From off the pores of pitch-black skin,
Floyd's soul saps aways,
Little by Little,
One last time
One last effort
One last fruitless plea
In tinny scraps of air
Pushed up from greying lumens
Sourly yields a quashed neck coldening ,
The sore man sighs the last of life,
The man with the loathed shade met his end

It wasn't love was it?
As much as it felt like it
As much as it seemed like it
Love doesn't run
It shines like the sun
Love doesn't fail
It doesn't bail
Love doesn't give up
Love rises up
Above all doubt
Survives disaster and drought
But ours didn't
Because it wasn't love was it?
As much as it looked like it
As much as sounded like it
Love is not selfish
It doesn't quickly perish
Love holds on through thick and thin
Through every loss, every win
In sickness and in health
In poverty or wealth
It means you accept my flaws
You stick with me through peace or a million wars
But you left, you walked away
If it was love, you would stay
But it wasn't love was it?
As much as it felt like it
As much as it seemed like it
It was no such thing as love
Please don't ever call it love
I hate you for not loving me
I resent you for faking loving me
I needed real love
I wanted real love
Not what you gave me
After I let you have me
Over and over
Made you my one and only lover
It wasn't love was it
I loved you, but you didn't

life can be so happy if you want it to
life is what you make in everything you do.

it can make you smile and make you feel so glad
give you lots of good things that you never had.

life can do so many things if you want it to
your the one who rules it.  its entirley up to you.

so lead your life with care lead it day by day
just by doing this life will go your way.

Awake, awake my little Boy!
Thou wast thy Mother’s only joy:
Why dost thou weep in thy gentle sleep?
Awake! thy Father does thee keep.

“O, what land is the Land of Dreams?
What are its mountains, and what are its streams?
O Father, I saw my Mother there,
Among the lillies by waters fair.

Among the lambs clothed in white
She walked with her Thomas in sweet delight.
I wept for joy, like a dove I mourn—
O when shall I return again?”

Dear child, I also by pleasant streams
Have wandered all night in the Land of Dreams;
But though calm and warm the waters wide,
I could not get to the other side.

“Father, O Father, what do we here,
In this land of unbelief and fear?
The Land of Dreams is better far
Above the light of the Morning Star.”

For almost 2 days, now, I have been wondering what has been going on.

I can't upvote and comment on poems, and most poems that I see posted have no view counts.

By now one would have hoped that the fallen would gotten back on their feet.

I just wish there was a voice out there, somewhere, instead of speculating.

Logan Robertson

6/02/20

Suicide was only a dream;
One she played inside her head time and again.
They said she only wanted attention,
But they weren't listening to the words she said.
So she took matters into her own hands,
Sat down and wrote it all out.
As that pen bled across the paper,
Her mind was finally at ease and that night she died...
Right there in her poetry

you breathe in sweet zephyrs
you speak in rosewood and petal-moss
you sing in cascading ultramarine
you smile in gleaming lavender lust
blue
like the ionian sea
or silken-soul river
and momentarily
a lucid
sapphire touch