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Its all about your day and night
Dying of insomnia
I'm about to use your company
Too late to come here
Old paper and live ink
Broken machine
I still play you here
But I need your silence
Dont dwell in silence
I'm a slave for this kindless world
I got cool waters in plastic
You don't need to grow but I need your scent
Without that I cant sleep
Your reply is my alarm to wake up
I'm a slave of blue screens
My hand sometimes bleed over text
Dont mind me cause I'll beg you to stay here
Until I come.
I hate it ended so suddenly
I miss the times you've made me smile
When you've made me cry
Gods, I miss your company!

Your words, like a symphony
My favourite painter
Left a crater
How I miss your company!

Your kindness like a subtlety
So selfless
Made me helpless
I do miss your company!

Now, unaccompanied
I go through life
In my back, a knife
Your company
Is lost for me!
How can I be?
Without somebody
To hold me
To sooth me
To say to me
"Don't you see?
You're the one for me!
You'll always be
Special to me!"

You go on without me
I do without you
Yes, I do
No more company!
No more you and me!
No more I love you, no more You love me!
Now it's just me

Don't know what to do
Oh, if I knew...
Don't have a clue
Life is blue...
No more me and you...
Far away, some years ago
A man sowed corn in his field
Confident, and hopeful too
Of the hearty crop he’d yield

Then birds flew in at sunset
And gobbled up many seeds
The farmer acted quickly
To provide his family’s needs

A woven net - to trap the birds
His precious seeds to preserve
He caught five geese and a stork
To get what they deserve

The stork said, “I am innocent
I’ve eaten none of your corn
Free me - I’ve done goodly deeds
Since the day that I was born”

The farmer said, “that may be so
But in this group you were caught
You receive the punishment
Of the company you’ve sought”

The same holds true for all of us
The rewards you choose to reap
Will likely be those given out
To the company you keep
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This poem was inspired by a parable on my Mom's website.  I found out while writing the poem that the story is actually an Aesop's Fable.
Amanda Kay Burke Dec 2020
My joints ache inside my body

Heart is pounding like a hammer in my chest

Veins are itching with emptiness

It is lonely without the company of chemicals to converse with my cloudy thoughts

Come home
Need you now more than ever

I am waiting for you to make me feel alright
Written 1-20-20
xandra Dec 2020
i want to stand in torrential storms and scream
until my lungs become ash and the rain has eroded the world around me
~who wants to join?
Mystic Ink Plus Nov 2020
I need you
And every
Genre: Almost Romantic
Laura M Julio S Nov 2020
I take care of It every day
moving  It around the house
and making It sit still in silly poses.
In the morning I clean the skull
with a mop
shining and shining.
I carry It from the bedroom
to the library
to the kitchen
and then I let It in the living room with all the other guests:
A lazy cat bathing in the sunbeams.
The ghost of a dog who barks at the passing times.
A renegade bird who just chirps to let know the world that there is injustices.
I think that they have long chats when I’m not there
working trying to fit.
I couldn’t say,
after all I can’t speak the language of the gone.
If I remember
remember to have lunch,
I would like to invite It to site across the table
I don’t like to eat alone
the silence tends to ferment the thoughts
and I prefer to accompany my meals with water
It’s better for the body.
In the afternoons I would sit with them in the living room
to share the coffee and some of my worries.
They listen
and that’s the only thing I would ever ask from them.
In the night when I remember
remember to sleep
I took It to the bedroom
and carefully laid down the fragile bones.
I use cotton sheets to cover It.
I also laid there,
cautious to not disturb It,
I make myself small to fit between the ribs,
and there I would wonder
how the next day it’s going to be
and when was the last time that I lived
with someone who doesn’t make me carry them around.
Sharon Talbot Nov 2020
Happiness is an empty street
And a fast car.
Happiness is a clean, cold pool
You plunge into on a hot day.
Happiness is someone in your bed
Who’s gone in the morning
If you don’t want company
Or who stays if you do.
It’s someone who is happy to read the paper
Or take a hike with you.
It’s not worrying what others think
About you and your beliefs
And the wisdom to know who counts.
Happiness is strength,
Enough to fight the world
Or luxuriate in things gone well.
Happiness is attracting and repelling
Without having to try.
Happiness is a an aching fist
And an attacker’s black eye.
Happiness can be a warm gun,
Depending who gets hit.*
Happiness is not waiting for love,
Then falling in love in seconds.
It is knowing that you are fine
With or without a vow,
Yet being able to say “yes”,
When lightning strikes
And “no” when it’s just a cloud.
Yet happiness is not being sure
And bathing in uncertainty,
Of the pleasure in mystery.
Happiness is loving, faults and all,
An intensity so focused
That you’d gladly die for the one
Who was sent by some mixture
Of sunlight and shade,
On an ordinary afternoon,
Happiness is his body in yours,
His sweat on your skin in summer,
And body heat on cold nights.
Happiness is loving a little boy
Who looks like both of you
And knowing that love can transfigure
Time, exceed itself and encompass
More than one.
Happiness is contentment
In realizing how much you’ve had
And say you’ll feel rewarded
When your random life is done.
Happiness is the legend they tell
About you when you are gone;
The feeling is theirs and maybe yours.
Happiness is knowing that, if you go too far,
That there is no heaven or hell,
Or if there is,
Then anyone can play guitar.

September 9, 2020
I was reading about the Beatles' song "Happiness is a Warm Gun" and then listened to "Anyone Can Play Guitar" by Radiohead. That reminded me of how much the traditional idea of "heaven" has always bothered me, as well as the grandiose things we expect out of life. Why are humans so given to hyperbole about life and death? This was supposed to come out as a much simpler poem, but well, there it is.
*NOTE: 1-11-21 - In light of recent violence in Washington D.C., I wanted to explain that this line pertains mainly to an article about the Beatles' song (specifically, John Lennon's comments). I believe in the right to self-defense, but in no way condone gun violence, to make political points, vent anger or for any other reason!
Steve Page Oct 2020
We met halfway
we exchanged stories
of paths trodden
and, so encouraged,
we parted,
we moved on
to complete our journey
We need each other
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