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I’m almost a poet.
I almost make sense
Enough to impress
Others with my senseful nonsense

I’m almost a poet
And I almost understand
Others’s poems and other poets
In the end no use, I tried to no end
But I like to pretend.

I’m almost a poet,
My metaphors are almost immersive enough
And my edges and corners are almost not rough

I’m almost a poet
I’m almost there
But not quite
I’m almost a poet
Almost - a man.

_M
They raised a cathedral for hesitation’s specters,
a mausoleum where half-lived fates fester beneath glass,
each relic a carcass of fractured intent.

Here, a breath lingers in crystal—
a stillborn confession, lips parted, words calcified mid-escape.
Beside it, a rusted key entombed in velvet,
a relic of an unbreached threshold,
a house collapsing under the silence of absent footsteps.

In the west wing, violins lie gutted,
their spines snapped mid-requiem,
melodies strangled before they ever touched air.
Across the hall, a wedding gown—pristine, untouched,
its silk sodden with the ghost of a name
almost taken, then discarded
like an unclaimed prophecy.

The curator drifts through corridors of regret,
brushing dust from the obituaries of roads never walked,
straightening the portraits of lovers who almost stayed,
of letters that withered in trembling hands,
then were entombed in the graveyard of never sent.
The air itself swells with the dirges of forsaken dreams,
whispering in the tongue of the undone,
suffocating in the thick rot of inertia.

And at the hall’s end—a mirror.
No plaque, no inscription, no mercy.
Just your own reflection staring back,
begging you to walk out before you, too,
become part of the collection.

Will you leave, or will you be archived next?
You buried me
Half the world away
And a lifetime ago

Yet you find me
In your every daydream
In every foreign touch
In every what if...

Almost...
But never quite
How haunting is that?
Vianne Lior Feb 9
We were almost something—
almost a story,
almost a memory,
almost a beginning that never began.

It’s funny how “almost”
can hurt more than “never,”
because at least “never”
doesn’t pretend it had a chance.

But we—
we were a heartbeat away
from being real,
and sometimes,
that’s the loudest echo of all.
ophelia Sep 2024
we were almost stars,
burning bright, then fading fast—
love lost in the past.
the one that got away
Jeremy Betts Jul 2024
Forever counting sheep,
Gotta be up to infinity
I'm sure though,
Any day now,
I'll get to see what my dreams might be

©2024
ky Jul 2023
Never go through
with being someone's
second choice
because for you to be second,
there had to have been a first.

And that first will always be out there,
somewhere.
MyLinh Jul 2023
Almost growing up together
Almost living closer
Almost happy
Almost with you
Almost kissed you
Almost hugged you
Almost spoke to you
Almost crossing paths
Almost met you
Almost...
Adam Schmitt Dec 2022
I almost died the other day
And I came back to this place just to say
That you never know when it all can get taken Away
All your life's lessons suddenly play
like a highschool production through your mind's electric grey clay,
a mind managing to keep itself oxygenated enough to operate even as consciousness fades
A body lying there, blue as a mid summer's day, gasping
For breath, and for a chance to stay
Alive.

I woke up, having almost died the other day,
To a room full of strange faces, whose eyes all aimed my way.
A room full of strangers,
My vision regaining clarity,
I see equipment of many types, lying around a well decorated living room, it seemed out of place,
devices dreamed up by engineers a few hundred miles away,
At an elite institution, of mechanical engineering and science, engineering devices that now lay about my horrified friend's living room,
Then the puzzle regained its shape, and I was graced with the understanding that it was all going to be okay,
this time, anyway.

the first responders,
My saviours.
Real heroes,
Who wear no capes,
Nor spandex,
But who know their job well,
And do it without delay,
And these people who saved my life today
Are out of my life now forever, and onto saving another fragile life, on some other street,
On some other day.

I saw people in blues, reds, and greys, yellows and oranges, and then the light of the day.
The light of the day on which I did not die,
But I could have, had it been another time,
Another place.

My stretcher was bright yellow, by the way...

I almost died the other day, and its implacable oncoming rush scared me.
The fear of not having lived a worthy life, an unobserved life,
Of dying too soon, with things left to do
Of leaving people behind,
Of wrongs left to right
Of lying here blue
On my dear friend's plush carpet,
And her child witnessing it as he comes home from school. Innocent as day, then scarred for life.

Luckily I have a few friends and modern miracles on my side.

I almost died the other day, and I came back here, having missed all the poetry, that makes life worth living, day after day.
Beyond the biorhythms we must feed
In order to stay
Alive.

   Peace.
         Love.
Breath.
             Focus.

                     A good enough mantra,
                     Wouldn't you say?

I almost died the other day,
But I didn't. I breathe
in with gratitude,
And I exhale with relief,
that I still got the knack
for it.
Sometimes the poems are real. I had a severe anaphylactic reaction to an allergen, but I lived thanks to the support systems available to me. Everyone deserves access to quality healthcare. EVERYONE.
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