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 Oct 2016
ryn
Images extracted from
the tapestry of my dreams.
Sewn intricate...
Into a patchwork.

A quilt,
embroidered with lavish sequins and ornate beads.
Bringing forth fantastical motifs...
A dazzling display
upon the backdrop of my dreamscape.

Yet...
This mosaic of dreams
does not warm me so.
It never lasts.

They fall away like autumn leaves
come the dawning sun.
They get washed out and pulled into the tide,
as the waves beat upon the shore of wakefulness.
They fade into fragmented memories
that make no sense...
Incoherent and disjointed.

Eventually, they disappear...
For they do not belong
in a world of worldly things
and ticking clocks.
Their intangible and mismatched nature
render them inconsequential...
Naturally...
They get misplaced.

But I am stubborn.

I will fashion such a blanket.
One that skirts the boundary
of this realm and the other.

I will tailor it so...

So that...
I will sleep tonight,
swaddled tight and cocooned within its
glorious seams.
Tucked within the safety and warmth of
this blanket...
Woven immaculate...
Out of
worldly things and breathtaking dreams.
 Sep 2016
SE Reimer
~

when joy seems lost, when peace is gone;
to earth falls flat pleas skyward cast;
when those thought once to be a friend,
have all gone on, seems none are left;
when ears that heard, yet now are deaf,
when dreams lay torn, and hope bereft.

do not despair, nor call for end,
beyond these mists i am your friend;
your voice, a cry on wing and clear,
not all have left, know i am near;
i am hope disguised as gentle hands,
that reach to sooth the soul in angst.

i am love cloaked as eyes that seek,
the wounded heart that silent weeps;
i am your brother, i your kin,
though not by blood, nor race, nor skin,
yet beats within this breast as yours,
a heart breathed life at heaven's door.

your breath, my own, my will i share,
till yours can breathe, your burdens bear;
my oath, my pledge, your comfort be,
my blood transfused, beats still in thee;
i lend my hope to be your warmth,
i offer arms to hold you close.

you need not face another day,
a lifeless soul who walks away,
a faceless one who’s lost their voice,
but ’til your own has been restored,
to you the lyrics, lines belong,
'til you remember, i’ll sing your song.

~

*post script.

approximately 96 hopeless souls reach the end each day, and pull the trigger on whatever their choice of escape they had planned it to be (that’s one every fifteen minutes).  the number is even larger if we include those who attempt and fail.  if there are only six degrees of separation, imagine how many in your circle this means are contemplating, and are in and out of some level of consideration of making this day their last.  remember, a song is amazingly powerful.  it does not take a fireman to talk someone down off a ledge or a policeman to coax someone into laying down the gun, it only takes someone who is willing to listen, long before the gun and the ledge; someone willing to smile and be hope and notes for a soul who has lost their song... to remind them of the song they have forgotten; their song... hope’s song!
 Sep 2016
stefania rivoltini
right choices
at the wrong time
bad choices
at the right time
choices
that change your life
unexpected consequences
contradictions
leading you
in arduous paths
which will condition
your trip
deviations
that turn against you
choices
of which you will regret
every moment of your existence
choices
you have not completed
lack of courage
that you will regret
until you run out of breath
leaps into the void
clashes
wounds
choices
unavoidable
words
that define your being
 Sep 2016
luci sunbird
I forget
the kind words that
you've spoken to me
before on this very dock
as the birds make their sound

Once you've brought out
your angry grimace,
and you've said things that
are as cold as the water beneath us

I brought us here
to repair what's become
broken, but as I write this
I realized I've been here before

Not the same location,
but the same pain

02.23.16
 Sep 2016
stefania rivoltini
every fight
every intention
collaps
inevitably you
as flush in my mind
no relief from you
not the evening
my free thoughts
to wander in the dark
run to you
not the night
in flights of my unconscious
I drown in your arms
not the morning light
my eyes closed
my heart awake
every single weak heartbeat
is consumed in you
inescapably you
tangled
to me
your thick scent
gelatinous shell of every atom of me
obsession
passion
pain
persistent hum
every fight
every intention
drown
surely you
sweet poison
poignant languor
eager anticipation
of an instant
of authentic
essential
abandonment
 Sep 2016
Kelly Weaver
overcome with weakness and nausea,
I limp to my bed.
I rest my tired eyes,
and pray to god I wake up dead.
and light doesn't shine on any of my days
as I make my way through this foggy haze,
I try to look on the bright side of life
but all has been shadowed by clouds.
I didn't choose this life,
nobody did.
we were not told how hard it would get,
though I was just a kid.
I asked my mom why granny died,
why she gave up when pappy was gone.
and my mom gave me a very tight hug
and said that she just could not go on.
that's when I learned we could control our death
and god knows I tried a few times.
I was so tired of regret
I was so tired of goodbyes.
but here I am, to this day,
dragging my feet through life
but trust me, friend, this is better
than picking up that knife.
please stay alive.
it gets better.
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