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Paras Bajaj Jun 26
when I thought it was the beginning,
you ran away thinking it was the end.
sometimes I feel like I know you so well,
sometimes you are just so hard to understand.
P.B
Ormond Oct 2018
.
Rain fell in commotions—
The birds would have none of it,
The moon bellowed in ghostly white,
Faced in the sprite, ringing indifference
Of low fading stars, trees in posted dark
Scratched the grasslands of the fallen
Firmaments and the small creatures
That are holed up in days, scurried
With the creep of night and moan
Of oceans slide, mangled clouds
Clutched the murky burn of sky
And smallish eyes everywhen
Shuddered in the frosts
Of a shuttering rose.
.
From Wikipedia:
Samhain Gaelic festival marking the end of the harvest season and the beginning of winter or the "darker half" of the year. Traditionally, it is celebrated from 31 October to 1 November, as the Celtic day began and ended at sunset. This is about halfway between the autumn equinox and the winter solstice. It is one of the four Gaelic seasonal festivals, along with Imbolc, Bealtaine and Lughnasadh. Historically, it was widely observed throughout Ireland, Scotland and the Isle of Man. Similar festivals are held at the same time of year in other Celtic lands.
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Lacey Apr 2017
Why must God make me succumb to his wishes? Making me believe that the forgery of this pen means no thing. Maybe he just wants me to see the irony. No inspiration can be brought from his message. Yet, the desolation cannot describe the isolation in my needs. You won't succeed tonight, but you'll overcome his wishes to succumb. Thus, freeing your being, if seeing is believing.
written : 2-21-17
Tamara Fraser Jan 2017
In all the time we’ve wandered,

spent landing from impossible heights;

dancing blind, in the dark, being fumbled and prodded

for feelings and requests,

the games we laugh at, wasted on self-confidence and

possession

I have much more than yours,

intoxicated on the thriving pulse of fearless flight,

we crash into opened arms,

not noticing the extent of the fall.


A wandering soul, I shall be.

Picking up sand on empty beaches,

spending time thinking of the footsteps,

surely imprinted on my trail I left behind.

You came and went.

And so you came and went.

Tumbling across my path,

like that cooling hot flush brought with salty ocean and rain.


Wandering past empty mountains,

looking over my shoulder to notice the

mortal statues I made of you,

and you,

and you,

my tended garden of people and places and things;

of darkness and light;

of scraped shells and glorious feathered wings;

of sickly love songs and hearts blazed;

of lonely nights waiting up for you,

and all the times you let me down.


Wandering alone and free,

the purple skies above offering sacred slumber.

I remain awake, watching stone eyes move

on me,

fixating on the bumps in the road,

tremors and falls in gentle dips unexpected

under my feet;

like you were.

Another came past, the smell of cut roses and

blushes minus a make-up brush;

shaking in the middle of your field of games,

playing rough and *****,

feeding ego and primal instincts,

bent backwards and underneath,

an empty canvas for marred drawing;

it was ****** while it lasted,

but I turned to stone long before

you came back on your knees.


And all the time I’ve wandered this lonely escape,

I come to wonder at all my marvels,

the things that made you fall faintly for me,

and shrines of you,

and you, and you.

Whether we were meant to collect an exhibition

of second best loves;

successive wilting romances burnt on scorching days.

Whether we were meant to learn by breaking hearts;

making cold remnants left to mildew in the past.


Whether we make do with second best,

as close to first yet farther still;

because we don’t know what best is.

We know when it tumbles down,

like a broken house,

but to see it gone is much too late.

Safer to say yes to second best,

than risk the cold wandering left for us alone.


In all the times we’ve spent wandering.

And I’m still wandering.

Empty beaches and purple skies,

long past.
The Fallen Devil Oct 2015
Sometimes its better to leave
Than holding it for long..
Because we cannot wait for
Something to happen,
Being known that will
never happen...
Hopeless waiting is
Useless waiting..
So just let it go!
Relationships are like glasses.
When it breaks,
You can paste it together!
But you cant give
The real shape back again!
So does ours!  
We've had a smooth bonding
In the past.. May be for a short time!
But what we yeilded is lotl
And I dont want those
To go in vain
Just because of your
Meaningless arguements!
If this continues, Im **** sure
The day we regret for loving each other
is not so far!!!
So just let it be.
I know Im harsh to you!
But before that harshness
Turn into hatredness, I LEAVE!
There is lot of difference between
Losing you & Hating you!
See, I choose the first!
Losing you will not change
The love however!
You or Me! Dont know who
Brought the charm between us again!
Unfortunately that does not last long!
The reason 'possessiveness , insecurity ,
Ego , stupidity or whatever!
Now it seems to be a hell! Right?
So lets just move on!
We can cherish some of
The moments we shared together
Than hating or hurting eachother!
Some people are not
meant to be together!
And we are not the exception!
SO FORGET IT! IF POSSIBLE FORGIVE ME!!!
LOVE! Yes! Love you!
Decided...
Maria Imran Apr 2015
Some people are indecisive,
some are just too indecisive.
From the choice of pen to
oh wait, pencils are better
a question about where really
are you going to write---because if you
use your new diary, you might come up with
a better idea for it later so just maybe scribble it online--
whatever you want to, that is
just, type it.
And shopping? That's the worst thing.
Cafeterias? Don't ask!
A fresh apple juice or a strawberry shake or soda or
oh wait, ice-cream? What do you want?
Um, I need time.
Blue dress, green dress, no dress? You need a dress?
Happy with your course? Life, where
are you going*?!
Ormond Nov 2014
Rain fell in commotions—
The birds would have none of it,
The moon bellowed in ghostly white,
Faced in the sprite, ringing indifference
Of low fading stars, trees in posted dark
Scratched the grasslands of the fallen
Firmaments and the small creatures
That are holed up in days, scurried
With the creep of night and moan
Of oceans slide, mangled clouds
Clutched the murky burn of sky
And smallish eyes everywhen
Shuddered in the frosts
Of a shuttering rose.
Kenneth Beasley Aug 2014
So now you're gone with happiness and independence.
I'm stuck with baggy eyes and these cliche *** romantic comedies.
From time to time I stare at clocks and think about what he had that I didn't.
I wear watches now, not bracelets.
2014 @KennyHoopla

— The End —