Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
How many more times
must I break,
before I can no longer
feel my heart's painful ache?

How many more times
must I fall,
before I can no longer
get up and stand tall
anymore at all?

How many more times
must I try,
before I can no longer
find any tears to cry?

How many more times
must I care,
before I can no longer
inhale any oxygenated air?

How many more times
must I die,
before I can no longer
find the will to try?


By Lady R.F ©2017
 Feb 2017
nivek
Muscle and bone know constraint
within the confines of its birth
when the warmth of the Sun wanes
it will feel the chill
- of the six feet of dirt it will ever own
down in the dark earth to sleep
at the ending of the days
when the Sun goes down
this body will know rest
returned to the womb
from whence it first came
and my dear spirit
bereft of its body corporeal
will go to its allotted place.
 Feb 2017
Mysidian Bard
I tell myself that this is it,
when the day is done.
When I wake I'll start anew,
but tomorrow never comes.

Tomorrow becomes today
more quickly than the last,
more quickly than the bottles empty
more weeks and months go past.

I buy the drink, the drink buys me
another day to run.
The demons waiting patiently
for when the day is done.

Tomorrow becomes today;
I waste it like before,
I waste it getting wasted,
but I'm wasting so much more

My friends, my health, my family
and those I cherish most;
watch the boy they used to love,
becoming just a ghost.

Tomorrow becomes today,
I may have missed it all,
I may have missed the last chance
just to never miss last call

I tell myself that this is it
when the day is done,
but the circle remains unbroken
and tomorrow never comes.
 Feb 2017
South by Southwest
The wreaths of requiem ,
rest like the flocks of pigeons
in the delapidated buildings
where we house the words of
a frustratedly forgotten God

Our thoughts are marbled
Sculptured by surely ways
that leave their mark upon
the soft white limestone
we once held for granite

So we take "noes" for hostage
"Yes" in all it's uncertainty
and doubts and fears
we leave to professionals

Mass en Mass . . .
the silence shouts for redemption
as Altar boys stare straight ahead
and mouth unholy words
they could not swallow

Nay Nay !
The robes of iniquity
girdles more than the truth
of daybreaks after nights
of shadowed sin , brutal lusts
and innocent blood stained floors
It is what it is .
 Feb 2017
Sjr1000
No time to dwell
(on what's been undone)
or that
which has become undone

We'll hold onto
each of our moments
when love's song was sung

(When) we stepped on time's ladder
climbed each rung
Each one told a story
of births and deaths
failures and success

The higher we ascended
The shakier the ladder
Encouraging each other
when our legs start to tremble,
when our balance is threatened,
My hand in yours
then
your hand in mine
Should you fall behind
I wait for you
When I falter
You wait for me

When we stumble
We hold on to each other
With a word
A look
A warm embrace

Time's ladder
over time
deteriorates
with aging and pain

I know we'll hold on to the end
though no promises can be made
I'm not perfect
Neither are you

But

I know I won't be climbing to these heights again
or stepping up on to
another time's ladder.
A nod to the Boss, "If I Should Fall Behind  "
 Feb 2017
beth fwoah dream
now cast aside by pyrrah’s glowing fire,
bereft and waste, his wild heart never tamed,
long flown away, burnt out upon the pyre
that winter's teary passion once inflamed.
apollo’s chariot climbs in the east,
and delphi’s altar calls with prayers and songs,
while chilly mortals long for summer’s feast
bewildered by sad winter’s sorry wrongs.
the spring draws near upon the roman shore,
and laughter fills the streams, an aerie choir,
while my new lover hammers at the door
seducing me with roses from the briar.
slow winter pulses quicken and awake,
and love, sweet love, will give and then forsake.
happy valentines day....
 Feb 2017
beth fwoah dream
sweet chloe have you tamed that pretty bird,
as light as southern breezes on your arm?
how many hours have you beguiled and heard
your sparrow sing for you with graceful charm?
my poet's pen falls restless to the ground,
my fevered mind can find no peace today,
for all you do is praise his lilting sound
and pay no heed to anything i say.
great neptune throws his trident in despair,
apollo breathes, his tresses filled with fire
and i am left with solitary care
for jove cannot bring comfort with his lyre.
i do not wait forever at your door,
the burdened ocean storming to the shore.
written as if it was horace writing the poem.
 Feb 2017
Kurt Philip Behm
Flying above the torment and fray,
  the blood drops from my wings

The scars I carry to then remind,
  the true cost delivery brings

The clouds incumbent upon my soul,
  their cover not to hide

But frame a backdrop of life ahead,
  where on Angels wings I ride

My time below and my time above,
  both present in me now

As the essence calls from which I’m made,
  to return and shout aloud…

“I travelled the earth both far and wide,
  its truth did I then search

But wisdom came to me instead,
—and there I made my church”

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)
Next page