Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
𝕀 𝕞𝕖𝕝𝕥 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕔𝕒𝕖𝕤𝕚𝕦𝕞 𝕨𝕙𝕖𝕟 𝕀'𝕞 𝕚𝕟 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕒𝕣𝕞𝕤..
𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕀'𝕞 𝕡𝕣𝕖𝕔𝕚𝕠𝕦𝕤 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕘𝕠𝕝𝕕 𝕨𝕙𝕖𝕟 𝕀'𝕞 𝕚𝕟 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕥..
Nat Lipstadt Oct 2019
an au revoir here penned,
man on a cliff doing a spring, fall over cleaning

a few rusty drafts still needy for completely
but you know times up when tide rushing out
and on your leg is a big red rash that wasn’t there
when you waded in a few minutes earlier

tastes changes, like seasonal entrees on a restaurant menu,
seasons come and go, reappearing, but last years dish,
out of style, except for the occasional recalling

the body and the work must together concert,
poetry like a lifetime of lovers, you leave them behind
for loving them too well, using up the verses left inside,
then comes the time when love dries up and the words concomitant

the nighttime scraps will still be kept in that sewing box,
that storage space rented on a 99 year lease
but now for my eyes lonely only, this nub is stubbed,
this last one, at last, succinct

au revoir mes amis
Liz Alvarez Caba Aug 2019
I had to learn eventually
Someone else makes you smile
Someone else occupies your mind
Someone else holds you up
I have to realize what we had was literally nothing
Compared to her now
I hope that smile is permenant till your last days here
Wrinkly, old, wise and jubilant
Warm in your bed
Nothing but best wishes truly

-from the girl you called your wonderwall to maybe your unicorn to now no one
Au revoir
Ill doubt he will ever see this, let alone know im on here since he is too, but I sure do hope but good luck and thank you for giving me your precioys time. With someone and alone, I always thought of you. Will always, till my next lifetime.
Hunter Green Nov 2018
At the pinnacles of right and wrong, where life is changed and paths are drawn,
When your thoughts are surrounded by the hardness of stone,
And intertwined with small traces of gold,
Don’t lay on the rock and feel the cold,
Burn away all that traps and treasure the gold.
Those small shining pieces are what holds the truth,
The solid fixtures of wisdom and proof,
The only part that may bring you through,
In the darkness and chaos of all the paths you drew.
Aa Harvey Apr 2018
Remember Me.

Lay me down on a bed of roses,
For my heart has ceased to beat.
My mind shall no longer wander to and fro,
For I must go to my eternal sleep.

If I succeeded in anything,
Then praise the Heaven’s above.
For I was just a mortal man,
In search of his true love.

If I triumphed and barriers overcame,
Then speak of me with pride, for I was just another name.
Another one who died and if I managed to affect your heart,
In the years you had known me;
Then cry for me as I depart,
But never weep because without me you are lonely.
For I am with you, always my friend,
So say see you later, not goodbye at the end.

For it is only a matter of time,
Before we meet again
And then once again you shall have me.
So fight your way through all the pain.

Escape from mourning and live life free,
For every night a hero must fall
And tonight my love, I was chosen to be,
Taken to a higher plateau, way above this world;
To rest in peace, alongside God.

In Heaven I shall wait for you
And once again we shall be reunited.
For love conquers any distance,
That life and death may hold between us.

(C)2013 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
zahra Mar 2018
often written
is a condition
they call it
the “hanahaki” disease

the details are
that you shall fall in love
it shall be unrequited
and you shall cough up flowers
until you die

i had always wondered
why i never caught
the coughing flower disease

not that i
wanted to die, of course
it’s just

i thought my feelings for you
were stronger than any wind
wider than any land
deeper than any ocean
and my dear
it was a fact
that you did not love me back
not the way i thought
i wanted you to

time passed
and i came to realise
the reason my love for you
did not **** me
was not because it wasn’t strong enough

the reason i had not died
death my the flowers growing in my lungs
is because my love for you was not “real”
because you were not “real”
not really

you were an idol
on the other side of the screen
and no matter how much i supported you
adored you
loved you

we would never be anything more
than an idol
smiling for a living
and a fan
whose smile you saved

and deep in my heart
perhaps, that, i already knew

if i were to cough up flowers
stained with one-sided love
it would be a rose
made of plastic
not “real”
not really
but it would last forever

just like the love
between you
and me
(it wasn’t real to everyone else,
but it was still “real”, in a sense, to me
after all,
who said that romantic love
was the only “real” kind of love?)
Samuel Nov 2017
She was met on the battlefield,
The blood soaked streets
Of some Outer Rim world
At war with itself.

Tall, dour, resolute,
Wholly dedicated to the cause.
For clan loyalties and him,
If not for her own joy.

You were there,
An outsider with a job.
A name and a face to claim,
To buy your meals with blood.

His name was the one,
The leader of her clan,
Cruel man and a revolutionary.
Neither mattered to you.

There were too many,
Too many like her.
Scattered family
Clinging to hope and life.

You shot it down
Quite literally
And she raged,
The most of them all.

The job done you could’ve left,
Callously jumping offworld
With a body bagged
And credits to claim.

You left lives in disarray though,
Throwing more fuel in the fire,
Stoking even greater hates
And revealing dark plots.

A warrior’s name was tarnished
By the truth
And a bolt to the brain,
Courtesy of you.

Strained ties led to mutiny,
Murderously so against her
Who was always faithful,
Right to the very end.

Her life was bought by your hand
Just as it was ended by it,
And she loathed you for this.
Rightly so, you think.

You bought another’s too,
A few lives in fact,
And for that she thanked you.
For that, you stayed.

Part of a war
Which was never yours
You fulfilled your obligation,
Your debt to her.

Still she hated you
As you stood in the field
Scorched and hopeless,
So many you saved dead.

The battle was won
But at the cost of clan ties.
The hardliners never approved of her,
But she craved their trust.

Foreigner or not wasn’t a concern
Not to you,
Nor should it have to them.
That’s just tradition.

So you extended a hand,
A place to stay,
The only recompense you had to give,
And a cold comfort at that.

But she took it,
Not calling you sister just yet.
Where else had she to run?
She, the outcast, soulless and hated.

That was the fate of the faithful
Who kept to him truly.
For he was a chief no longer,
Just a villain in a blood war.

It was your fate too,
The destroyer of all,
Family ties and lives,
To pick her back up.
Samuel Nov 2017
What is honor really?
There are Six Acts
Neatly laid out
And clear as day,
But what is life really?

He ran away,
Tossing his soul to the floor
To take up their mantle.
The Jedi’s,
But not lightly.

You were thrown
In a rage,
Neck almost snapped.
A shock,
But not unprovoked.

What is honor really?
Is it the Third Act?
To protect family,
Or maybe the Fifth
Of clan wellbeing?

You stayed behind
Rejecting the Order outright
To maintain the Lessons.
Your father’s,
And so resolutely.

He was shot.
Your father ran out
To cover a mistake.
And so fatal.

What is honor really?
Is it the First Act?
Taking up arms
And living martially,
Mistakes or no?

You say it is him,
Your soulless brother
Wearing armor of his own.
He says it is you,
The soul-filled sister
Carrying all her guilt.
Samuel Nov 2017
The blade’s light
Lifting’s no feat
Fiery sword cutting
Carving through transparisteel
Steady hand needed
Never cutting fatally
For the Code.

The blade’s heavy
Hard to swing
Swearing while hefting
Till it falls
Filling the room red
Retching, staring, wondering
Warping the Code.
Samuel Nov 2017
There are seven you know.
Seven hues,
Bright with meaning.

Grey and red,
Colors of grief,
Mourning and remembrance both.
A cry and an exaltation.

Black and gold,
Colors of truth.
A blade in hand,
Seeking justice and vengeance.

Green and blue,
Colors of ethic,
Steadfast in one’s work
Mind on responsibility and consistency.

And then there is orange,
Shereshoy, you call it
You Mando’ad
Reveling in life on death’s edge.

There are seven you know
Yet none fit
And so you pick your own
A hue for you and you alone.
You pick white.

Stark, harsh white
Clear, visible, no means to hide
Nor intent.
White of ivory,
Of the gleam of Mando iron,
The white of bones,
Old, picked clean
Reminder of life
White so bright, brilliant
Burning eyes of the dying
Leading them back home
Back to the Manda
Skills in hand.

You pick white.
White for death,
Of death.

You are white.
White for death,
Of death.

Ja’haili, ner Buir.
Ja’haili ner oya’kare.
Kar’tayli ni ijaati gar bajur.
Next page