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when a poet falls in love with you
you can never die
they will notice the way
you rub your palms and look down
when someone is angry at you
and the way you smirk
as you pull away from a kiss

they will notice how you can't sleep
without your body touching someone else's
how you never crease any pages of books
and how you close your eyes when you dance in your kitchen
with your record player on

they will find all of the words
that they see you as
and turn them into something beautiful

people say you die twice
once when you stop breathing
and when someone says your name
for the last time

if you fall in love a poet
they will never stop
mentioning your name
you will be alive
for eternity
The universe puts her headphones on
And plays her favorite track
The raindrops in the meadow burst
And soak the earth
And with her feet up on the world
She smiles from ear to ear
And plays it back
Random I know. No words. BUT WOW! Poem of the day (for 05/18/18) is such a huge honor for me. Thank you so much! And to show my appreciation, you can now listen to me read this poem live on SoundCloud. Just follow the link and have an awesome day!!!

Lyda M
It's 3am

I'm on the phone
No one's awake and I'm alone

It's 3am

The radio's on
Songs are played on lonely station

It's 3am

I'm in my bed
My eyes are open and sleep has fled

It's 3am

I'm on the balcony
The sky is dark and just quite scary

It's 3am

Some windows have lights
Could they also not sleep tonight

It's 3am

I'm still awake
When will life ever give me a break
Insomniac nights are the worst. And it's been going on like this for quite awhile.
Life and writing
Destiny's play

Every breath
Every moment lived and savoured
Aroma of thoughts
Poured from the perfect blend of words ....

Oxygen to live On
Have missed Hp , had been away for a few days
Once in thought
I was nonexistent
everything was normal
without me
just the way
it was meant to be.

Erased from
everyone's memory
it was all about only them
nothing affected me.

With minor differences
one chair less
all was good
just the way
it was meant to be
without me
Isn’t it funny
How poets dramatise everything
“An ocean of depression”
“A death grip of love”
We just can’t help ourselves
It’s who we are
It’s part of being a poet
Over analysing life
Deeply contemplating death
“What is the meaning of life?”
Everything is philosophical
There’s always a lesson to learn
An issue to address
A heartache to confess
I couldn’t even resist a little alliteration in the title.
Edmund black
                  ­                      Of
Druzzayne Rika
No one is willing to listen
and so I write
When I'm ill
I call out to you, mom.
When I'm hurt,
I call out to you, mom.
When I'm scared,
I call out to you, mom.
When I'm in problem,
I call out to you, mom.
When in trouble
I call for you, mom
Even when I panic
I call for you.

You give me
unbelievable strength
in real and
even in memory
I know I'll be safe
when I'm with you
and you'll come
from anywhere
to save me
my hero.
Brianna Love
Those sometimes
    those moments of time….
I’ve Had My Times.      

        I’ve had my times….
times of feeling loss, pain, hurt
   times of wanting to run, to leave
   to go far away where nobody knows me…
   there was a time when i was carefree, loving life
   and in one moment,
                      in one little moment, it was gone.
i’ve been beaten down, i’ve had my innocents ripped away
     [fifteen-year abusive marriage]       [raped at sixteen]
i’ve cried a river or maybe it’s been an ocean of tears….
           [pain consumed my life for many years]
i’ve felt the hand of death too many times
my soul has bled, my heart….. has known much pain
    i’ve looked through windows of dark blue
seen streaks of red…
                               pondered black holes…
                  have had days of staying in bed…  
sometimes i’ve wanted the world to just go
                                                         leave me behind
let me be, let me die….

I’ve had those moments of time when….
                               i’ve held new life in my hands
heard the beauty of a newborns cry
       i’ve seen the beauty of an ocean sunset
gazed wondrously at sea spirits’ dancing on the water
i’ve breathed deeply in the fresh mountain air
          felt the softness of a breeze
                like gentle fingers moving through my hair
           i’ve seen the old find new love
                  an amazing magical sight to see…
i’ve watched my children build beautiful lives
      not always perfect but, full of hopes and dreams.
i’ve learned to give through my pain
   i’ve seen and felt passion
            i’ve walked through fire
               and found true beauty on the other side.
   i look for beauty every day, even when it’s hard to do
i let love flow to every part me
                                                 giving the best to you.
  i let it consume me because falling into the depths
     of the demons of my past, would destroy
that part of my soul i have fought so hard to get back
to keep, so i let love, passion, and beauty consume me.
   And I Forever Will…..
              A sweet release we give our heart
                from pain of past that tore apart,
                    relief that only one can find
         when hearts we let, become unconfined
             to leave behind those stormy skies
                      letting self-love baptize…
Sounds blending
of the roses unwinding
from the trellis, so jealous
of the dandelions
for their freedom and

I could hear
in the wind the sound
of scraping plant material
against metal, an aural
meditation in spontaneity
of growth

Silence... but for
flowers stretching
Silence... but for
my heart itching
Growth... in din of windy
Sweet decadence
and impoverished
humility, wanting
scintilla of the other's
meaning... discover
neither offers berries

And the wind cries Mary.
people change everyday
so i vow to fall in love with you
every time the sun rises

a girl on the beach
watching the shimmering waves
is kissed by the sun
the girl
she makes the world so beautiful
she had come to rule
but she was never given the chances equal

she was forced to silence
forced to smile
give those people another glance
even when she will be overlooked this while

the girl did it all
she made big from real small
learned the smooth and the rough
but she was given another bluff

her, she was thrown around
laughed and joked about
but she smiled throughout
her tears for herself when she drowned

she went ahead, even behind at times
she fought for herself at every step
her words and thoughts, her lines
well thought, did had a bite.

the girl,
her success was a victory
not hers alone, from all bulls
she rose to make a history
i wonder
if i held the key once
but tossed it
it fit no lock

so much
so much
in dark

from the inside
let me in, the din of success
a shadowy circus
through the opaque
of closed entrances

are they
by good karma, armed
with special screws
from God, star-

embedded with chips
in their palms, did
they sleep
with their bosses

i wander door to door,
wondering why doing the right
things the best i can
every day
is not paying my

i wonder
about owning a key at all
i think
it's been
me that's lost.
Emily Miller
My father walked me down the aisle,
But my mother held my arm.
He went with me,
But we went not towards the altar,
But towards the door.

My father walked me down the aisle,
And the organ rang through the church,
Humming through the elaborate crown molding,
Carved by my ancestors.

He went,
Not beside me,
But before me,
And I watched,
As he was illuminated by the bright,
Texas sun.

My father walked me down the aisle,
But I did not wear white.
My father walked me in silence,
And I shed tears not for a man standing at the altar,
But for the one I would never see again.

My father walked me down the aisle,
And no veil obscured my face.
All eyes were upon me, but not for my pristine beauty,
Instead for my clenched jaw and furrowed brow,
Severe and fierce to distract from my glassy eyes.

My father did not leave me at the end of our walk to sit beside my mother.
She clung to me for support and sobbed breathlessly,
And I carried her with one hand,
My sister the other,
And walked towards my future.
A future family,
Not one person more,
But one person less.
I walked,
One final time,
With him.

My father walked me down the aisle,
And I will never forget it.
Hundreds of eyes isolating my family from the crowd,
Slow and muffled sounds drowning in the deafening beat of my heart,
Blurred faces staring,
Black heels clacking against the cobbled path from the church,
The anguished wails of my mother,
The whimpering of my sister,
And the wooden box that glided before us,
A string tied to our patriarch,
The pin key of our family,
Pulled taut and then snipped with the slam of the hearse doors.

My father walked me down the aisle,
Before I had a chance to grow up.
He walked me,
Out of the church,
Away from the altar,
Never to be walked again.
She Writes
I’d rather write than speak
My pen is always responsive
My ink doesn’t judge my mistakes
My paper doesn’t argue
My lines never cross me
My sentences never disappoint
And my words will never leave me
Inspired by Crystal Holly
Shae Nicole
We can't go backwards
But if we could it would be
To that very night

Holding each other
Time standing still
And a blissful,
Extremely tender
Loving innocence
Surrounding us

No passion
Just simple love
Where a simple touch
Can sing a hundred songs

Hanging like a scimitar
suspended in the sky,
the moon beside a gleaming star
is pleasing to the eye.
How desolate, this satellite
in airless ebon space
and yet, from here
‘tis beautiful
filagree & lace.

phil roberts
As I lie here
With eyes closed softly
I think deeply of you
And I inhale stars
The scent of twinkling light
So fresh and alive
Sparkling gentle inside me
And I want to write this feeling
So tentatively
As it must be
Like writing words on bubbles
Delicate and precious
Begging them not to disappear
Like dreams in the morning

                                        By Phil Roberts
This may well be my last poem here.
Patrick Edwards
I guess I'll have to make it up.

    A bird came to me, she did not chirp
    And he did not whisper.
    The wings sheathed on its back                  
    Were in no disrepair.

    Was it blue? How hard to tell, for its
    Skin and coat were of glass, but

    This bird a flower.
           So far from bloom.
           So frail i'll keep it, to nurse in

Not all birds need sun, nor all flowers flight.
But this of mine will soon have both, for mine must wrest day from night.
My dad shouted up that the
Space Lab was passing overhead in
The next few minutes

I put on my adidas and a hoodie
And stood in the snow and mud
Of the front yard trying to find the
Passing station as it traveled past
Hundreds of miles up

It was more excited than I had seen
My father in a long time
And I was glad to be out there with him

We almost missed it
But I caught it in the chalky
Luminescence of the moon
It glided past easily
And my father shouted excitedly
I stared straight up and took all the air
Into my lungs between the passing station
And my body on the ground

Until it was lost
In the sanguine of the night sky
Like my father's excitement
It passed too quickly

And we ventured back inside
To watch TV in separate rooms
If I die today,
Would tears flow,
like a rushing river?
Or the clouds weep,
screaming in thunder?
Would the earth break,
shaking in anger?
Will the world care?
And for a moment,
forget laughter?

If I'm down
to my final heartbeat.
Will anyone be there,
sitting beside me?
When I draw,
the very last breath.
Will you hold my hand,
and feel upset?

If I go,
without saying goodbye.
I want you to know,
that I really tried.
To live and love,
to endure and smile.
To find the truth,
in this realm of lies.

If I'm fated
of leaving soon
to talk with God,
in his glowing room.
I'll be rejoicing,
when I face my doom.
Even I end like a flower,
that withered,
before it blooms.

If inside the casket I lay,
Would there any heaven for me to stay?
Or will my sins, demand me to pay?
Don't even know, how much this life has weighed.

If it's my time, to step on the scale.
Done of my part, in this play.
A lot of regrets,
but nothing more to say.
Wish me luck.
If I die today.
Every step you take,
you are
your future, whether you realize it
or not.
Emerge like the rail road
that was once underground.
Each choice leads to a new narrative.
The remnants of my life
Will soar high in the sky.
The remnants of my eyes
Will visualize the unbuilt Taj Mahal.
The remnants of my heart
Will open it to the heartless beings.
The remnants of my legs
will travel the world.
The remnants of my hands
Will work for peace.
The remnants of my voice
Will sing forever in this globe
The remnants of my mind
Will think high to shape a new blooming earth.
My remnants will lie forever
In the soil, mingling with nature,
Even after my last breadth,
To fulfill my immortal desire.
I have written the poem in the emotion that what if my life proves to be too small to accomplish my high ambitions or desire...plz make an effort to read it..
Your silken touch
Feather stokes of love
Upon my cheek
Gently stroking my hair
I rest my weary head on thee
I lay my soul bare...

You listen to my heart's cry
Without judgemnt
Silently witnessing my prayers
My heart is open for you
Demanding nothing in return
You are my night companion true...

We fly as one into dreamland
My silken nest
Sweetly cradling my head
Serenely you soak up my tears
I can say hand on heart
I love you
My jasmine silken pillow
Switching off the lamp light
Together we drift into the night...
I have recently purchased a silk pillow
I can highly recommend
Quite expensive but has made a difference to my insomnia
Available from most larger stores!!!.....Thanks for reading..kimx
Like seeing the ghosts of the people I loved
I scan through crowds and avoid their faces
Faces as magnets attract my eyes
My vision is blurry, it's time to go
I stumble through hallways
My head hangs low,
Avoiding those faces as magnets.

The girl with the piercings
The guy with tattoos
That person whose hair is a dark grayish blue

Those people have faces as magnets.
A poem about my anxiety of running into old friends and making new ones.
i find it, like a book finds its reader.
like the reader finds an old friend between the pages.
and the friend, their love returned in full.
and love, its givingness become relay.
and searching, its pilgrimage.
Amidst the smoke and light and laughter
Along the smiles and cheers thereafter

A sound is bled, wrung free from strings
It bounds and treads and wholly sings
Inside each song, a secret’s moved
Not right nor wrong or frequent proved
The message dances from bow to ear;
A coded trance of love and fear
From left to right the story rings
Of Death and light the Cello brings
The covert tale engulfs the room
It vibrates truth to those who loom
The Cello knows for why it’s played
Its secret lost, both gone and stayed

In the smoke and light and laughter
Music lies and cries thereafter
tired because of the things he does,
always remembering where i was.

these fickle things nostalgia brings,
icicle fingers touching ribs—stings.

— The End —