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mark soltero Dec 2020
look up at space
the blank void
of everything
larger than any of you and i
leads us to realize
that everything slips away eventually
blank and black voids reside within you and i
only can we unlock what’s true
once we depart
old willow Dec 2020
From your eyes to the tip of my hair,
In a dusk filled with lantern;
There I sit.
Who knows, who seen, who can, who for.
Many times waking up from my dreams,
the world is not what it seems.
NAL Jul 2020
"We cannot piggyback other people
throughout our own life,
they'll break your back and leave
with their's intact."

N.A.L
[draft] an old ex of mine resurfaced and wrote this for me. I asked permission to share it but he told me to keep it as my own, so thank you. I'm proud of you for going to rehab and I am proud you changed yourself for this girl, she is oh-so lucky to have someone who would change his bad habits because not many do so. Even if it wasn't for me and even if it was never going to be me and you, in the end- I am happy you still decided to involve me in your life one last time. Live forever in youth with your lady.
William Marr Jul 2020
you wave your hand
without glancing back
walk towards the horizon
becoming a tiny dot
and disappear

with a heavy heart I turn around
yet find you right there

by my side
Dante Rocío Jun 2020
It hurts to end a book,
It hurts to end our story.
To know it was just a glimpse,
Soon nothing short of an eternal memory
Embedded, anything but faded

It hurts to leave you by,
To detach myself from you
Knowing my departure’s to be now or never,
For any other encounter shall be a timeless pain.
Knowing already, with you unaware,
Your journey’s destiny,
What came to be, comes and what will come,
Perish or last.

Like a mother, or a father, or a heavenly angel,
I see you grow, I see you change
And dance and play with the dangerous and unknown fate.
Then I can’t help but notice as melancholy,
So great that sorrowful,
Starts simmering in my chest
When I finally come to my senses to, in fact, realise
That with every new difference, every new feeling, thought and day
You drift further and further away
Like the dearest ship you loved with all your might,
With me, surprisingly, sailing away,
With the sense of excitement and fear too,
Together into the Unknown

When we arrive at our last harbour,
Despite our battle with merciless time,
At the last droplets of the quill’s ink staining those rusty pages,
I acknowledge the inevitable finale.
Though my mind stands tall, my heart crumbles
Not wishing to leave,
To untie the bond with the one,
Who loved the same world of dreams,
Audacity and passion,
The one and only who knew and believed in my vision,
Ideals as I
And never returned to the chains on his knees

With sobs racking my body and fiery protests in my stomach
I give you my last kiss, bidding goodbye,
As if death was making us part.
It’s been my greatest honour and pleasure to accompany your every step.
To look back with aching heart on your glorious days,
To see every dark corner of your puzzling past...

To experience this mystery being life as truly one entity.

I mourn over this moment,
Aware of the cruel ticking of the clock that came to an end
And returning no more to us,
As every other return shall leave a bitter taste in the mouth,
Overwhelming with my conscience of your final chapter on every step:
With you already gone
Lingering in the memories of the pages,
Invincible to time yet aware of it no more,
Unaware of any other moment than “now” and “here”

It hurts to close a book.

It hurts to end a story.

Of us ceasing to be,
Of us ceasing to speak.
As no other tale shall replace soon what we bore,
I bid my “Farwell”,
Leaving another piece of my being in you
For an eternity.

With these final breaths I pay my tribute to you,
For what you were, gave, did,
Took, created and left.
To James Fry, a barefoot sailor of the seven seas.
The consort of the oceans and the seas.
The audacious, brave and challenging kid.
The man who was courageous enough to live,
On his own terms, never bent to any mortal,
Never bound to the earth nor dull reality.

Wish you favourable winds in the sails of The Morning Star.
May you end your days with the same greatness you lived and were destined for.
5 di dicembre 2019.
Un omaggio a “La Vera Storia del Capitano Uncino” da Pierdomenico Baccalario.
Le ringrazio moltissimo per questa avventura e per guidarmi verso le lacrime del Cuore. Per le nostre lettere. Per il mio primo poema, questo.
Che bello.
old willow May 2020
Sigh. All things part.
Friends, where are they now?
Returning to eastern stream,
My turtle friend has long departed life.
Strolling the street,
My friend had become a craftsman.
Back in the capital,
My friend had become a merchant.
Standing here where it all began,
I can only watch their path split apart.
Enigmatic Apr 2020
Her trust in you is as good as an empty tank headed south
She won't use the rearview mirror headed far from you
What she leaves behind remains no concern to her burnt out heart
Eyes on the first exit out of here
The highway is her only vision, burying your bones
This is her farewell
Passion Apr 2020
She came in the dark one night
Her figure was splendid
Her curves majestic
Her body was scarcely clad
And one look one knew she was bad
But I am young and have no care for reason
I joined her in the bed
First kissing her head
But as you may have guessed where that led
We were soon filled with passion
Both trembling and moaning
But all night we were together
until morning no one would sever
Us from each other
But when we awoke I did not endeavor
To stay her departure
For she had her life and I had...
Well I didn't
But I knew it wasn't forever
So I let her leave
But as I know she will not remember
Her one-night lover back in December
Leigh Everhart Mar 2020
"'I am half-sick of shadows,' said the Lady of Shalott."
-Lord Alfred Tennyson
…but half of her bends towards them,
these whispered tableaus, her spine tilting backward.
She carefully hordes them
like granules of opal. Her hands become lacquered
in half-dreams and dyes,
and her tapestry spins into colors so rich
even she is surprised
that her fingers have laced every cross, every stitch.
She is sick of half-shadows;
she wants the thick darkness to drown her whole essence.
These sparkles and dayglows
will stir her to madness in milky-white crescents,
and she will sink into nothing
without any name on the heirlooms she weaves;
She will fade into nothing,
and no shadows will weep on the day that she leaves.
that line in Lady of Shalott always stirred something in me; I suppose this is my attempt at a tribute
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