Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
  Jun 18 Traveler
rick
these people

I can’t see them anymore
I don’t want to see them anymore
I have no desire to see them anymore

I never think about
phoning them or
messaging them or
stopping by to say “hi.”

I don’t care about
what’s happening
in their lives or
who they’re dating
or what memories
we had together

yet they insist, they demand
that I visit them
that I sit down with them
that I talk about nothing important
with them

and I can’t say no

because I know how it feels:

during those times,
when I was down and out
and needed someone
to turn to, to talk to
but there was no one around
I felt the terror & the darkness
constricting my cold and lonely heart
as all the vitality and connection was draining
from my ventricles of ire
like blood from a stone

and so much of that
over a lengthy period of time
has made me a lot stronger,
more independent from people
and maybe even borderline aloof
from all human interaction

I no longer need them
I no longer want them around

but I can’t let anyone
feel that same way
that I felt

so long ago.

pitiful.
  Jun 18 Traveler
Damocles
Soft, milky white, creamy,
Rippling with the tides’ collision,
A heat envelops me,
Dripping with sweetness,
I’m parched, yearning for sustenance,
Sustained rhythms, syncopated patterns,
Ripping through the night sky,
Carried out in falsetto, sung praises,
Affirming every sequence,
Clenching with squelched wrenching,
With felt panting of lost breaths,
I stand upon the precipice,
In parallel with this blissful moment.

May we expire this little death,
Together as we sink to catch our breaths,
Enshrined in silk and Egyptian cotton,
Entwined like ivy vines,
I’ll be yours if you say you’re mine,
We can tangle endlessly,
Lovers at midnight,
Sweet like caramel,
Stuck to each other through thick and thin.
I had a good dream and wanted to capsulate it in poetic device.
  Jun 18 Traveler
Maddy
A nightmare
Unthinkable
We are all victims if this does not end
Lift the radar and understand that troubled souls need to helped
It is a loss to Minnesota
The family and friends
The trend must end
Another horrible mistake
Caused by the tragedy of
Inhabitant of the White House along with
His cast of incorrigble characters
  Jun 18 Traveler
Todd Sommerville
Please make me stay,
why should we say, Goodbye?
Open up your heart, give love another try.
Don't close the door,
don't let it die.
Please make me stay,
we're running out of time.

Didn't I make you smile,
more than I made you cry?
Didn't I bring you pleasure?
I can still hear your sighs!
I'm running out of reasons,
I'm running out of rhymes.

Please make me stay,
why should we say, Goodbye?
Open up your heart, give love another try.
Don't close the door,
don't let it die.
Please make me stay,
we're running out of time.

Don't you know my heart breaks,
just the same as you.
Don't you know I feel pain,
in the same way too?
I'm running out of words,
we're running out of time

Please make me stay,
Please make me stay.
Don't close the door,
don't let it die.
Please make me stay,
we're running out of time.
we're running out of time.

Don't let our love run out of time.
Out of time
out of time
out of time
A new song this is much more of a pop song than the others I've done
the video is available on my you tube channel.

www.youtube.com/@tsummerspoetry
or
https://youtu.be/PYu4bOzr2FY?feature=shared
Thanks.
  Jun 18 Traveler
Breann
Focused breath steadies the storm in my chest.
Over and over, I rehearse what I’d say if you answered.
Remnants of your voice echo in the silence.
Gravity pulls at my hand as I reach for the phone again.
In stillness, I ask myself—what do I need: closure or connection?
Voiceless vibrations stir the table—false hope in digital form.
Even knowing it’s not you, I glance, conditioned by memory.
Not yet free, I carry the weight of what was left unsaid.
Each attempt to release you tightens the tether between us.
Some wounds disguise themselves as loyalty.
Slowly, though, I learn that healing does not wait for an apology.
I bleed with ink.
You breathe in brushstrokes.
Still, we meet
in the same shade of ache.

I call it a stanza.
You call it a sky,
but both are ways
to survive the silence.

My pen trembles like your hands do
when the colours won’t blend.
We try to tell the truth,
but it keeps slipping
into metaphor.

I say “I miss you”
through rhythm.
You say it
through smudged reds
and too much blue.

We never made sense
in black and white.
But somewhere between
my verse
and your canvas,
we almost
became a masterpiece.
When a painter loves a poet. Find me on the Poesie app as palindromic_angel to hear my readings :)
Next page