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Carlo C Gomez Nov 11
They fought with swords and shields in sorted fields

of acrimony, declared life and limb to a barren kingdom,

bowed to the royal crown and wooed its fairest daughter.

They won her heart, graced her walls, and worked within them to produce an offspring

-- a love child forged with the will of iron and a random, but possessive eye chart.

It nearly took the death of an empire to bring this passion to birth,

and here it so rests upon her breast, pleading an allegiance to her tattered flag.

Why even a thousand years of war demurred to her letting down her hair.

But whose army crossed that wanton bridge and stroked her into carnal submission?

Who kept watch at the crossroads?

History tells us c'est la vie was the culprit, and détente the better angel.

Sometimes it's useless to be useful...
softcomponent Oct 11
"Curiosity killed the cat."                     

What this really means

is that,

at a certain point of investigation,

anyone

can become

manipulated

by

their

  own

      curiosity.
Rumaisa Samir Oct 10
They ask me why I'm silenced
I tell them I'm not; I'm civil
They ask me why I'm sad
I say I'm not; I'm conforming

There was a time when I ran free
When my voice was carried by the ocean breeze
When I ground wildflowers between my teeth
And built my house among the trees

I'd throw my head back and drink from the skies
I looked at the world through clear eyes
And coloured myself all the hues of the sunrise

And I'd run barefoot and dance in the rain
And when it thundered I'd scream my name
So the lightning would know it ran in my veins

And then they caught me-

They ask why I'm silenced
And I think "You taught me,"
They ask why I'm sad
And I think "You broke me."
Hey :)) I'd love some cc if anyone has some tips.
Max Vale Sep 14
You locked yourself away,
When we were fighting and screaming.
You refused to open the door,
When I was pounding and pleading.

The flashing lights came,
You were on the ground.
I was crying and praying,
For you to come around.

You looked lifeless on the bed,
Without you I'm incomplete.
The black raven bows its head,
I can't hear your heartbeat.

I still need you,
Please don't go.
Haley Protega Aug 28
I stand in a dessert without a single dune
- just flat sand as far as the eye can see,
And high above me: an unreachable Moon,
silently shining its silver on me.

Too distant for me to hear,
- but I know it sings
A soft lullaby about fear,
And sorrow, and broken wings.

So I keep walking, further still,
Through this nothingness of sand,
An emptiness I cannot fill,
I wish for a helping hand.

But there is none, and anyway
A helping hand I couldn't use:
I alone must walk this way,
Stand and win, or fall and lose.

A whisper from above and far
Tells me I'll be home soon;
I need no guiding star -
I have a guiding Moon.
14.12.2019.
Note: The dessert is a metaphor for depression, while the Moon represents the will to live.
She followed me around, matching every step I took, every time I tripped, every inch I squeaked across laminated, tiled, grassed floors. She followed me through cornfields, though war, through the deserts of Saudi, through the alpine cliffs and tundra of the wintered northeast states. She followed me into the restrooms, and into my bed, where we whispered our dreams to one another, silently letting the hours pass as neither of us could muster a blink, only to express our undying love for one another. I couldn’t sleep with her there. She kept my eyes on her, and in moments I became ravenous, and sleep was found only once we were satisfied. That love was vapid, and that love was only a fragment. An expression of the true whole. My undying devotion to my love. My one, true love.

     Her face was beautiful, pale, blue yet almost grey eyes, staring into the wall. Blonde, shaggy, unkempt but not unwashed hair fell a little below her shoulders. Those eyes looked so magnificently marvelous with the glint of our shared lamp on the edges of her eyes, the shiny reflections seemingly engulfing me in her wonder. And yet, as I pay attention, I know she has nothing in those eyes, and that beauty is a husk. For a brief moment I understand, and then once more, it is gone. Her beauty enraptures my soul once again, and I am lost amidst a dream of her love, her love so strong and deep and penetrating into a heart I thought had been broken long ago, rekindling what desire I had to continue trying to survive.

     I stood up once again, but she bid me to sit down, as the show wasn't yet over. The inspiration she had just bestowed upon me would go to waste if he stayed, but after just a moment looking down into those corpse eyes, so wide and begging to be shut, I conceded and sat again. She kissed my nose, one for each nostril, giggled, and left. I love her. So much. I would do anything for her. I would die for her. I spend every minute of my day thinking of her. I worship her.

     I can't forget her. I can't deny her. I can't refuse her. She feels like nothing in my arms, yet everything. I have no control. And I relish in these chains. Every moment I struggle is another **** she can mend. Every war I fight brings more scars to heal. Every catastrophe has her there, faithfully by my side, ready to cheer me up. I held her hand through all of those things, tightening my grip with every new anxiety, every new stress. Every new responsibility. Even as I stumbled she whispered in my ear, that she was still with me, and willing to be there forever.

       Every time I fell, she helped me back up. She always knew the perfect thing to tell me. She was right on time to make up for any mistakes I made. She had a great eating schedule, and helped me get fit, like I never dreamed I could. She made me popular with the other girls, though; she was always jealous, and always kept herself for last and best. And, truly, I couldn't deny her, she was all I could ever dream for.

     My dearest, every moment we are apart is torture to me and a slow death in its own way. Another minute of being so alone like this, without you by my side to keep me safe and warm, is terrifying to think of. I dream of walking outside and seeing you, there, ready for me, having been gone all these months, bright-eyed and beaming with joy, rushing up to me and folding your thin arms around me, crying about how you missed me so **** much. About how our life together would be eternal, until death. Marriage wasn’t important. What was important was your place in my heart. About how we could finally be back together.
We can finally be back together, my love, my crystal methamphetamine.
Anais Vionet Jun 25
What a small room - my finger traces dust across the plain table.
What did Grandma DO here? I glance around for electrical sockets - none to be seen.
Her life was spent staring out the window, at 3D life, but only seeing memories.

I go to the wall and test the switch
a bare light bulb illuminates an area with a hot plate.
"Jesus", I mumble.

Why would she live in this shabby room?
Was this a punishment? Like a place where a nun would live?
No, I self correct in my mind Gramma was the sweetest person on earth.

I walk three steps, twirl and flop on my back, on the bed.
Dust explodes off the bare mattress in the sunlight
slanting through the grimy, half-open, shadeless window.

I wave and blow the dust away and now I'M lost in memory..
She was ninety-three - I never heard her say an unkind word
In that tiny, sand-papery whisper of a voice.

She always wanted me to sit in her lap, she wanted to brush my hair.
From 10 on I was bigger than she was and afraid I'd break her.

"Don't you worry over ME", she'd say with a chuckle, "I'm an old piece of leather."
Her cheeks were pink and wrinkled like old rose petals. Her hair a white bun.

"I miss you Gramma", I whisper.
a free verse piece about my gramma
“Will you barter for your garden?”
the familiar stranger taunted.

His haunting talk caught on a loose thread in my heart,
recalling time and battles fought.

Make no mistake about the fae.
I must admit I was afraid, for I have seen my adversary

tear out the grass’s screaming hair,
poison the soil with atmosphere arid,
strip the baby branches baren,
shave the landscape clear.

I need not obey him.  
I have in my hands a *****
and around this place an angry hedge.
He can not prevail unless I show him the way.

“No,” say I,
“No bartering in my garden today.”
An old one from the beginning of the semester that I've neglected to post here.
it sparkles in their eyes
in yours, in mine
marble and gold
flickering in the sky

a trail of tar, a halo of paper
let's take our train to heaven.
see you there, see you never
meet my friends, i've got seven
but she's the prettiest
with diamonds in her teeth
red wine in her kiss
she's my podium, my glory
she's the reason i stand.

now they eye the art
through me, eying her
i'm made of air but i like them
telling me all i've been
matters (my podium.)
'cause she's the prettiest
with promises in her shadow, with fire in her hair
she'd turn and launch a thousand ships, oh paris:
least lonely of men.
oh, roaches, she's my wonderland.

it sparkles in their eyes
in yours, in mine
a shape like the sun.
a trail of tar, a halo of paper
hold on fast my ticket to heaven
when saint are dust, gold is forever
so kiss me to the grave, loveliest of seven.

"money is the anthem / of success"
"money is the reason / we exist"
oh, lana / oh, paris.

i have loved her in many ways
i would not call her
a lover; i am fearful
for i am young; she will have decades.
Wesley Ryan Feb 24
The weather seemed to match my emotional fizzle
It rained on from despondent grey sky
Not even mustering a proper storm, rather a drab constant drizzle
The sky was me and I was the sky, I couldn't be that guy,

Could I?
He who waxed on ‘bout woe
Yet about what had nothing to show
I remain, yet the rain moved on, nothing more than a by-the-by

Sigh after sigh, I felt myself slip
Deeper and deeper into my dip
Yearning for something to excite
Yet knowing not what came on as a fright

I am no longer the sky, rather the sea
In constant consequence movement, with no will of its own
Indeed, indeed, that guy is me
The one so drear, who must atone for crimes uncommitted, all alone

A prisoner of fate
I am now the ground
Nothing to soothe me but a soul made of slate
Now I must find a joy in this drear, to enjoy the ride, for are we not all hell-bound?
So, I wrote this a while back when I was in a depressive state. It lays out the sort of transitions in perspective I made when trying to cope. In the end, I came to a nihilistic sort of "might as well enjoy what I can" mentality.
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