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em  Jun 2015
House of Cards
em Jun 2015
Little girl with your tiny hands know that whatever you build for yourself will one day be destroyed so tread carefully on this glass universe.

This meticulous life, a house of cards that you're going to spend a childhood building and playing house in, so easily toppled by a breeze.  Know that one day life is going to be a hurricane. And the little world that's you poured your soul into is going to be gone.

That empty hole in your chest is going to burn like hell. That ***** that pumps the blood and keeps your cheeks rosy is going to catch aflame. And that raging fire is going to ignite the blood flowing through your fingertips. Your going to fall in love and that boy is going to pour gasoline all over your little mess of a life. And that's when you'll realize that a fiery heart does nothing but burn you to to the ground.

You'll be six feet deep in ashes and regrets. Lies shoved so deep down your throat that you won't be able to scream for your release from the chains that bind you to this ground that you used to call home.

Little girl  take those broken heart shards and all build yourself a wall. Lock your gates baby because the loneliness that will freeze your blood. May just help soothe the burns.
just some thoughts
Osiria Melody Mar 20
Reassuring flames of warmth mitigate his loneliness from time to time, but not enough to completely eradicate the monotony of his life
Ah yes, the fireside is where he always retreats to, a receptive listener that never shuts him out for his delusional utterances or fluctuating mood swings

Beyond these imprisoning walls of modern Victorian beauty,
He yearns for the freedom of ingratiating himself as a "normal" individual
What constitutes normal is not within his reach, for he was brought up with the concept that wealth is the ultimate authority

Therefore, he indulges in this hedonistic lifestyle for twenty-five years, a handsome young man who did not have to give a single **** about being self-sufficient
You see, this young man knew that deep within his selfishness, that he was not a man

He is like a boy
A reclusive, insolent, boy

Heh, but can you blame him?
Yes, just like the crackle and tackle of the glaringly-blinding flames,
He snaps, "**** it. It's all or nothing."
He packs his amenities and boards his private jet of luxury into oblivion to accomplish something

What had transpired to shift his stubborn heart?
He grew weary of the same old, same stone, fireside

He is a man
A new reflection of the blurry mirror that he once was



Melody
3/20/19
I knew that I had to write this piece when an image of a fireside burned into my mind.
Pyrrha Jul 2018
I find it strange that when I look into your eyes I'm not met with an endless starry sky. The world around me doesn't freeze or turn monochrome around everyone but you. I don't see an endless sea or visions of a setting sun, no matter my determination. So how do I know it is love if it isn't as the words I've heard all my life describe?

Yet my heart still drops when you walk into the room, even when your focus is a place far off. People say it's like a flutter but this is far too heavy to use such a light word to describe such a feeling. It's painful, but I know it isn't something ominous or bad because it feels right. How do I know it is love if none if my words describe it right as they should?

I get it every time our eyes meet or you tilt your head and smile with your head in the clouds. I get it when you laugh to yourself or say something hardly above a whisper. When you focus so hard you ***** up and let out that silly sigh of aggravation and I feel such deep affection. Yet is it alright for me to say what I feel is love when I can't even tell myself what love is?

I don't think your eyes need starry skies or my stomach needs a million butterflies. Your smile doesn't need to illuminate the room and my thoughts for you don't need an anchor. Your love shouldn't have an expectation and my words don't need to have a proper diction.

Perhaps I'll see it in your heart or feel it in your touch one day if you feel the same regardless of what the world has sold me with their modern day poetry. I promise you that no matter how hopeless I become I will find out for myself  what it means to love you wholly, even if I have to find out from loving at a distance.
I don't understand why I write so many poems about love when I am not even in love. It is so frustrating to have words without a muse and a muse without words.
Tommy Randell  Dec 2014
Meeting
Tommy Randell Dec 2014
To loosen with my bare hands
the wide air between us
in explaining something of meaning
I almost feel
I am pulling flesh
from the living and moving moments
possible here.

It is somehow breaking
the natural order of things
to use words alone
of all viable means
in setting out the wind-waves and rivulets
of ideas internally flowing -
but I must try and get something out for once.

I circle in bad phrases
prickling with the itchiness of sharing,
I send out a few vague words
horrified and perplexed
at their translation now they are naked
knowing you too listen
and they are at last unalterable.

Deep in the brain, far back
this is my bad time
but I know where the roots go
down into me
and from the storm’s heart
perpetual agitation pumps hand in hand
with calm acceptance.
The self *****, alternately
to fan and to freeze
whatever doubts or unease are burning.
Talk travels the spaces between us
through the clear air
in the kind of silence
surviving bones may know swinging in a wind.

But I know stillness can become alive
when living mouths bring their hearts to bear -
ears can well hear
what the breath has to say,
as the eye sees
the body’s smallest noises -
face to face we are a field of listening.

The warm comes without sound.
This is only the edge of a becoming.
We are not trapped in the lips -
already we lean inward
to know of each other and to give
not words for the wind
but a dance at ease with all that flows.
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