Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 Feb 2020
Ann
when a heart broken
lover
pours out all
her feelings and
translates them onto
words. something
beautiful gets created.
appreciated by many but
never the one
she's always written her
heart out for.
 Feb 2020
Francisco A Ojeda
To be consumed, possessed,
infatuated, obsessed,
enamored, crazed,
engrossed, and enthralled.
Otherwise, its not worth
doing it at all.
 Feb 2020
Colm
Your soul
A cabin as it should
Surrounded by forgiving trees
And friendly fern laid paths beneath
Your sound
And sound is that of thrushes knocking
Cattails waiving friends goodbyes
With summers long once gone to rest
In other counties
I'm glad you tried
To keep that hymnal you alive

In my country you did belong
Countries and counties.
 Feb 2020
Pagan Paul
.
The goods trains roll on by,
passing my window at night
and I wonder, wonder,
where are you going to?
May I come?
May I lay back slowly
and let you take me somewhere?
Anywhere.
Anywhere but now.
For here I lay
counting the rhythmic pulses
of iron wheels on iron rails.
As goods trains roll on by.

I need to feel in my bones
these rhythmic pulses
like temperate rain on tin roofs
soothing the beat of a heart.
I want to go and to expand,
to flow through the world
at an even metronomic pace,
to find a place of balance.

And my inner eye like a clipper
sails into the void of dreams,
yet, somehow, more real to me
as I watch myself explore.
Teasing out the dark corners,
bringing light to their inherent terrors
and exposing myself to fears.
But who's fears?

Individual pieces or the whole puzzle?
Pieces missing, the puzzle incomplete.
Its hidden away in my mind
disjointedly interlocking around holes.

I wrote about my sanctuary.
A special garden in a special forest,
providing me with safety
for when the holes become to large.
To this retreat I speed
when the sensory input overloads,
blows a fuse or severs a link
to the circuit of attachment
and fractures the edges of the puzzle,
scattering the composite pieces.
The further dislocation of logic
as I sit in my sanctuary and weep.

And through tears I can see
light flooding in to me,
the blush of morning sky
as goods trains roll on by.



© Pagan Paul (30/01/20)
.
 Feb 2020
CA Smith
Brick
        By
            Brick
A house is built
Hour
        By
            Hour
The house becomes a home
Day
        By
            Day
The home turns into memories
Year
        By
            Year
The memories turn into people
Century
        By
            Century
The people turn into stories
Story
        By
            Story
Stories turn into legends
Legend
        After
            Legend
History is changed
Piece
        By
            Piece
Lives are changed
Person
        By
            Person
Love is spread
One Love
        After
            Another
Bricks are purchased
That build houses
That turn into homes
That create memories
That turn into people
That turn into stories
That turn into legends
That change history
And it all started with
Just. One. Brick.
Sometimes it's tough when you are just laying bricks to see the end picture, but it makes a difference in the end! It can be so easy at times to feel like we aren't doing enough to help others or to grow ourselves, but one ripple affects the entire pond.
 Feb 2020
Poetic T
I wasn't raised like you,
           I wasn't a full loaf of bread..

You were cut with the decency
        of a raised moment worth
                      a cut a slice pride.


Me, I wasn't like you,

misshapen
      raised morality..
                      you were perfection.


I was an uneven rising.

               Never to be cut like
you.

I was cut and never sliced in

a  correct line..
  

More like an uneven episode of
                 life,
burnt on some
                             sides....

not realising the potential of the other..
               I was just ill positioned in life.

I'm never going to respect you,
                       I'll just walk on the cracks.

And you'll avoid me, but I'm more pure than




               your morality, as I'm never plastic...


You faker than I'll ever be...
                               I'll die before you,

but at least i died realistically ..
 Feb 2020
Poetic T
If I was still alive, you think I'd be proud
        of you sticking that chemical imbalance


stuck out of your arm.


    The reaper be looking at you
                           with tears
                            falling from white waterfalls.

But if I was here, I'd be guarding you from
                         the mourning of regret.

You tried hard, but misery pushed down
                     on your artery...

And you tried to explain,
                                                        that you were lost
         before this moment and couldn't carry the load.


But this was meant to lessen the discomfort
                                            of me leaving you.
                    I'm still here,cant you hear me talking..

Pulling you back from the abyss of this, our mistake.


It took nine hours of words, dripping into your
                     subconscious...
your not alone, your not weak, I'll always be here..
                                                          ­                    with you.


Then you alwoke, it wanst me, but a breath of us.
                                                             ­                                                    Family,
                friends were my arms and they gripped you.

You'll see me,
                        hear me in others,
                          your never ever be alone again.
 Feb 2020
Poetic T
We are woven in
    Different fabrics.

Some may think
      This makes us
   Incompatable.

But when you wear me,
You'll see that we
       feel good together.
Next page