Sierra, don’t be so hard
on yourself.
Treat yourself as if
you are the world’s treasure
because that’s exactly what
you are.
I know sometimes you feel
as if you hold the world
on your shoulders
but I’m here to tell you
you’ll be okay
and to just breathe.
Stop giving second and third chances
to people who didn’t exactly
deserve the first.
It’s in your heart to
always see the good in people
but you shouldn’t feel guilt
for the times you have to
let go.
The world is yours,
I want to go out
and discover it.
Never be afraid to take
that jump,
someone will always be
there to catch you.

It's hard to be a coward and suicidal,
Afraid of pain and overly-sensitive to guilt simultaneously.
Never wanted to jump from a building,
Because regretting your decision halfway down must be a nightmare.
Must only take a few seconds.
Must feel like longer than you've ever lived.
Didn't want to jump in front of a bus,
Because that seems wildly ineffective.
Didn't want to lie on train tracks;
I know those videos of dismembered people end up
On the darkest places of the Internet,
And I'm nothing if I'm not embarrassed by attention.
Didn't want to hang myself, had enough hospital trips
From asthma attacks rendering me breathless to want to relive it.
Tried to hang myself.
Wasn't as bad as I thought it'd be.
Didn't want to overdose on pills
Because I have an aversion to swallowing them.
Realised the only reason you aren't supposed to chew them
Is so you don't overdose.
Tried to overdose.
Woke up confused and frightened with an apparently not-killer headache.
But that was back then, and this is now.
I don't look at things and see invitations of death anymore.
There's no temptation to analyse them
And see if they're up for the job.
I'm less on the aggressive side of the spectrum,
Swaying, instead, a lot more to being passive.
I don't want to dive in front of traffic,
But I don't always look before I cross the road either.
And I could still end up in the same coffin as if I'd jumped,
But for me, there's a lifetime of difference.

The Violin’s azure strings wept softly,
from inside of a mind made cell;
musical echoes lamenting,
a poignant abyss too vast to fill
each and all silenced reverie,
leaving the philosopher’s stone
                                          unthrown

Blue guitar minor chord changes,
bent notes phrasing sharps and flats;
memories ―      gently weeping confirmation
as a repressed flow of soul
pensively leaks out

The spirit's currents eddy
suffused within written verve;
silently purging the soul's fountains ―

                                    musical rivulets swell
                                     quietly overflowing
                              an alchemist’s soul unfurled...


        © harlon rivers ... all rights reserved

The quieter he became ...
the more he could feel
only a single lit candle
moved the stillness ,
gripping the void between
lucency and obscure darkness

longing eyes slipped slowly closed
as the flicker faded ,
inner quietude dimming all light
the darker it got ...
the more vividly he could see

a nearly silent exhaled sigh
let the memories flood ;
leaning into the bereft
where there once was light ,
he became a timeless silence
                              without form
                     only shaped by retracing
                        re-remembered words

yearning to understand
some of the greater things life unfolds
experiencing the unknown
                             without fear ,
                      for to clinch and feel
that which seems indefinable

     for here ,
in this formless
manifest dimension ,
all layers of essence
are peeled back
to the bared aurora
of a soul's spirit light ;

at the core of inner stillness
      nothing is impossible ...



© H A Rivers all rights reserved

With your bottom resting on me
you roam the world of poetry
display spectrum of your poetic mood
ever bothered about this piece of wood?

I hold your frame over day and night
weight of your spirit soaring to height
your struggle to find in all only good
ever bothered about this piece of wood?

I rest your arms on my armrest
for your comfort I do my best
see you don't fall when in deep brood
ever bothered about this piece of wood?

For years my touch has kept you at peace
carried you safe seated with ease
when empty yawns the space I stood
is it then you would realize worth of my wood?

Friends, there are many(I think, I hope). So, to be fair, I will respond with this.


"Stricly an Opinion"
October 20, 2014   8:40a.m.

On August 28, 2013, strictly as a novice, and not having posted anything, anywhere, I posted my first two pieces of "literary art" on the HP site. I had previously searched other similar sites until finally deciding on posting with HP. I'm glad I did.  Why?

Not knowing what to expect, I threw "1894", and "Folklore and Fairy Tales" into the "mixing bowl". Pradip and Sally were the first to comment, and I will never forget the encouragement their words gave me. Never! Quite often, I go back and re-read them, particularly when I get a little discouraged when the "writers block" syndrome decides to attack. Thank you both, so very, very much!

But that is the core of the HP Family. There is an aura, a special atmosphere of cohesiveness among its contributors, willing to offer(in most cases) constructive criticism without being cynical, and always encouraging each other. Making friends whom we may never see, whose hands we may never shake, but a friendship none the less, that is spread throughout the globe, with the thoughts that will always be there. It is a feeling I did not sense with other sites.

One thing is for certain. We never know what our readers are going to like/dislike on any given day. When we post a piece, of what we may think is the work of "pure genius" could go by the wayside in seconds. On the other end of the spectrum, what we believe is not so great, could trend in minutes.

We will keep trying.

Richard Riddle
copyright: October 20, 2014