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Dylan Halvorsen May 2016
I.) Bodies of

Open lakes are naked
Their secrets,
Rub like salt.
How did one get here
What seized the labour of hands.
Do we deserve to know.
Do we deserve to know the extent.
Do we deserve to know the extent of our own subjugation.
Knees meet dry earth.
It's dry where we forget to water it
Not that it needs water,
Salt finds form
In our negligence.
Arid insincerity spoke of more.


II.) To follow

We left.
We did not need to stay
A dry sterile whisper kept us there
With it's pleas for us to leave.
The trust of invitation,
Burnt holes in our wings.
Untrust of warning,
Had us leaving without our things
I don't know which is better.
A departure announced drew heed to soft cartilage.
Unsharpened curfue split bone without piercing the skin.
The expression of self.
Callous wanderers knocked at no doors;
to accept rejection.


III.) Reintegration of being

The want of murmurs in wanton misuse
Kept us foraging for lust,
For more,
For inability in casualty.
We waited for forest to arrive,
Bare earth begged of no candour,
Trees deny script.
Unclenched hands greyed over context
As purpose gave none where some was due.


IV.) What the stars offered

A quest unrelenting bends bark in fervour.
Do we know why we left,
Cold hands hock at swords needed to keep slight wrists in check.
Or where we are going,
Our aimless pacing finds direction in blind eyes and guided hearts.
All the dust settled, buried in puddles like art.
And the thunder was there
The thunder never knelt
But we listened
To listen was the choice.
A brief connection with the sky
Through it's reproach
It implored for something more,
Only upon deaf ears.
Was earth all there was to rain on?
We thought, as the stars spat on us.
Celestial offering in cleanse not spite.


V.) Love

Maybe that's why we left.
To trascend our own ideas of love.
Innocent foliage made the path harder to see,
But easier to tread.
Gentle arches hug mounds of green
Like finger tips kissed by yonic flesh.
To remember the conception in contact,
Was to recognize our own affirmation
And any word intended for the ears of the unknown.
Blood is replaced where word is love.


VI.) Relation to self

To stay or leave was not the choice
The distance from anything was illusory.
The real choice, was acceptance of self.
After the end of our disintegration,
The dry heave,
Leaving without hesitation;
We are not without ourselves.
Nestoria LR Apr 2016
write about how love has changed your life
little sayings about happiness

but did anyone see the knife?
as you proceeded to undress

"i only care for the dopamine"
you said

is that why you carved your name in her back,
why she never knew the dread?
*"it was all in your head"
this is kinda rage writing honestly..
it may seem like this is a break up poem.. but no, this is not a break up poem
its more of a i-wish-they-would-break-up poem.
and no it isnt romantic envy, i just genuinely am put off my seeing these people together and idk i hate one of them for other reasons but yeah its not okay to dwell on that kinda **** but HAH ******* HERES A POEM ABOUT ME DWELLING ON IT
NeroameeAlucard Apr 2016
Erasing the page
Of my final days
You may be dismayed
Or shocked at this display
Of emotion and regret
I'll be long gone when you understand this, I expect

I don't want you to regret
But I need you to forget
The tears that may fall
When the sun takes its final curtain call
When the ears can't hear and the mouth, the fragile mouth has said it all

See, even from death my writings can't be absolved
But I invite you dear friend, to watch me dissolve
So what do you think they'll say about us
When I'm gone?
Kate Willis Apr 2016
Does that moon,
the one that casts a faint glow against my side of the Earth
know that it exists?
As I look into the eyes of that large rock in the sky,
I wonder if it knows I exist.
Does it know that I look up at it at night,
that I stare and write poetry about it,
that I wonder about it’s own conscious?
You’re your own idea
written in blood and electricity.
You’re Pulcinella. You’re judy.
You’re someone else’s description
of light
imagined alive.
You’re temporary.
You’re the dream in a Jivaro head.
There’s the ceiling of a skull
just above your clouds
and even further out
there's another.
You’re pock-marked, wood-wormed
with thoughts,
words,
that you’ve been taught
on you, like tattoos
and shared birthmarks.

You’re picture-framed
in my eye sockets
flipped and made
understandable
and only some of you
oozes
through
like the sun
below the surface of the sea.
You’re me
and i’m you
swirling in each other’s boundaries
like the Tao and oily water
and the point between the colours in rainbows.
You’re infinite to mayflies.
You’re an explosion’s leftovers.
You died last time I saw you
and reformed in the doorframe
when I came around again.
You’re the world’s re-used love letter
from ****** to organised organism
incubated in original sin
the kiln
making Russian dolls from living things.
You’re the seed of a ghost.
You only existed since this morning
and yesterday’s you woke up
and is now out haunting.
You’re both here, and there, and here
a string vibrating
a seismograph
a tree ring
Earth’s music
playing
and playing
and playing.
All the things I know about people I don't know.
Secret-Author Mar 2016
He doesn't care about you.
It's the middle of the night
And he closes the door.
Forgets that you're here,
Waiting in the darkness.

He doesn't care about you.
In a second, you don't exist.
You're gone.
Forgotten.
Left.

He doesn't care about you.
Because he closes the door.
And forgets you.
Just like that,
He doesn't care about you.
Jay Feb 2016
I shouldn't be telling you
that I think you're beautiful,
or that I think of you more often than I would like to admit.
And I shouldn't tell you that I must have read every single line 500 times.
I shouldn't say that I think you're perfect,
or that you make my heart flutter.
I shouldn't let you know that I look forward to seeing your name in my inbox.
I shouldn't say that I have never seen anybody radiate grace quite the way you do.
I shouldn't tell you that I fell asleep last night,
thinking of you.
I shouldn't cross your boundaries.
Blaine smith Feb 2016
Éffleurer I can't handle
I want to be burned by your sun
I want to decompose your chemicals
Tu es ma joie de vivre.
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