Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Sep 2023 Polar
Julian
i believe,
even the stars
get tired.

when the night sky
had folded them away
back into the darkness

and the moon,
that lonesome thing,
has doused itself in shadows.

so will you too, my friend
shy away from the light
as if it would burn
if it reached you.

maybe you feel,
you just are not strong enough
to face the day.

that the midnight hour
is a broken thing

and oh, the silence
is deafening.

and you and i know, even the stars
are tired.

you mourn for them
as their light expires.
 May 2023 Polar
Sally A Bayan
(last night)

The day’s raging rains
finally stopped,
humid summer winds,
cooled into soothing breezes.
:::::::::::::::::
a pink, purpled sky
quickly darkened,
calls of crickets,
croaks of frogs
they got lost in the air.
the day’s noise segued
to a soft echo of voices,
.............f a d i n g
..........g r a d u a l l y
::::::::::::::::::::::
'til burning worries
of the mind were calmed,
forgotten for the night.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::
lights turned somber
and amplified a spreading,
much awaited
silence.

All found their places,
their own shelter
in the comforting dark.
nature...was in repose.




sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
      May 17, 2023
 May 2023 Polar
Thomas W Case
There is a gravity to
sadness; it pulls me
downward into a
deep dark well.
I can't climb out.
It's my own private hell.
I pray for levitation.
I jump, only to fall.
I feel forgotten.

I put one foot in
front of the other,
and I will rise.
I move on.
Hope returns like
a long lost friend,
and I find my sanctuary.
I have 2 and a half weeks sober  I went to the hospital and had 2 withdraw seizures.  I fell and hit my head, I got a concussion and a small brain bleed, I am hopeful.
 May 2023 Polar
Carlo C Gomez
The city that never sleeps
is also
The city that never dreams

Look out for future unrest!
 May 2023 Polar
Anais Vionet
Edgar Alan Poe is dead. Seriously, I read it.
He died in October 1849 - or did he?
Do we really know?

Poe wrote about death a lot,
he teased with it, it was his favorite tool.
He kept death close and twisted it like a knife.

His profession was the macabre, the shadow,
the summoned dread and the gruesome aftermath.

He was a writer and a critic - what’s more dreadful than a critic?

They say he died from “unknown causes”
- how absolutely perfect.
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Aftermath: the period after a destructive event.
I stay awake
Thinking of one
While another sleeps

Longing to feel wanted
Wishing to be held once more
Wanting to remember
What it ment to be safe

I lay awake
Unable to sleep
Creating false realities
Just to help me feel

Perhaps another level
Or another page
Might help in this
Long night ahead
Next page