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eli Oct 14
You were there
and then you weren't

you left so **** suddenly

I didn't miss you at first
i was sad you left

You haven't answered me for over a week
you're too busy for me now

i guess you found someone better
just like i said you would
Leifa Oct 9
Weeping Winter
Deigns his spine
In small whispers of magic.

The fingers of a ghost
He Almost
Mourned the loss of them.

Until he tastes
The fruit of rot.
And felt
Old daggers in the dark.

Like a drop of dew
In Summer heat,
He recedes towards the Sun

To await the Winter Mourn
And scorn
A mother of her forgotten son.
AgerMCab Oct 7
We use to glide
With nothing to hide
The smile we have
On a waltz we dance

May music won't end
Eternal dance to spend
We tried to hold
And grip with hope

But hope turned cold
My grip you no longer hold
The waltz changed its tone
And now I dance alone
Draven Brass Oct 8
What is expected? Your message is cryptic.
Your help it cuts, it feels so **** twisted.
Two lies and truth, hope lost in a second.
I love you, you're family but I feel so distant.
Shane Leigh Sep 29
It could only have happened here –
The things that I remember
And the things that I also forget.
I’d light a candle to show you the way,
But I've forgotten the way...
Behind dark clouds and arching trees
The path is hidden from me.
I creep behind bushes made of fluorescent leaves
Stalking, so closely, the Meadows.
As they dance and laugh so happily in their glee;
Prancing with their nimble bodies;
Weaving themselves in and out of the darkness.
I peak behind cracked buildings,
Lace through old staircases,
Tip toe, quietly, behind doors that can no longer open.
Into a field reclaimed by sprouting trees
I see them.
In the abandoned halls and crumbling stairways
I almost remember.
The roof here creaks and howls
And the walls, with their holes,
Intertwine with bark and vines;
Chipping concrete collides carelessly with the ground
And I pause …
Fearful of what is,
Different than what was …
But they dance on, nonetheless,
And I follow.
Oh, sweet nymph of the path I have taken –
Although I am frightened,
Although I am changed –
Show me the light that I have forgotten;
Lead me to the feeling of remembrance again.
It's a re-edit (:
Amanda Sep 21
When God abandoned me I thought
That at first he must not have cared
But after enduring a world of pain
I realized he was never there
Its crazy how much i used to believe in Christianity compared to how completely opposite i feel now
Osii Sep 18
Growing up, I had a precious father
And a loving mother.
But why become a wife
If you were  gonna choose another?

You had 2 sons and a daughter
So why the hell did you leave us?
Should I have done better?
Now im confused, as if I'm still a fetus.

If you're someone I don't know
Should I still call you mother?
I know nothing about you now.
Is it befitting to call you a stranger?

I remember the old me, feeling sadness,

What did I think of what you did? Sad and

You made a family

And wrecked it with your vanity.

You made children

But you couldn't be there for them.

Over the years I've had someone to support me
They weren't my relative, but it felt as if they are
I tried searching for you high, low, near, and far
But I still couldn't find you, the thing that haunted me

all my life, I've sought out discovery

Of the sole reason why my own creator

Was not able to love me.

All I found was your name in a tombstone

And the names of your children

Whom you've chosen

To thrown
To the mother who wasn't
its hard to believe when they tell me that i will be missed
if it were, random days would be full of conversations

you have grown weary of my constant "hello"s
and you have proven that my point correct

the loneliness has welcomed me back
laughing at my ambition of attaining companionship

no one misses me
that's a bunch of horse ****.
i feel alone. the end.
The Little Bessy  molts its white chipped,
dull letters out to waves it cannot use.

Capsized on the rocky Maine beach, where  
it once fished for lobster in richer anchors,
the peapod displays its tattered nets on its hull
while the Man O War, filled with a haul of tourists,
bruises the gentle waves of Penobscot Bay.

Its oars are mounted on the lobster shack wall,
its sails framed in the nautical museum.
Abandoned are the days it was pulled
from its moorings on the wharf and sailed
through Penobscot air or spilled weighted circles,

days that were longer than any of its old parts,
times when old hands  hoped for better ways
never knowing they’ve come and gone.

Its broken, rusty anchor once met the spent waves,
the hands holding and releasing it down
to mate firmly with the mount, the moment
when the old lobsterer father firmly grounds
The Little Bessy’s wanton desire to push out to sea.  

Betrayed and exposed every day, run by no one,
Bessy drifts into beauty she never desired:
the pretty postcard in the wharf gift shop,
photos  taken by others rushing by in other boats.
when she was always meant to be the secret  
memory of the lobsterer hauling up his lonely pots.
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