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M e l l o Jul 28
lulubog lilitaw
haharap sa'yo
tila kahapon
hindi nagkasakitan
mangangamusta ngayon
bukas wala na naman
ang gulo mo
ano ba talaga ang sadya mo?
andito ka na naman
babalik na tila
parang wala lang
maawa ka naman
utak ko naguguluhan
mga mensahe kong iyong binabalewala
kahit seen hindi mo magawa
parang tanga nag-aantay
may pag-asa pa ba o wala?
kaya ako'y titigil na
sa kahibangang kay tagal kong inalagaan
tatakbo palayo
sa anino **** nagmistulang
naging multo na ng nakaraan ko
Poem of the day. July 28
Thank you to my new officemate her stories inspires me to write this poem. Sabi ko na sayo isusulat ko to.
tides of perennial apparitions shape my enchanted wisdom,
moisturised thinking,
the heart of time bleeding with nectar of shy prophecies. The rare design of my being leads me to the godly truth of judgement.
Jon Thenes Jan 5
Hold heart and clean sink
It is the please for good travel

Bellow your pets into a confusion
Rid them of comfort
Rile them of the dwellings familiarity

Approach the teller
the coach
the salter of plans
and undo it
part the tissue of its apparition
a feature no more

with nowt packed
sleeve the threshold
with a tipsy
and easy whim
BSeuss Jul 2017
Someone from my past was on my mind tonight, while i layed in bed.

Past twilight, which I will call midnight, I seen a figure, like a dream dip before you fade to sleep, followed by the obvious and unexplainable;

The image of two visible, yet dim eyes appearing on the inside of my closed eyelids, and vanishing.

I've been wide awake ever since.
Apparitions aren't scary.

Although, this is the first confirmed case of one choosing to

Look at me..
It's 1:30 a.m here.
But science can't explain yawning yet.
I'll just do something boring for a bit.
K Balachandran Mar 2017
The haunted place was a taunt to mind,
was wrapped in a different kind of silence
that felt more like an accumulated absence.

Absence spoke in the words
of disturbing silence
or punctuating meaningless sounds,
all of it choked and evoked a
formless presence bound in itself,
without any point of reference
name or connections,
all erased by some quirk
time played on the turn of events.

What remains is an eerie
absence pointing to aggregated loss
which binds the collective will to express
The ghost's relevance diminished
to mere nuisance, nothing more.
This ghost has no clue where
it belongs or where to attach
still it's a faint movement  between
the shadow of absence and a vague desire
to appear as  an apparition.
Wes Noneya Feb 2017
In hidden garden under moonlight glow, lilies gleam
Along the path of one who lingers lonely there
Emotions and thoughts; manifestation of passion’s death and dream
Shadowy glimmer of dark mist; what has and will be; beware

This apparition, in solemn presence, its own eyes lit with raging storm
Self loathing transfixed; desolate and grim, but for passion and sorrow
Thoughts waging tireless war upon emotions that will not conform
Hope springs anew a tiny flicker just the same, on the morrow

With loathing, bitter sweet the struggle arises, fought with no reserve
New seeking to bury old, to forget; imparting tears and faux strength
Thoughts seek to command emotions that will not serve
This conflict fueled with pain, sorrow, joy and hope to what length

Coming forth, they come, gaunt and ghastly sad and painted
They come, deep dark crimson wrecks of despair and betrayals grime
Faces seared with hatred fresh, haunting eyes, with vision tainted
See them, awash in red, labelled with date and time

Each night in dream or nightmare’s fitful embrace; lost love, hope, joy
They join, forming that one, but a shadow of self, for remembrance
Time and again loved and labored, they played with emotions like a toy
Tossed aside when interest lost, slaughtered anew, with indifference

~Wes Noneya
Sienna Luna Jan 2017
Quiet and gentle

this apparition

of caring about

the wind and how

it howls through

the air at top speeds.

Quiet and gentle

this space inside me

when music isn't playing

when silence calms the mind.

Quiet and gentle

this clean atmospheric

liberation front

canton of rhetoric feelings

theoretically seeming

just in its cause.u
Olga Valerevna Nov 2015
Remembering the days I didn't have you in my life
is something of a struggle and a game unto my sight
My rapid moving eyes can see until the lids are closed
and everything that happens then is etched into my bones
But what about the pen that wrote your name so many times
along the very person I am being in my mind
I want another hand to wrap its fingers in my own
to tell me I am present and will never be alone
I thought I would have heard it but perhaps I wait in vain
your silence is a phantom that once danced around my brain
you appear to disappear
When the moonlight shines at its best,
where lightning and thunder roar raucously,
And heartbeats as fast as the speed of light,
I inform of the blood-curdling apparition!

Where flesh decay,
And when your hair rises,
I inform of the phantom's run!
wraiths Oct 2015
you're starting to slip right through my fingertips like i'm some sort of apparation and i hate it i hate it hate it hate it hate it. soon the thin spiderweb of hope that i was clinging onto will snapsnapsnap so quickly and briskly that you'll forget me and i'll be left to fall and crash and burn and tumble and rot and meet my fate in hell all alone.
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