Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Surkhab Aug 2020
Why to put flowers on his dead?
When never treated him like
one in his entire lifetime...
"But I could have told you, Vincent
This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you..."
                                                                                              - Don Mclean (Vincent)
kei Aug 2020
sometimes, they say
love is blind
and then
you get left behind.
a short one
ogdiddynash Jul 2020
deaf eyes, blind ears, pens down!

two of my English Teachers,
from high school and college
from way way back when,
i requested, critiqued my poems,
cause they could, ex-teachers...

They said:
Your emails are too short,
your poems are too long,
we recommend that your
quit this, do what we say:

pens down!

Your poems are travelogues
to places in your mind, we’ve
got no interest in visiting, Egypt
and Exile, cemeteries in a privy,
time to get a new travel agency.

Your imagery, ars obscura to us,
everyone but you, despite too many
copious notes, which proves our point,
you need smile more and write less.

Just because you’ve got creases,
lines all across your face, doesn’t
mean any wisdom came with them,
nor did you listen in our classes,
we suggest, resolutely, give it a rest.
izi Jul 2020
i hate the way i tremble
even as your knee brushes against my toe,
as if a simple gesture was enough to make me fall again.

i hate the way your eyes crinkle at the corners when you laugh,
the way you talk so easily,
words gliding from your mouth
so distinguishable i can almost feel them land on my skin,
like water droplets when it is drizzling.

you are dangerous,
you with your delicate beauty
like a wash of gold upon my eyes,
like the lifting of a curtain in a dark, dusty room.

i am blinded by you.
and i hate being blind.
Bullet Jul 2020
•Blind love•
We can never tell if it’s there
We stare at the moon
Till it becomes eternal flame
We blame it on our eyes
For the time we have stained
Our memories blend in
Stories become entertainment
Our breath is then shared in mint
The galaxies become our escape
The air tamed tapes our bodies into flames
We can no longer see except for our souls that run away into the dark to find stars that then burn into beautiful light lovely blue surrounded by cupids clouds
The Night & Day
•Binds our love•
M Solav Jul 2020
If I told you to visit this moment
To look around just an instant,
Would you refuse, would you consent?
Would you see what no-else can?

If you did, how could you share?
In penumbra, light up the flair?
What if you did, what if you dared?
What if you did yet no-one cared?

Everything sees through its essence,
Anything else it may comprehend.
Here lies the Fog, a forest so dense,
Spreading across, throughout the land.

Right up in front, close to your faces,
Written in crust are a thousands promises.
And along its growth at increasing pace,
At each of your blinks a few words erase.

Now you look back, but now it's too late.
Now's what you'd purchase at any given rate.
When there's no time and where there's no fate
Nothing no longer ever has to wait.

Plunged in darkness, see that you're blind;
Even there lurks something that shines.
Here is the Way, that path you must find,
Hidden within and without any sign.

When life stretches much too far to see,
To look way further is never to be free.
When gazing below, deep down the dark sea,
Know that beyond always floats this clarity.

So here I've been asking, but I'll ask one more time:
Having been through, is there two of a kind?
When raised in this manner, no question's ever clear;
Thus poems and rhymes are allowed to end here.
Written in July 2015. Old stuff from after (or before) a buddhist retreat.


— Copyright © M. Solav —
This work may not be used in entirety or in part without the prior approval of its author. Please contact marsolav@outlook.com for usage requests. Thank you.
Michael A Duff Jul 2020
Consciousness sleeps in looking to the past, blinding now and removing tomorrow

Wake up break the mirrors that show the past

now it is the only place to truly live
Now is all there is, we can not retrieve the past or recycle it.
Maria Mitea Jul 2020
You can fool me,
I wouldn't know it,

You can hide me,
I wouldn’t see it,

You can blame me,
I wouldn’t hear it,

You can hurt me,
I wouldn’t know it,

You can love me,
I can not fool you,
Bullet Jul 2020
My pen is bending
•                              •
Should
I
Write
•             •             •
My eyes are blind
•                             •
Should
I
Drive
•             •            •
When my lights dim
The clips break

I’m struggling  
Too hold everything together

My sky view shows a pilot twist
The sunset spirals while my flight dies

I see the windshield break
But I believe a blank canvas can still blink

I’m suffering
Too keep my passion from being passed on
•    •
•    •
•    •
•    •
•    •
•    •
•    •
•    •
•     •
•       •
•        •
•          •
•            •
•               •
•                  •
•                     •
•                         •
•                              •
•                             ­      •
•                                        •
•                   ­                          •
•                                                  •
•         ­                                               •
• The break down on the dead end •
• My pen scribbles life into existence •
•The one way spilts my paper into gray•
•My drive collided with my sight of color•
•                                                         ­              •
•                                                              ­       •
•                                                               ­  •
•                                                            •
•­                                                      •
•        ­                                      •
•                        ­               •
•                               •
•                       •
•                 •
•           •
•     •
• •
••

The love of life
Drifts away
While my
Bullets create
Turns of O-pens
Circling back around
Too the plot of sunrises
The light begins a new trip
The wind brings back the shattered pieces
The glass is finally made to be seen through
And I start to see outside the review
Next page