Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
In love with the ghost  of yesterday
dreamlike memories bathed in warmth and delight
covert missions of rendezvous
pinprick tensions suspended over danger
adrenalin highs of loves' riskè adventures
A closeness with the propensity to lose ourselves in each other
Always only one moment away from complete immersion in rapture
enveloped by you,
you invaded my senses in such an effortless way
You felt so natural, almost worn into me  
yet, you pulled away, distracted by some other passing fancy
and I waited till I had to move
you were never here, in the moment I'm stuck in, for more than a flutter,
and against my better senses
I still believe you to be all you were and more
but you were only ever nearly all in
and my heart refuses to listen

my soul, it goes by another story
spanning the tenements of time immortal
it takes no heed of blubbering flesh
it is merely a host for the tortures of love;
and I,
its conscious expression
 Nov 2016 Jack R Fehlmann
ryn
Blush
 Nov 2016 Jack R Fehlmann
ryn
The light touches
of the wind,
caress the blush
in reddened cheeks.

Gentle fingers abscond
with the moisture
in hapless tears.

Teasing playfully,
the obstinacy
of wayward strands.

Inciting a smile
from a heavy heart,
lifting off the anvil
that carry all fears.
We were born into a world of shallow minds and deep disturbances of young millennials mimicking mindless mimes because we were told to stay in line but be yourself but follow me but think "originality."

A generation full of copycatting individuals with monotone mindsets mulling over social ladders and trends dictated by invisible monarchs of industry inviting and spoon feeding insecurities masked as improvements.

A generation spending more time pretending not to care than on passions stifled by our peer pressuring playmates who are all prescribed Vyvanse, Adderall, Ritalin for their incurable imaginations deemed "learning disabilities."

A generation of temporary friendships because no one can connect with each other but we can connect to the internet and chat with strangers and share thoughts, photos, and secrets to a virtual audience that loses interest in an entanglement of wires forming a noose around our sincerity.
Inspired by "Howl" by Allen Ginsberg.
Something I would tell you son
that's only known to me
a burden it is knowing alone
it's time I share with thee.

Shocking was what he revealed to me
tragic too was the tale
of a woman's loss of dignity
her passing thru fire of hell.

Her I have held in high esteem
her sanctity locked in trust
never knew she was a sad victim
of a man's monstrous lust.

My father felt it would only be fair
it needed him just to be brave
with son the secret he must share
not carry alone to the grave.

I hold it now that grave secret
father left his job was done
burdened with a heavy weight
that I can't share with son.

The woman she is still alive
knocking on ninety's door
her skin a shade of dried beehive
she remembers not anymore.
true story, like most of our poems are.
 Oct 2015 Jack R Fehlmann
eb
Fearful of the future,
Regretful of the past;
As for the present,
How long will this last?
(a rhyme)
 Sep 2015 Jack R Fehlmann
Eric W
I don't mean to be a bother,
or an inconvenience.
To mark upon your blankness in ink,
so settle down my thoughts
with every black line and
intention.
If I should go, say so,
please.
I do not wish to stay
unwanted.
I do not wish to intrude.

I only need a friend.
Someone to hear these trappings,
these innermost workings
which play on every insecurity,
everything I've ever done.

All I do is wrong.
All I do is hurt and
hurt others.
If you stay long enough,
I will hurt you too,
I will scribble away your life
as I do mine.

I don't want anyone to
hurt,
I just wish to
love.
And be loved
in every dark corner of myself.
But how?

As I grow older,
I grow more hated by
myself.
And if hate is all I know,
how could I ever love?
How could I ever experience another's
love?
Their compassion?
Their kindness?

So it is lost.

And I must ask,
though I mark you, tear you,
hate you,
can you love me?

Could you?
I'm so tired of drowning in this self-pity and depression. I want to write something great...but the only time I want to write is when I just have to get out this...darkness. And it's always ****. I never edit. I never work on it. Whatever I write is what I post. But I suppose it's really just for me anyway. It would just be nice for this depression to mean something at the end of the day. Like, if I could produce something at least half decent because of it, it might just be worth it.

Whatever....rant over.

I'm tired of being so alone.
A father adoring eyes
Expressions of love
Kindness and compassion
A father mentoring
patience and understanding
strength and courage
A father who is fun
laughs and runs
plays with his son
A father who listens
meek and mild
open-minded and moral
Be proud father
Your son is a scholar
And an agile athlete
Be proud father
Your son is a vision of you
who will carry your traits
Be proud father
Your son shows your heart
soul and spirit
Be proud father
Your son an incredible young man
the world is in his hands
Be proud father
Your son has a dream
he is a miracle of you
Copyright, Heather Mirassou   June 30, 2010
Next page