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The sharp taps of the clock await my silence to break free from my wistful whisper—to never hear it while my eyes are shot open, to find my nerve and trigger it—as the sadness carefully passes through my system. Too far gone to care, leaving me paralyzed in a cold, soft, sinking bed.

It was a momentary piece where my head had the sensation of being stroked like piano keys, where a soft yet disturbing melody filled the place, and I closed my eyes, lulling me to my deep slumber.

There’s that unknown peace where a deep slumber could lead to an eternal doom—where the past, the present, and the future collide together, where everything exists together, whether in a beautiful song that’s pieced together, or loneliness held in thousands of agonies.

One thing is for sure, I have the guts to love the doomsday, and all things are possible because it is the end of May.
I haven’t been writing for months already. Maybe because I use my time to stuff my soul with the tasks in my work. Lately, I have not been feeling well. I know in my soul, there is an itch of hopelessness and anxiety. But I’m holding myself together.

For myself today, and for myself in the future.

I was able to come back into writing because of this song: Staying - Lizzy McAlpine
 May 30 irinia
nivek
when I took that right turn
onto a long unchartered road
I knew not where I was going
but for the first time I was free
knowing love travelled with me
love my undisputed destiny.
3 a.m.

the dying town, dark moon,
the wolf lurks in a concrete tomb.

fallen friends and picnics at the graveyard,
empty stores and sidewalk ******.

streets of sorrow--
one-way roads to no tomorrow.

shadowed eyes, whispers in bars,
fallen angels, shooting stars.

sirens wail the ****** night,
and in every traffic light burned red
time never stops for the dead.

the ****** on the corner.
none to morn her fate,
a wink and a whisper,
"do you want to go on a date?"

the black butterfly,
soul of sorrow,
no echo, no refrain,
lost in silence, bound by pain.
 May 30 irinia
Carlo C Gomez
We are fragile figures. Our pillows at the outskirts of paradise. Befriended by dreams, the mind begins to process the day in Kodachrome. Once it starts, there's no turning off the pictures. She lies beside me. She's reached paradoxical sleep. I'm still on the outside looking in.

Take me there. Beyond the eyelids, where the mind wanders each night. To where the seeds of disturbance must be resolved within us. Some are strengthened. Others desolve as mist. This is how we survive. Chemical fires burn, become tides of memory. Pass the torch of preservation. Keeping them warm and remembered.

A miraculous routine. Live together. Dream alone. Desolate. Magnificent. My eyes are at the moment the apparitions are shut away. My mind in this place, a stretched fabric. Yet, it's far from alone. In the cataloging of miles and years, I sense an odd fellowship cresting without limit. I thought I saw her smile in agreement from her side of sleep.
From the 'Checklist Before Commencing on a Dream.'

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4793791/checklist-before-commencing-on-a-dream/
 May 30 irinia
junipercloud
the blue bow, color of the sky,
color of our tears
she puts it in my hair and fixes it when it falls out
silky like her skin, sweet
perfect and fluttering freely in the breeze

my dreams twist the blue bow into something important—

and they twist her into a killer stuck in a concrete box
head pushed back, knees scraping against the opposite wall
blue bow attached loosely to her hair
she’s a psychic in a town of psychics looking at me funny

i’m wearing the blue bow when i tell her i am
totally, completely in love with her

the blue bow, color of someone’s eyes (not mine),
color of the beads on her bracelet
she takes it back at the end of the day,
small and almost insignificant action
like the way she looks at me

her hands stroking my hair, she’s telling me i’m beautiful
and the blue bow sits there patiently
 May 30 irinia
Anais Vionet
Ok, there’s no jailbreak.
Make room for my innocent alter ego,
because there’s nothing to rebel against.

There are zero classes in my nascent,
year-long, Harvard master’s degree.
They call it ‘self directed study’
and like rockets have stages,
I’ll have ‘self paced modules.’

Am I suddenly at Oxford University?
They’re quite famous for that (no formal classes).
Or am I suddenly grown up and trusted?
I obviously don’t have it all figured out yet,
so I’ll just trust the process.

When I started that other school
(that shall not be named), my advisor
handed me a computer printout - a list
with something like 40 courses on it.
I thought, “Oh, my God,” but one by one,
year over year, I checked-off those courses
and voila! They handed me a diploma.
It was a process.

I understand, if you’re disappointed about the jailbreak, but there’ll
be coffee breaks, lunch breaks, study breaks, bathroom breaks
and more than a few self-directed dance breaks. So stick around.

“You know,” my therapist said, so very seriously, a few years ago,
“you keep laughing.”
.
.
I've Got the World on a String by Robin McKelle
****** Soul Picnic by Ledisi & Billy Childs
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 05/29/25:
Nascent: something that is just beginning.
 May 30 irinia
Nat Lipstadt
~for George Harrison~

Very

soon George, I am bound for
a stilled shaded land, a tiny isle,
which knows the
all encompassing fog,
hurricanes wrath that days linger,
and though memorable,
never the first image recalled,

but a mind's eye video of
a perpetual sunset,
agonizing silenced colored fantasies of farewells,
each unique and alike though all things must pass,
a benign benefit comfort suckled this old man's
never fully at rest visions,

for the sunset is perfect perpetual,
always setting, never settling,
ever bound to surprise,
our farewell is another's welcoming,
and each of our days an
A-1 slicked continuum,
a sliding circularity
and
we sigh, ooh & aah
at it miracality,
its genteel reawakening
we admit with pleasured honesty,
yes, sunsets are a corridor edged,

somewhere it is always sunset,
nevereverending,
and its farewells
are truly truthful welcomings


<*>

Shelter Island
May 2025
a returning to rebirthing
<>
All Things Must Pass
Song by George Harrison

Overview
Lyrics
Sunrise doesn't last all morning
A cloudburst doesn't last all day
Seems my love is up and has left you with no warning
It's not always gonna be this grey
All things must pass
All things must pass away
Sunset doesn't last all evening
A mind can blow those clouds away
After all this, my love is up and must be leaving
It's not always gonna be this grey
All things must pass
All things must pass away
All things must pass
None of life's strings can last
So I must be on my way
And face another day
Now the darkness only stays the night-time
In the morning it will fade away
Daylight is good at arriving at the right time
It's not always gonna be this grey
All things must pass
All things must pass away
All things must pass
None of life's strings can last
So I must be on my way
Face another day
Now the darkness only stays the night-time
In the morning it will fade away
Daylight is good at arriving at the right time
It's not always gonna be this gray
All things must pass
All things must pass away
All things must pass
All things must pass away
Source: Musixmatch
Songwriters: George Harrison
All Things Must Pass lyrics © Westminster Music, Harrisongs Ltd
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