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Silencer Mar 2016
Then came the day
Our souls detached, forever to stay away...

Whether your spirit has awoken from dreaming
Elevated to new levels surpassing the ceiling

          Never forget me
          Wherever you may go
          Wherever you may be
          Never forget me

If there is a window through which you may be able to see
Show me the way so that I may be free
Take me with you in ease
So that we may come together
United in peace

Celebrating the wonders we've had and have yet to discover
Letting anyone not, break, the bond we share for eachother...
For our spirits sparked, the greatest combustion of fires
Emma Hill Feb 2016
Magical, ethereal
A dark angel tip toeing on heart strings and violins
Smoke and mist and vapor dancing something ancient and secretive
A siren on the shore and a mermaid at the depths
Darkness and light incarnate
Effervescent, eternal
A black hole imploding, a star death
Beautiful and mysterious
Infinite, enticing, intimidating.
Perfection to the core, perfection in and outward
Written about bria, the embodiment of black girl magic. Of beauty. Dark, light. Everything
Gaby Lemin Nov 2015
in high places.

Roof top terraces.
The Eiffel Tower,

down as if
I am God.
Or just a crow?

and looking
like art. Poised
to be observed.
Hang me.

In a gallery.

through mud and roots.
just to be higher.

Or I'll lean
over a balcony
and try
not to
Blind Aesthetic Oct 2015
Seeing things out of focus
Distorted views
Shadows on shadows
On walls that don't exist
The confines of the mind.
Tunnel vision
Through open fields
Blind to the wonders
That surround ones self
Happiness is
You're only lost
If others pave your road for you
Sounds of life
The echoes of death
Collections of thoughts
Meanings morphing
Losing and growing
Through individuals
Molding and defining
Based on the past
Events those of which
Are not shared
Where does the shallow end
How far do we go
Before something
Becomes more than skin deep
Walking backwards
Eyes closed
Turning around
Only to see
If the destination
Has been reached
Not knowing
The destination is
Scenic routes
No entry point
Mental landscapes
Lost in a shroud
Of doubt
Scent of rain with clear
Incomplete works of art
Eyes closed
Mind open for business
A collection of lost puzzle pieces
Incoherent prose
The glass is either half empty
Or half full
Depending on the contents
Striving for more
Is the nature of everything.
Stagnant pools of empty thoughts
Time wasted
Following refractions of light
The abscence of light
Seeing only what others want
The future
What I chose to hand it
Brian T Baker Sep 2015
Not an entirely reliable structure
No years of cultivated security
But I can tuck my life neatly inside
Almost any opportunity.

Waited for years.
I made my move
Two backpacks
And one suitcase

Surreal is all
I’ve felt so far
Aside from lost
In love and why.

Ask yourself a question
Without immediately
Volunteering the answer.

If you know enough to ask
Then you should know
That you don’t really know.
Seattle, WA.  It's about time I stay honest and unsure of myself.
SøułSurvivør Jul 2015



(c) 7/9/2015
time is very relative

Dr zik Jun 2015
When words are silent
You are with me
When words will be silent
You might be with me
How can I feel be alone!
ZIK Poetry
Mike Essig Apr 2015
and there comes that moment call it the first adult moment at 17 from heartbreak or at 20 fighting a lost war when the realization of emptiness attends you and you know in your testicles or ovaries that god is deaf chaos rules eternally the universe stands indifferent and you are but a carbuncle on the cosmos' *** alone and forever alone and that moment may be debilitating or delightful enslaving or freeing and your life is launched upon a trajectory that you can never escape it is a moment of depression or bliss depending on your malleable personality and temperament and you will never ever be the same again...
Nicole Bonomi Mar 2015
I told him, "darling you move me but my heart is in the Mediterranean". And he answered, "so is mine"...

Transcendence is before you should you choose to take a swim.
Into your deep blue you dive and all that is within.

Referred to as my subconscious so you may understand me clear.
But there’s nothing very simple about the message I’m sending here.

The colour of your blood, the liquid through your veins,
is really just a pathway to the place that feels your pains.

The heart is an ocean but within it there’s a sun, submerged beneath the ocean, and all that is but one.
Taylor Kendra Jan 2015
My thanks to the man who tasted
cyanide and voiced his last Eureka.
To the man who saw dragons
to be slayed with pen and sword
in windmills.
To the Danish Prince who said
“What a piece of work is man.”
Well, man’s a piece of work alright.

Did you ever think about how
men wear their ovaries on the outside?
Or how you can always win arguments with yourself
in the shower?
My boyfriend traces the edge
of my chewed nails as he asks
me what I am thinking about.

I’m thinking about the consistency of jellyfish
and how it compares to human brains
and the taste of nectarines, overripened
drawing fruitflies to picnic tables.
Maybe I see colors differently
and will never know that my blues
are only a midnight shadow of what they
could be and if I’ve never truly seen the color red.

And how after nineteen years
I still can’t tell if I’m a good person
or just faking really well.
And if that Chinese Emperor
who strapped rockets to his thrown
to find dragons
ever found any.
Did the chicken getting crushed while crossing
the road get him to the other side.
If I died young, could I motivate people
to be nicer to each other?
When did my grandmother die
and when can I ask my mother without her
crying?  There was a little girls skeleton
found next to her donkey in the ancient ruins
of an earthquake. There were several
different species of human alive at the same time
and my favorite color isn’t really blue
And I’m really glad I couldn’t ****
myself when I was 13 because I tasted
my first plum last week.  AND FOR THE LOVE
My happy moments will always outweigh the bad
And are my ***** uneven because
when I look down—
What are you thinking about?
Almonds.  They
taste like cyanide.
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