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Loosing gravity, I hovered above,
The fields and woods, hills and dales,
Egrets and cranes sensing  a competetor
Near gave a chase, that was nice though.

'Just a metaphor that means a search
For beauty and lasting meaning' I heard,
Who said it; unknown commentator viewing
Every movement, each moment, of universe!

What a mystery, I thought for a moment,
Not the 'I' before, but one that is aggragated,
Above the narrow limits of me,my and mine,
The cranes and herons keeping me company
Had bid goodbye, I saw palms wave  hands.

Feeling comfortable with the new fecility
I flew high easy, couldn't find where I end
And the multiverse of wonders takes me over
"Aĺl I thought of me was as a visitor to this
Island of time and space, part of a whole,
But I have  my sweetheart close to my heart
Near and dear, friends all over the world
Many of us never met but neighbours of
My heart, I hear them from afar and their
Heartbeat I felt mine; was an adventure this,
Love prompted, a lilting poem  in progress,
Now  a flow with the wind circling universe
I am ecstacy itself, time is the essence in this
Tale, told  by many eyes" whispered I to
My invisible companions, winging with me.

And loomed large in my being my beloved
Moon with whom I fell madly in love in an
Age of unreason and wild infatuation.
She felt compelled to hold me close to her
***** and kissed my sweaty brows gently
A moment of oblivion, now I am one with
The sprit of universe, in thought and deed
When being becomes nothingness, bliss!

The starry nights, embellished in darkness
And light  is my domain till eternity, I have
No loss or gain, what 'I was' cherished is not
Taken from me a bit, in this wingless flight

The stars, a billions lighted souls dancing
In time line far near and eternal began
To hum a celestial tune that becomes all,
That makes the universe, it moves in waves
Holds all together with love and compassion
All the rest are just tales,elements create
You and I, all the rest are myths illusory
Apparition of one and only music eternal.
Iléana Amara May 16
played our song one more time,
fell into a deep sleep,
then dreamt of you,
my sweetest apparition
you held my hand,
you pulled me close,
you kissed my lips,
we had coffee and watched the waves,
by the shores, our feet were enslaved
sweet, sweet apparition
you felt so real,
that you broke my heart when I woke up.

IA
Peter Farsje Mar 31
After the funeral
back at the house,
adults gathered talking
in hushed platitudes.

While wandering the house
I looked out the window.
There she was, on the front lawn
by the blue hydrangea.

Rising from the ground
like an apparition...

GRANDMA!

She is the last person
I know
who went to heaven.

(little Peter, age 6)
Michael King Mar 11
Each note played. A dirge, flickering
luminous above my haunted apparition,
the wight told of in tales yet to come.

A mist travels low tonight in the tombs.
It holds the grass in stasis, like a frigid
spirit, bitter and rampant.

Alas my dear! Too young. Too bold. Too
naive, and yet... wisdom pours from your
veins in rivulets of silver tongues.

And I, standing by unseen in the barrows,
unable to mourn, unable to bear witness
to your fall from this pale earth... I cry.
A shattering sound of heartache and loss
to make even old wives quiver in their
tales.

Ah, my love. My heart. My warmth.

Visit me not, I beg. Do not grieve for me.

Remember the words written on my
tomb. Recall what I told you. These words...

'The wanderer wanders. He waits ahead'.
KM Hanslik Feb 9
He was only half a man. Twisted, trembling, foreign. Fervishly staving off the steel claws in his throat, the hot iron pressed against his skull. On one hand, systematic, deliberate, concise. Fingertips tracing a cheek. Water cupped precariously in the palm. On the other, advantageous, sporadic, feral. Owing and owning zero. A dark path through the forest under the new moon. Sticks snapping under your feet. The hair on the back of your neck standing up. Driving too fast over ice on bald tires.

He lived in a shadow, in the breath of wind through oak limbs. In the rustle of grass your feet would tread through the field out back. He lived in between the sun and the clouds, in the purple prints tucked underneath your scarf, the lump that would always catch in your throat after a long day.

He was only half real, half apparition. In and out of silence, wings always half folded. Never alone long enough to feel comfortable. Never in one place long enough to call it home.
Pt. 1...
M e l l o Jul 2019
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.
lunademiere May 2019
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.
neth jones Jan 2019
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

Finally
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.
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