weed?

What do you want from me?

You be you!
Let me be!

By Lady R.F. (C)2017

Our individuality
Is what makes us special.
Stay true to yourself!

I let you back in when
you promised forever
open communication,
a true friend again.
~
An open door to you,
the happiest of views,
a beautiful treasure
of timeless hues
forging all weather.
~
Whether emotions turmoil
or relationships boil,
you'd be a constant coil.
~
As it turns out,
when the whiskey talks
sweet lips, bitter spoil,
you're not so loyal
!

K.R.Dalton
8-9-17(C)

I recently lost a rekindled friendship due to things said while drinking. We're soulfully connected, so it's not a permanent loss. However, not being able to communicate with my friend after rekindling a friendship this past year has been a grieving process for me this past month.

Thanks for reading! K:)
  Aug 9 Mack
wordvango

hop and spark among along the mountains the borrowed sailboat
walking edges and playing sailor again like we did in
September at the Yacht club
yo my first mate
or the day we trekked
all clad in hiking boots out to the ledge of that rock and sun saw  all our edges or camped at silver lake put our naked feet in the crystalline water pure
for that week
rode the canoe all night trying to drown
that little man
in the bushes on the sand on the edge of the pond
the fish jumping in rhythm to our love making
and the frogs serenading and the moon blushing and the stars glowed
all along your curves along my hard edges
and the tent was havoc all full of sorts of
living things
winged and we didn't give one damn
just swatted each other's asses
and brushed crickets off each other's
cheeks and laughed and the hamburgers
on the fire
tasted like steak and the cold beer we floated
in the lake like champagne and
every day like a year and every night like
a celebration
and we were young
drifted away after that
but if you are like me
you never forget

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