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Michael R Burch Apr 2020
by Michael R. Burch

There is a small cleanness about her,
as if she has always just been washed,
and there is a dull obedience to convention
in her accommodating slenderness
as she feints at her salad.

She has never heard of Faust, or Frost,
and she is unlikely to have been seen
rummaging through bookstores
for mementos of others
more difficult to name.

She might imagine “poetry”
to be something in common between us,
as we write, bridging the expanse
between convention and something . . .
something the world calls “art”
for want of a better word.

At night I scream
at the conventions of both our worlds,
at the distances between words
and their objects: distances
come lately between us,
like a clean break.

Published by Verse Libre, Triplopia, Lone Stars. Keywords/Tags: distance, distances, convention, books, bookstores, art, literature, poetry, chasm, abyss, divide, Faust, Frost, clean break
ALEX Nov 2018
— written on jul. 17, 2018

Green— you walked kinda fast to reach the other side.
A lot of people beside you were doing the same, but it was only you whom I can see.

Red— I stopped. I stopped because I remembered the way my muscle felt when I saw your face from a distance. It was a short pause followed by the racing of my heart.

Yellow— no, it’s not that Coldplay song. Ready. Just by seeing your face, I could tell I was ready for it. Ready for your touch, your kiss, and your love.

It was a swift turn. The times of trips on the road as you held my hand and stir the wheel on the other. The moments we sang one song and felt like this would never end.

And those are memories to be cherished.

Gone are the days we felt no distance in between. But remember this darling, we may be far apart but our hearts lie within short distances.
ok this poem is bad im sorry :(
دema flutter Dec 2018
I wish I could
stop the distances from growing,
make my mind reside back in my body,
turn reality into a dream so it could hurt less,
feel better when I cry,
erase the borders between us so we become one,
dry the oceans so I could cross them,
fill them again with my tears
and maybe jump in,
test how deep the damage in my mind,
distance myself from crying again
and reside in a dream.
Don Bouchard Mar 2017
What are the changes of five years' tugging and pulling
On your mind, your face, your frame?
I have seen the years' etchings on my own face,
Felt the downward pull, the weight of years,
Seen wrinkles that had never been appear.

What thoughts you must have had in five years' time,
I cannot really know, but I have tried, and I have cried
The long nights away, and the days have lingered on,
And I have missed your serious face, and your laughing eyes,
And your fire. Oh, I have grown chill without your fire!

I know the depths to which I have plumbed, sounding answers,
But answers never seem to come, and the plumb returns dry,
When I wind it back to my weary, waiting heart.
Though my hopes drop silently into depths like falling stone,
No splash rewards my falling heart to tell me I am not alone.

So, birthdays come and go, and though we, both of us, grow old,
Still I have hope to spend, and at least a falling stone moves on,
And nothing ever really stops, so I hope I hope on.
If you read these words some day, know my love won't go away,
That in every way I long to hear your voice, to see your face.

Love always,

Maria Imran Mar 2017
You remind me of him and it frustrates, angers, and annoys me.
But most of all it makes me afraid - afraid to the pit of my stomach
I can already feel the sharp edges of that knife you are about to plunge at me
I can already hear myself sobbing in the middle of the night, and during odd sun hours
I can already see myself hushing myself up, to ask the air around me to kindly be more benevolent
Let me breathe
I want to live, I know right now, but then I would only want to die.
And I want to stay brave, right now I can say this, but then... I don't know
I don't like envisioning myself so crippled.
Maria Imran Jan 2017
I don't know if it is the right thing to do
But I miss you.
It's not even optional, though.
Maria Imran Jan 2017
times like these
when everything around you asks
for a step forward. up. come... believe.

and all you want to do is go back, back, back to where your heart pulls
where doubts live
but with the safety of your undeniable love.
Maria Imran Aug 2016
Somedays we are all the same: silent spectators of our own lost states.
Missing the exact pieces we were supposed to let go off, long ago!
Trying again, and then not trying, and trying again to reach at least somewhere.

Trying again and then not trying.
Somewhere, perhaps someday.
Maria Imran Jul 2016
Do you really think I care?—The purple blanket of night
drops ever so regally, meticulous its stance
over every dark heart you've created onto this very vulnerable skin
every single time
scars hide, and so does light—Do you really think I pine - and only pine - always when you leave?
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