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Blue dream

I’m darkness

With wine

There was a point

Where the room stood still

A so did the trees

But now the traffic picks up In the background

The rabbits heard something

And the wind...it says shiloh, go West


Now I wish that I wasn’t so burdened

With the choice to go down two different streets

And burdened with time,

It’s being, in my veins like blue ink and making its way up to my brain to be wrapped in neural tubes till it drains cool aid from its corners.

I wish that a maker like Viggo would cast his pen that says Oscar and float down his invisible warrior chain for drama, ransom


The walks I’ve taken show that the branches supporting the local homes are well watered and well kept, construction
Sights and signs of prosperity

alright, and with that I step into the next intersection,

and check my blindspots
 Feb 2016 Pachi
Nessa dieR
Walls without window
Floor without feet
Room without Roof
Shouldn't I feel free?
But instead my throat is sore
And my eyes stream with pain

**I don't think life was meant for me
And these years have been in vain.
Use your arms to lift me away
From the walls that we have made...
 Feb 2016 Pachi
Megan H
I pushed him away
Because I was scared
I pushed him away
Because he looked at me like a man should
I pushed him away
Because he listened to my every word
I pushed him away
Because he liked me

But most of all
I pushed him away
Because he was the perfect guy for me.
I'm sorry.
 Feb 2016 Pachi
Nessa dieR
I want to be the well trusted word
throughout the moon’s midnight eyes
with wishes that were once something other than                                                             pai­n

I want to*  believe
  I want to    see
     I want to  know

             I want to be the verb,    "I CAN”
                I want to walk with a purpose
                   and confess to you
                     that one average afternoon
                         **I fell in love with you…
 Nov 2014 Pachi
unwritten
she was a poet,
and he was her pen.
in him,
she always found words to write,
songs to sing,
thoughts to think.

he'd smile,
and kiss her softly,
and say,
"write me a poem."

and she would.
she'd put poe,
and whitman,
and shakespeare to shame,
and she'd write a poem that made his eyes water.

she'd compare him
to a rose with no thorns,
a book with no end,
a world with no poverty --
the things we all wish for,
but can never attain.

//

he asked her one day,
"what am i?"
and so she picked up her pen,
and began the usual:
you are the shining sun after a hurricane,
with rays that open the eyes of the blind.

but he stopped her after those two lines,
and said that this time,
he didn't want any metaphors,
or similes,
or analogies.
he wanted the truth.

and so on that night,
as he slept,
the poet picked up her pen,
and she wrote.

she wrote,
then thought better of it,
then started over again,
and this cycle continued well into the early hours of the morning,
until suddenly,
she wrote, frantic,
if i can't love you for what you really are,
have i ever really loved you at all?


this, too,
she thought better of,
condemning it to the trash.

the next morning the poet was gone,
her final work a mere two words:

i'm sorry.

(a.m.)
this is more of a story than a poem but i like how it came out so leave thoughts & comments please
 Oct 2014 Pachi
Nessa dieR
Don't
 Oct 2014 Pachi
Nessa dieR
You sometimes wish
You had a rewind button?
*Second chance?

— The End —