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 Mar 2016
Kenna Marie
I don't want this written in words. Maybe if it's just in my head, it'll make it less worse.
Feels as if I'm going to burst
Head won't be silent
Thoughts turning violent
Trying not to care
Only been a few years
Tears  still build up here, but put up a shield; one big force field.
No way to reel you in, feeling abandoned up to the brim.

I got into your depth, now all I sense is death. Need a cure before my vision is blurred.  



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 Mar 2016
lluvia de abril
You call, I come
- surrendering the fight-

how can one fathom life
so far from your thoughts
as pieces of the sun
- kisses wither in time-
and sieving memories soften
the fall

-you are my demise-
sweet harshness striking in calm
stripping marrows in early dawn
-yet you cannot will my will-

A paper weight holds
down the heart – and all beneath
slowly dies
-petals arched in the sun-

And yet, you call, and I, well I…
just want.
 Mar 2016
SE Reimer
~

when all is dark,
hope seems to fade;
yet life exists
within this grave.
'neath cold cruel stone
my hope feels lost,
yet midst this storm
all 's not forlorn.
i find this shelter
from tempest torn,
though death has cut
its sharp divide
life yet still lingers,
stirs deep inside.
though in his path,
his far from mine,
his walk toward light,
this, my comforting,
'tis my ev'ry hope
in His eternity!

~

*post script.

someone told me once, nobody gets out without any scars. loss is all around us.  yet when loss comes home to roost it bites and it brings with it bitter tears, of sorrow, of regret, of hopes dashed.  that being said, there is a knowledge that death is not the end; hope that resurrection is just around the corner.
 Mar 2016
Joel M Frye
I have traced your steps for years,
since I first saw your ships sailing
on the sandy shore, still looking as if
they had found their perfect reach.
You sang my madness on canvas
with green fiery torches of trees
exploding from gently rolling hills.
You created the same masks as I
as you painted your stark reality
in cheery yellow and orange,
lying to your brother that all was well.
Your portrait mirrors mine with eyes
that see the world whirl by
in excruciating precision
(even the parts which make most cringe).
When I have exhausted myself,
I comfort in the tenderness
of your brush on the faces of
men and women working
themselves to early graves.
A building for you alone in Amsterdam,
your final work hangs downstairs;
a tangled jumble, swirls and slabs
of pigments and oil, ultimately ugly
from five feet away.  Wandering through,
I ended up three stories up and
a hundred feet away.
The wheat waved in the winds,
and the larks took flight
as if spooked by the farmer's dog.
Glorious light from the Auvers sun
filled the space between your vision
and mine.  I sobbed for you then,
to have been torn from self
so violently that if
you shouted to yourself
you likely couldn't hear.
Small wonder you pulled the trigger,
because the wheat field you spread
on a table-sized landscape
sat beside the graveyard where
you and Theo lay side by side.
As I walked along, the only place
you could see the field and the paths
was with your back against the wall.
Family in Amsterdam,
too few friends in Paris,
the short walk to the cold
respite of the Church
no longer worth the breath spent.
Nowhere else to go,
nothing else to see,
too little paint left
to try again.
"Starry starry night...paint your palette blue and gray..."
 Mar 2016
Sia Jane
For hours, I tried to sleep.
The rain drums down on the tin roof;
the demons are knocking.
I see their tears stream down the window;
a cleverly designed artifice to distract
from their true intent.
I ignore their subtle attacks, but they always
find a way back in.
I watch their shadows drift in through
the windows;
morphing from one shape into another,
hovering around me,
their whispered breaths cloud the air –
there is barely a space unfilled by their presence.
I can’t seem to chase them away, and I’m
wrapped up into their world.
Empty, cold and alone,
my reality remains stranger than any dream.

© Sia Jane
 Mar 2016
Babu kandula
Life

It's a question paper

With unlimited puzzles

You only have limited answer sheets

Make sure you fill answers with your experience

Every question is interlinked
Random thought
 Mar 2016
Little Bear
Maybe I want to be single
maybe I like myself that way
I can do just as I please
no matter what they say

Maybe I like being alone
and take pleasure in being myself
having fun and loving life
I am not left upon the shelf

I am dancing and I'm singing
I read and draw and paint
maybe I don't want to be a couple
unhappy? no I ain't..

Maybe I like to be silent
and not have to talk for days
I can come and go as I please
I am happy in so many ways

And I like being by myself
I feel comfortable with me
don't assume I need another
I am happy and carefree

I'm not ready to be 'taken'
I am as happy as can be
my life's just the way I want it
I am happy just being.. me
It seems I have spent my whole life with someone else. I lived at home until I was married at 18, lived with my husband until I was 35. Until now, I'd never had a room to myself and I have never lived alone. Now I find I like my space. I love to do the things I love. I am happy and content to be just me. I can be carefree and wander, finding out more and more about myself that I didn't know before. One day, maybe I will find love, or love will find me... either way,
I'm in no rush.. i'm just enjoying the scenery.
 Mar 2016
Joel M Frye
I waited under a waning moon
for a night that did not start
Beneath the pale
of exacting twilight
I ripped open my chest
and held out my heart

The darkness surrounding
consuming its light 
drumming of heartbeats

an encrypted call
to a lover,
a predator 
no one at all

But you called to me

You asked me to answer your prayers
and in the coming night
I wait for you
under the pale moon light

a silvery silence which sounds
of a hopeful despair
Which now knows of the who
but not the where

Silvery is the moon
the silence I can not bear
am I to be frowned upon
even as I am aware
I am here
You are there

the weighted distance counts 
the miles aloud...
I'm not allowed to seek you out,
must stay suspended in my lunar shroud

I felt your every heart beat
Like footsteps upon the floor
I even felt the finality 
when you decided to close the door
The moon was shielded by
clouds that night

She, like me, couldn't stand to see
the agony of your fight, your flight
Torn between survival
and what could never be
breathing just for revival
A re-post of one of my favorite collabs with one of my favorite poets.
 Mar 2016
Thomas P Owens Sr
I hear soft music
haunting sitar riding the low wave of a synthesizer bass
I am perplexed by the choice I must make
be taken by the song
or fight the twisting pain in my chest
'In search of the lost chord'
that Moody Blues title
I've found it!
here in the between space
'Visions of Paradise'
'Steppin' in a Time Zone'
I'm dying
and I can't stop listening
can't stop
the pain subsides
and I am crossed
I think
the music and vision now clear and strong
George is playing the sitar
and the synthesizer is not a synthesizer
but the wave itself
the beach I return to each Summer
Vincent hums along as he paints a wheat field
that fades in and out over the horizon
and the Sun is blazing
there in a white suit I see him
"The Lucky man..."
John says to Marilyn
as he turns toward me
..."you've made the grade"

the Sun suddenly falls behind the horizon
the music fades
I begin moving back to the center of all there was
and for a moment there is nothing
no sound
no light
then a voice
"It looks as if he's decided to return"
I awake to see a man in a very long beard,
dressed in white
with round spectacles staring down at me
"I'm Dr. Wall...Russ Wall"
"You're a lucky man! looks as though it's just another day in the life of...
what was your name, friend?"
just a little tribute to a band I spent some time listening to
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