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 Aug 2016 Cara
Christina Rossetti
I sigh at day-dawn, and I sigh
When the dull day is passing by.
I sigh at evening, and again
I sigh when night brings sleep to men.
Oh!  it were far better to die
Than thus forever mourn and sigh,
And in death's dreamless sleep to be
Unconscious that none weep for me;
Eased from my weight of heaviness,
Forgetful of forgetfulness,
Resting from care and pain and sorrow
Thro' the long night that knows no morrow;
Living unloved, to die unknown,
Unwept, untended, and alone.
 Aug 2016 Cara
Christina Rossetti
"And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest."


The earth was green, the sky was blue:
  I saw and heard one sunny morn
A skylark hang between the two,
  A singing speck above the corn;

A stage below, in gay accord,
  White butterflies danced on the wing,
And still the singing skylark soared
  And silent sank, and soared to sing.

The cornfield stretched a tender green
  To right and left beside my walks;
I knew he had a nest unseen
  Somewhere among the million stalks:

And as I paused to hear his song
  While swift the sunny moments slid,
Perhaps his mate sat listening long,
  And listened longer than I did.
 May 2016 Cara
tc
your love makes me want to eat my own flesh because i can't wash your fingerprints off my skin

i would've done anything for you
and i was like that jacket i bought for you
that you hung up and never wore again

you can't create a graveyard in my memories and not expect the biggest, boldest headstone and i'd rather chisel my eyes out than see your crooked teeth glaring at me and you know what? i'd wrap them in exquisite packaging and address it to you sincerely with a note attached that read "enclosed are all the visions i ever had of you and i"

i'd be like vincent van gogh
he had the right idea
 May 2016 Cara
SøułSurvivør
Vincent van Gogh**

o man of greater talent blessed
in loss the same as all the rest
wrestled he with demons of the mind
but oh! such beauty
palate knife could find!

in sweat and pain
did Vincent make his mark
in poverty
obsessed for love of art
he, in his eyes, God's poetry was made
struggling til his mortal soul
was shade

his great love, a woman of distain
he could not win
nor loss of her sustain
a bandag'd head of sorrow
woe betides
but greater wound
within his chest resides

o wond'rous lights
the stars in heav'n found
they to fortune's hand
he was forever bound
looked he upon your rays back then
now his own light goes soft

unto eternal end


soulsurvivor
(c) 6/5/2015
one of my favorite paintings
of all time

STARRY NIGHT

---
 May 2016 Cara
Umang K
Vincent
 May 2016 Cara
Umang K
Wheat fields and red hair,
Swirling forms and
Defiant impressions of
Iris blossoms and
Almost-rotten sunflowers
That fell limp across
Table tops that housed
Tools – abused and nurtured,
That created pictures of dreams,
Imprinted on the crevices
Of a terrifyingly misshapen mind
That was filled with hues
And visions of impossibilities,
That made the world look
Like the paradise it never could be.
 Mar 2016 Cara
Ben
i sit here and overdose in my imagination for the fifth time today
too poor to **** myself with a pharmaceutical fantasy no pain just sleep
it's a matter of time before i'm found swinging in my basement necrotic windchime
i'm not so much a poet as a sad kid rambling who can only write inebriated
this one time life thing is getting me sick and i just don't..
**** me i thought i was stronger than this yet years with a **** job
no girl and 5 weeks a night of left hand ******* while i choke down
another bottle bottle bottled my emotions in a seven dollar anesthetic
i've been romanticizing a wished for **** addiction at least that would be an
excuse for why i'm a wasted wasting waste of life doomed to insecurity
i can't even remember half the words i learned in school
you're probably sick of my self loathing and every poem i write is
just another narcissistic cry for help because i'm to proud to ball up and cry
don't even bother this time i don't want your reason for why i can't top myself
kick my bucket, burn my farm, pluck out my eyes and puke till i die
i'm ******* done i'm just too tired to try
to all those girls i never kissed - i love you
to all those ******* i never hit - i love you
to that boy that i might have found myself with - i love you
to my best best best friends the few that i have - i love you
i was never comfortable in my skin
maybe i'll  be comfortable in my grave
just a thought
i'm past caring what people know
i can't seem to feel anymore
 Aug 2015 Cara
fiachra breac
We sat on that old pier,
as the others crab-fished by.
I found my hands beneath me,
in an attempt to keep them dry.

I traced the outline of a mountain range
with my tired, tearful eyes,
and the sun pinned me to the concrete wall,
stripping me of any disguise.

The fresh wounds on my shoulder
still oozed their precious blood,
yet we talked of days still to come
and summers, oh so far ahead.

Yet for a moment I almost believed that
what I’d done had been undone
but you struck me with reality
and my walls came tumbling down.

We looked at each other,
in the wild, unsettling sun,
with the sea-surf sparkling blue
and voices of our distant friends

ringing of the new
and interesting discovery that one crab, no, two,
had broken through the green net -
maybe that was you.
 Aug 2015 Cara
Emma T
If you take a left at the pier
I promise you wont be disappoint
in the amount of sights and sounds

The lights meld with watery waves
who crash upon aged wood

Singing softly to organisms dwelling atop
the crushed salt breathes into your heart
a pit-pat only talented songstress could imitate

- Id go with you if I could
but I'm growing tired and old
my skin is flaked and aged

So begin your journey down the road
and take a left
at the merry old pier
filled with old memories that will fill your ears
Ill meet you soon but not in this way,

In the sands of the waves and the flashing lights
in the salted incrustations atop wooded planks
on the polished boats of greedy racers,

there you will hear my voice as it carries in the wind
pit-pat patterns that only your heart could create
From the pier in that choppy sea
I could see a man in the water
I think he was waving at me
so I waved back for I thought I'd alter
and ******* the fella disappeared
I thought this was in frightfully bad taste

By gad's last time I will wave to someone
as I bathe in the midst of salty brine
Do you know,never saw the chap again
his displeasure as he sank under the waves
what nasty misgivings, confound him
by the cut of my tweed I do say, bounder I say

**** the fellow ....  I came here for fresh air
now I am out of sorts and at the sea I do stare


By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
By NeonSolaris

© 2013 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)
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