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solfang Dec 2019
let me pause
these daydreams,
and wake up to a reality
where it was never as it seems,
and you were never there to begin
the truth hits you harder when you realise these feelings should never exist in the first place.
A Simillacrum Oct 2018
I talk a lot about motion,
like I know a thing of progress.
Drop of water in the ocean.
Beautiful ripples of tragedy,
of comedy.

Nothing to it,
that's what we know.
We all know
the words and we go:

Tear into space,
ISO: a meaning higher than
all the lies we spin, just to gravitate.

I talk a lot about language,
communication's importance.
Did you know I only know one?
So, *******, I'm an *******.

Nothing to it,
that's what we know.
world depressives, go:

Tear into space,
ISO: a meaning higher than
all the lies we spin, just to gravitate.

We all go
to return
to one place.

We all shoot the farthest we've ever shot,
just to realize we're separate by margins
drawn by logos and emotion --
nothing to come will be made of much
but those two things, because
escape would be improbable.

Hope White Jun 2018
It's taking everything I’ve ever had,
not to crawl into the crevice between your arm and hip.
I want seep inside of you
and live with you,
like the parasite I am.

I’ve bribed to God to make you love me,
And bargained away my future sins.

I want to forget the golden retriever
You took on walks longer than our love-making,
And the way your body writhed beneath my touch
Like a body bracing for a car-crash,
And how with every kiss
I could feel your rigor mortis set in.

I want to read you poems about Kurt Cobain,
While we do ******* at midnight in Golden Gate Park.
And watch you have a visceral reaction
To the memories
Of the times you tasted someone else’s skin.

Instead I’ll
dye my hair black,
Cancel all my credit cards,
And run away to Chicago
to Cheapen myself
and reek of Popov
In a dive bar next to the railroad,
That no one’s heard of
so you can tell strangers
in the subway
and at the New Year’s party,
(at which you’ll meet  your wife)
how much I’ve always meant to you
and how
You will always wonder what happened to me
(Even though
 you won't.)
Seazy Inkwell Mar 2018
Isn’t it strange
That the ones who inspire me
Love not poetry.

So shrug when I weave my rhymes,
So nod to sleep as my words chimes,
To them, words are soundless mayhems.

Why not think in sensible terms,
The bridges, the trains, and the spaceship to the moon,
It wasn’t art in the living things,
It’s the mechanism of human beings.

Heed this then.

Metal gears shall fray,
Numbers may betray
Theories rust away before eyes,
The Circle turns to its tail and dies.

Then tangent to my heart,
Where statistics cannot lie,
There once was a me
And once was a you.
I used to destroy my arts/poems, thinking since I made them I can do anything to them as I please. But the art of mine took a life of their own, destroying them is like throttle the life out of some fragile creatures. The guilt hunts me.
I shouldn't buy into the idea that art is useless. This is to eulogize my lost art pieces and lost times.
Isabel Mar 2018
One day everything was fine,
The next you were gone.

You didn't come anymore,
You didn't talk anymore,
You didn't even text back anymore.

****, you were gone in a blink of an eye.
No warning,
No signs,
No nothing.
You just disappeared.

I guess one could say it was gradual,
But when something happens,
Does it really feel like that?

I don't know what to do anymore.
We're all left hanging on a thin rope
Waiting for your next move,
A sign,
Something to lead us all out of this misery you've brought us into.

The worst part
Is that it happened before,
Then why, oh why did we fail to see it again?

For all we know we could have stopped it,
but here we are back to base one.
Staring at your helpless battle,
Staring at it behind a glass door,
That is locking us out,
preventing us from helping you fight that battle.
sunprincess Mar 2018
News from the artic,
When 3 polar bears appear
Walrus disappear
a wand of disappearances
operate in our very
who is the conductor
of its vanishing

where once our fellow
poets did pleasantly
now the wicked wand
has eradicated their

numerous blank spaces
symbolize the conductor's
employing a wand which
has emptied the

black the hour
black the day
a black instrument
whisking them all too
suddenly away
a wand so dark
of intent
wanting to wane
our writers tent

the subtracting conductor
will be planning future
so be mindful of its
wand's unsolicited
Up until three days ago, poet Rye Sing was actively contributing and commenting on the Hello Poetry site.  I find it most strange that he/she has just disappeared into thin air.
sweet mercy Apr 2017
what do I know about the universe?
It's wide, It seems like eternity
And when I think about it,
I dig upon its wholeness and get lost

But it's a trap
No matter how I wanted to get out,
I'm trapped.
It feels like there's no escaping the chaos
And almost feel like I'm drowning
Along with the stars, through out the galaxies

Yet I seek redemption
So I search for a multiverse there is
That maybe away from all these familiarity
I'd witness a grand diversion,
be somewhere and claim beautiful ignorance,
But without knowing anything about it, is reaching
the top and purest of nirvana.
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