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Axion Prelude Jun 2014
on sacred shores, the patient await their answer. sometimes, that answer never comes.

and as we sit and wait, listening to the cool gentle breeze caressing our face, we like to think and hope that soft touch is the call we've wanted. the aching change in heart, the sound of destiny calling. we hope that once in our life, the emptiness of the room is the sound of the voices we wish and hope will call out our name.

sometimes, we know it's too late or it's too much that we're asking, but still we sit patiently, chanting songs of passionate desolation, hoping our sounds will be heard through these glass walls. fervently, we await, watching as fate passes us by, wondering what we did wrong or what we could have done to save ourselves the grief of never knowing true happiness. the faithless are always content with observing.

when the heart wishes for what's right, the weight of the world seems like nothing for the cost of romantic freedom. desperation lies cold and dead when the soul knows where it needs to go, intent on compromising naivety, showing spite for all things mediocre.

outside, the light shines bright, but inside it is always dark; and we seek warmth, forever. we await in anxiousness for the time we can feel that warmth once more. it is time to move forward.

privileged paranoia respites the remedy for cause and effect - no more
M Harris Mar 2017
I live, I respire, I function… These are possessions one doesn’t think twice of… But there is desolation where you were erstwhile.  I am consumed by it – Whole and soul.  Lines blur, melting, altering, folding… and now – I am it, and it is me. Yet ever so often, I am jolted from this half-life, and I call out. Words run their usual sequence, but someplace else along its’ way, the voice withers… and I’m back where I commenced… breathing my half-truths… finding ease in the twisted… alone – this heart song plays on unheeded… I know they see the prism and the spectral colors… they think I have it all. and I smile… holding back my streams – they’d wash away all that color they love so much…  I laugh a thousand tears, softly, in the silence that is still mine. And I learn to shelter my wounds from your half-truth. All that is felt is no longer ours; but mine… just mine. And gradually – I begin to comprehend – Fudging curve ***** doesn’t come easy. Not even in my wildest dreams…
Melisa Bernards Feb 2017
I'm suffocating.
I want to claw my way out of my skin
Not caring how ****** and torn I'd be, for I am that already
A shredded corpse disguised as whole
Mimicking the beat from a counterfeit heart.

I'm imploding.
Being pulverized by crushing defeat
Innocence vanquished and forgotten
A casualty of immense desolation.

I'm disintegrating
Vanishing from existence
Evaporating from memory
Until all that remains is.......
Beatriz M Feb 2017
The city's behind me.
I run as fast as I can
As I get into my forest
Escaping from the monsters
That are chasing me.
I look for a place to hide
At this empty, cold life
I'm one step beyond
My own salvation
And one step ahead
My fears
I hear whispers in the dark
From desolated souls
That were not able to come back
From their hiding place
That couldn't survive
The monsters in this world.
I must do that
*I must fight.
Anxiety... the bane to my existence
At the opportune time opposing my resistance.
Dragging me into an uncontrollable state of stress,
Where I stand idle, where I'm a mess.

All my insecurities resurface, and
I think that I can't handle this,
That I'm not that great after all.
That I'm not desirable in the eyes of all.

So I stand silent in desolation
In a state of isolation.
Where I wonder who would put up,
With this mishap of creation...

That happens to be me.
Seán Mac Falls Nov 2016
.
Feeding the birds in winter,
So they might come,
Friends through a window,
At home I have so much space
On empty walls, waiting
For photos, paintings
That now occupy floors,
Waiting for someone,
A golden ring from her,
But the telephone is mute
And boxes are kept and music,
A passion plays all by itself,
In stations set, programmed,
Processions of droll and cross,
Sweet undulations to bare,
Barely listened to.  

At home,
Blankets cover chairs,
In the cold that only I know,
How warm the walls seem,
Unadorned, yellow for sun
And red for mausoleum,
There's enough blue
In the sky.
Alienpoet Oct 2016
Princess 6

In the aching heart of tormented years
he holds a picture
Like scarification of a her face tattooed in his mind
Autumn leaves turn to summer rain
If he could draw her he would with sunshine
and a rainbow halo but all he has are charcoal
Black like his soul without her
If he could turn the page on his story
He'd move on
But sometimes love is desolation
and there is no consolation.
Ignatius Hosiana Sep 2016
I would go through the hurt again
if it meant having you back in my life
I would still believe your beautiful words
even after I have learnt that none of them were true
I would still smile at how perfectly  you constructed them
well aware that the joy was just a thing of the moment
because that short spell of joy was like an eternity to my soul.

I would use the same road whence our
encounter happened,
I would... I would still ask you out
without a single doubt


I would, not because I enjoy pain
not because I pleasure in my despondence
not because I prefer the past to the future
No,
It's because you lit a flame in me
that even after you extinguished our passion
still shines bright... you made me believe in myself
you gave me a friend and made me feel safe
you gave me a whole new dimension
to live my life, the only downside being
you are not here to share in the glory
of my self-discovery.
blank stares
turned to nothing
fleeting gasps
tapestry
of lost emotion
Nishank Aug 2016
Crumbled underneath shattered dreams,
that fell before they could span their wings.
Struggling for a quick last gasp of breath,
He bore the brunt of horrid sufferings.

He knew by intuition, that all was lost,
and the crucifying pain stung like hell.
He had gambled and stumbled in succession,
And before he could rise, again he fell.

Maybe ambition had driven him mad,
or maybe greed had stabbed him in the back.
Penalized for wishing and barred from hoping,
He was imperiously ****** into a ravine so black.

He had shrieked for aid as he bled,
But a shameless silence answered his yelp.
Success had made him many friends,
But in misery, he had only his shadow for help.

Convinced of his apparent invincibility,
he had jeered at predictions of his fall.
But when the fatal fist struck and strangled him,
he shivered and stood cornered against the wall.

His life got embroiled in the worst of controversies,
with luck dealing all the dreaded cards.
The public juggernaut steamrollered over him,
And his destiny broke into a thousand shards.

People stood shocked as his fortunes dipped,
and readily chronicled the tragedy of his tale.
His spectacular doom had fluttered many minds,
and his life was enveloped in a stormy gale.

Stripped of all his glory, he stood naked
at the altar of the Great Court of Deeds.
Prosecution was sharp and the judgement brisk,
and he was gheraoed by a ghetto of Satan’s steeds.

He could smell the stench of felony in the air,
as once-familiar voices called for his head.
The wretched flimsiness of human loyalties
filled his torn heart with a fierce hatred.

Even as they pitilessly led him to the gallows,
the resolution of all illusions made him blind.
And even before the darned noose had tightened,
Hopelessness had triumphed over his mind.

So, he died – a pathetic predetermined death,
punished for living rightly by the wrong rules.
Lost amidst the cruel ironies of his world,
crushed under the combined weight of fools.


More of my poems on www.mehtanishank.wordpress.com
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