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 Jan 2015
prasad bolimeru
IT IS NOT SO EASY
TO COLLECT THE WOUNDED DREAMS
TO MAKE A GARLAND

AS YOU RELEASED THE BOW
THE BIRDS MEASURING THE SPACE
MEMORIES WOUNDING THE HEART
-------AN AFFLICTION.......

AS YOU FLUNG THE NET
THE STARS SWIMMING IN DEEP SKY
DREAMS QUIVERING IN THE POND OF SLEEP
-----AN EXHAUSTION......

IT IS NOT SO EASY
TO COLLECT THE WOUNDED DREAMS
TO MAKE A GARLAND

IN THE FRAGRANT CORONA I LOOSE MYSELF!
THE FOOLISH MOTH FLUTTER AROUND THE FLAME!

IT IS NOT EASY TO COLLECT THE WOUNDED DREAMS!
WHILE GATHERING I MAY VANISH---
VANISH LIKE A REAL DREAM!

THE LAST LEAF-- THE LAST BEAT-- THE LAST DREAM--

AT LEAST A MOMENT, you,  FLOW LIKE A SPRING
INTO THE DAWN OF MY LIFE!
 Jan 2015
Ember Evanescent
Okay, you two. I want you to say sorry.
Now that she has said sorry, you have to say: That's okay.
There. Now it's all better.

**here is the problem with that, from a very young age, children are taught to simply SAY sorry, and not actually find remorse in themselves, they just say it whether they mean it or not, and they think there is no difference. The other problem: Even if you ARE sorry, not all things you do can be undone. Not everything IS "okay" now that you are sorry. Some things are unforgivable. It can't always be "all better".
just something from my childhood that my parents always had us say when there was a fight
 Jan 2015
Brian Gibson
"If there’s anything the
night sky has taught me,
it’s to love yourself no
matter what someone says.
You are the moon. You’ve
always been beautiful
even before anyone
first saw you."
For more of my work, head to Instagram: @briantypesthings
 Jan 2015
Sana
My heart I bequeath you
O’ stillness of my universe
I bequeath you my sanity
Spreading this cloak of being in your dust
I bow to your twinkling stars
To the waxing sun and scented grass
I bow to your springing rivers
To the parched grain and blossoming flowers
I bow to the warmth of my lover
And want of my beloved
I bow to your saccharine figs
And honeyed nectar in chalice filled
I bequeath my mortality to your transiency
Blinded by this light in game of ruse
Into your cohesiveness, I fuse
In blinkers to win the race
Espying a king in glass
Presage of being a slave

Yet when darkness falls
I furl my cloak and solemnly rise
For I bow not then
To your barren fields and waning suns
I bow not to your garish colors,
To the cloying drupe and wilted blossoms
Bracing my feeble transience
With my tenet and trail of faith
I bow to the King of kings;
Whilst I beseech for emanating hope,
In my tigers clasp, my God’s rope
I beseech,
Till the noise becomes music again
And as I gaze in the glass now,
All I espy is a beseeching slave
True, the brightest light casts the darkest shadow but it is in darkest that brightest embers can be found.
"Inside the womb, silence whispers;
Darkness wombs the light
Raging storms give birth to light"

Our fate is storm,
We are the light
We are the raging storm
 Jan 2015
betterdays
a little poem
of little thoughts
just waiting to be loved

a little poem
of little dreams
just waiting to be woken

a little poem
with a great big  voice
waiting to be spoken

a little poem
in a little cage
waiting to be free'd

a little poem
from little me
waiting for little you
with little hope of trending
little words...
can say so much
this speaks to my frustration
with my writing at present...
i don't need to trend...i know i write well....but ******
the little voice inside my head....wants a big fat trend...
 Jan 2015
skyblueandblack
Why is it so hard to find and keep love?
And why is the pain of the heart so much worse than the pain of the body?
And why does it seem that a death is more bearable than accepting that someone left you -
because in death they had no choice.

You walk away from each other with so many memories not yet created;
so much remaining unsaid,
so many dreams unshared,
because suddenly it doesn’t seem safe to share.
One moment that person is the closest soul to you;
and the next moment,
before even a full breath is taken,
that person is almost a stranger.

And the unsaid words consume you.

wanting to ask: if you love me,
why did you leave me?
wanting to tell you how much I miss you,
but knowing that I shouldn’t.
wanting to ask you to re-consider,
but knowing that I wouldn’t.

Thoughts dominate your every waking moment;
you sleep less yet you cannot stand being awake
because the pain is too much.
You try to occupy your mind with other things, other people – movies, reading, work, travel -
but nothing else exists.
A phantom of you carries you on with life, a shell gliding through the motions;
performing,
smiling in response to a smile,
laughing on cue…
When all you want is be away from it all,
lulled in the cocoon of your own thoughts,
wrapped in the blanket of the dark recesses of a place where you can finally break down,
surprised to find that sometimes the healing is worse than the break.

But fighting it takes too much effort,
Strangely, you find peace in giving in to the pain.
Because beneath the facade,
your soul is dissecting every word previously said.
His words run like a coiled fuse
across your mind and around your heart:
I can’t believe you’re mine“.

Behind the mirror of your eyes you are replaying every encounter;
trying so desperately to understand why;
wondering if you said something wrong,
did something wrong..
if maybe you had done things differently…
trying to make sense of what can never make sense.
needing answers you know you will never get.
You go through so many emotions,
so many conflicting feelings..
torn between anger and pain,
confusion and denial,
love and hate,
blame and understanding -

wanting to forget and wanting to hold on to the memories..
wanting to delete those pictures and wanting to save them forever.
and the cycle repeats.
.. and repeats..

Every moment, every memory, becomes so much clearer,
so much sharper -
like a razor blade in your mind;
more deeply engraved into the psyche of your soul.

And the reminders are everywhere..
because he was a part of your life, every part
and you thought it was forever.

You try so hard to forget..
But it ended too soon, and seems so senseless
like throwing away a bouquet of flowers before it even begins to wilt.

You tell yourself that people are who they are.
We cannot change them or ask them to want or be something they don’t want.
That no matter what they do to us, we have to accept that they are on their own personal journey.
And it is their right to seek their path as they see fit.

Perhaps that is how we grow, how we learn.
Perhaps their purpose in our life was simply to light that spark– and the rest is up to us.
Perhaps the purpose of Love is to always seek it, sometimes find it..
but never keep it.
perhaps Love is not ours for the keeping..

Your friends try to be there for you,
Offering an understanding ear to unburden your soul,
but your soul wants to hold on to its burden.
Offering a shoulder to cry on,
but no shoulder has enough strength for the load you carry.
Offering arms to embrace you,
but no arms will suffice when the only arms you want to fall into are those of the one who left you.
Offering sympathetic words that only serve to bring forth more of the tears you’re trying so hard to keep at bay..
You cannot risk letting anyone into the fragile sanctum of your Being as the wound is still precariously tender,
and the slightest quiver may open up floodgates you feel may never close again.

But Time passes by,
slowly but inevitably.
And, mercifully, the pain lessens a little each time you sleep and awaken.
The days alone become tolerable,
The nights that were once filled with loneliness become tranquil in solitude.
The once constant agony becomes the occasional twinge
when you smell a certain scent,
when you pass by the restaurant where you once shared a booth and enjoyed a meal,
when you see a happy couple holding hands as they walk by,
when you pass the place he first asked to hold your hand, and you shared your first kiss,
when you see the commercial for the television show you used to watch together that you can not bear to watch again
when you see a mildly familiar silhouette,
or in the hint of a smile that is almost like the one you remember,
or in the intense gaze of a passing stranger that is reminiscent of the one that haunts your dreams.

…and you can finally smile though the tears because the memories,
while once only painful -
are now painfully beautiful.

The pain passes but the beauty remains..

..and one day you realize you no longer count your growth in years,
but in the number of times your heart had been broken,
then scarred and healed again ~
like the growth rings of a tree,
growing stronger in the process.
http://skyblueandblack.com/2014/01/31/perhaps-love-is-not-ours-for-the-keeping/

“It is a curious sensation: the sort of pain that goes mercifully beyond our powers of feeling. When your heart is broken, your boats are burned: nothing matters any more. It is the end of happiness and the beginning of peace.” ~George Bernard Shaw
 Jan 2015
skyblueandblack
He casts his fishing lines into the water and waits patiently
.. what shall be the catch for tonight?
He needs something to breathe life back into himself; get his creative juices flowing again.

This is what feeds the Artist after all.
He does not need food or water;
he needs inspiration.
Good, bad, ugly.. it matters not.
It must be something- someone-
that affects him intensely,
that reaches deep down beyond his self-imposed armour,
and grabs at his soul.
He needs to devour in order to survive.

It is not long before one bites, and then another.. and maybe another.
He gently coaxes, drawing them in with his seductive lures.
He knows this art well.. knows what to say, what to do, who to be.. or not be..

He examines.. tests them..
… a little subtlety here.. more boldness there,
     …… but tempered,
                with a laugh,
                a smile,
                  a chuckle,
                    a wink.

He doesn’t quite want to scare them away,  but he wants to see how far he can go.
What boundaries can he safely breach..?
He pushes, he pulls..
He engages, he retreats..
He shares, he takes..
He tugs, he releases…
     … and the dance continues until his search is satisfied.

And then when he has determined which shall be his catch for the night,
which of these waltz partners is most ready to be broken – open-
he gently releases the others back into the waters…
gently Discarded.

Perhaps they will be led back to his watering hole another day,
and perhaps they will be the ‘one’ at that future time —
or perhaps they will never be seen or heard from again.

It does not matter.

What matters is Now.
What matters!
         is what it takes to feed his desire.
What matters is this moment.
Everything is in this one moment.

This is practice after all.. one must practice in order to perfect the technique.
One must perfect the technique if he wishes to be claimed and devoured by Bliss.
And who does not wish to be devoured by Bliss?

“Enjoy the practice, perfect the technique”.

he says.
http://skyblueandblack.com/2013/09/12/the-fishermans-waltz/
 Jan 2015
baz
There are some people in this world who bring out the best in you. And then there are those who bring out the worst. But there is a third type, the rare kind of person that is extremely hard to find. This is the kind of person that brings out the most in you, whether it be good or bad.

They make you cry at ten pm and then make you laugh hysterically at three am. They gingerly trail their thumb along yours while holding your hand and then stay horribly silent when they see tears tumbling down from your eyes.  They make you love the arguments, because everything they say is driven by ardor instead of acrimony. They make you begin to recognize the genuine affection that is hidden in the smallest of smirks.

They don't gently wipe away your tears and tell you it will be okay, but pick you up by the arm and tell you that yes, life will ******* over. Because they know that this is what is going to get you to finally stand up for yourself.  They tell you blatantly when your jokes ****, and insist on better ones. They make you feel so alive that you know you would follow them straight into hell if it means you can keep getting your fix. They cry easily, but due to the fact that they feel so much, and so much of it is for you.

They aren't your significant other, but they sure as hell give you a significant life.
ive gotten the amazing privilege of meeting this third kind of person. and *******, is he incredible.
 Jan 2015
spysgrandson
two hydrogen
met one oxygen
a dance ensued
I am
Though I created the form, the 10 word poem, I rarely write them--I am invariably too verbose for this laconic form. Here, nevertheless, is my contribution to Jeffrey Shannon's 10 word poem challenge.
 Jan 2015
SøułSurvivør
~~~

It is all around us
a realm we cannot see
but unlike this weighted world
there we can be free

It is never subject
to senses yet untuned
it is like a vapor
lit only by the moon

another dimension?
perhaps this will explain
but you will surely know it
as an unseen rain

though it has all knowledge
it will only tell
those who practice wisdom
like the music of a shell

but you must place that cockle
to a patient ear
those who are impatient
perhaps will never hear!

you won't see see it glowing
with a human eye
but it is ever present
as real as you or i

though it is very lovely
through spirt-eyes is seen
it is the real world

our own is just a dream.


SoulSurvivor
(C) January 20, 2015
I wish I could say that
I have seen the spirit rhelm
(The side of light)
I saw my bible glowing
and shimmering once
When I opened it
But that is the extent of
My spirit-sight thus far.
I know that I know
It exists.
I pray to experience it again!
Jesus Christ is a real person.
And sometimes He
Manifests Himself to those
Who love Him in spirit and truth.
 Jan 2015
nivek
it will be time to walk into forever
when love is all in all
and you have become the river
flowing from the fountain
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