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Max Neumann May 2020
A tap on my left shoulder
I am roused from my sleep
I turn and see my daughter
Who's been dead 3 years last week

She pulls me from my slumber
Humming broken lullabies
"Where're we going, dear?"
"Hush, it's a surprise"

She brings me to the subway
Down abandoned tracks
Graffitied walls like bathroom stalls
It's too late to turn back

She stops me in a room
Where people stand in wait
Silence presses in on the ceiling
Words that can't escape

My daughter sits on the tracks
And beckons me to as well
The people engrave words on brick
Like they're under a sort of spell

"Watch as it spreads"
She said in a hushed tone
I was about to ask what she meant
But then I felt it in my bones

The silence of the elders
Crashed through my throat and lungs
I felt the air thicken
Acid burned my tongue

Darkness pressed around me
A suffocating mass
I could not make a noise
She laid me on the tracks

It was all dimly familiar
The rumble without noise
The ghosts gathered around me
It was time to make a choice

Fools, I tried to say
But I choked on my own air
A shudder swept my body
I closed my eyes in prayer

I woke up in my bed
Sore from head to toe
Shaking from the recollection
Of what happened so long ago
I am really touched by this poem written by a poet from allpoetry. Asked to repost it and was given permission. Thank you, E.G. Simmons.

Have not read something like this in a long time.

All best and much love
Mikey
Andrew Mancini Apr 2020
Emotions boom
like unhinged stereo equipment
                                      pushing gusts of wind waves through the room, disturbing epic stillness,
inciting wicked rage that ricochets;
                                             fingers scrape my face,
                                             figures lose their shape as vision fades,
pain transforms to passion;
                             two broken hearts took each other captive.
White Shadow Nov 2019
I hear voices,
Sounds are striking the inner walls of my head.
Alot is going in my life,
But I'm happy to wait.
I'm happy to wait,
For the things to be okay again.
My mind needs some peace,
I wanna throw out the pieces that are piercing it.
I wanna shut the voices up that I hear,
But I'm afraid to dare.
I'm afraid of being lost in this vast world,
That is full of fake people with fakeness in everything.
CasiDia Oct 2019
Today, I am awake
Reminding myself how to be gentle
It’s a process, it takes time
Remembering how to co-create

Yesterday, I did not stir
I could barely even function
Perturbed, or disturbed it seemed
I never thought I would begin

In those days, all was still
Even the ghosts dare not speak
But even still, my house was warm
Every book held its own space

Back then, the thunder shook
And cracks became unglued
But slowly, a light poured in
Giving hope for what should have been

Now, the words come slowly
However they do not hesitate
To fill my aching heart with wonder
Heavily, a stone set into place

Today, I am noticing
Familiars that have always been
So much older than any tome
Faith works miracles out of sight
Deepali Aug 2019
Walk, the way you talk,
Talk, the way you walk!
Originality hurts,
But its pure.
'Im'..  Said.
Philomena Jun 2019
"I never thought I would ever escape
At times, I wanted to die
Feared that it all was just a little too late
For then, I wouldn't survive
I let you in and let go of the hate
My heart recovered now, I
Owe you a debt that I can never repay
I still believe 'cause you're mine"
pitch black god8 May 2019
~

dark early pre-dawn

body suspended between the-dark ochre earth tones of night,
and the teal pealing notes of warning of an impending morning,
signs aborning, me rising with urgency of the leaden half deaden,
torn from the bed casket to venture into a different kind of twi-lights,
nature demanding both intake and outtake, a restoration of balance

but first a bumbling wobbling, the body as carnival bumper car,
installing soon-to-be-bruising for later examination-exhumation,
lurching from handhold crevices in the walls like crazy cliff climbers,
my balance disturbed, eyes try  tearing apart the sticky glue of night,
my sense of direction keeping me from free falling into green glass
edges of glass tables, barely, and not always, red cuts evidentiary

“my balance disturbed” words fresh formed, and a poem expulsion
required to balance the unjust scales of spirit soul and the body cage,
patch an negotiated agreement between warring cousins, just a
twenty four hour ceasefire to retrieve the wounded and the
corpses unfounded in the small copses of false shelter,
like my ancestors expelled from Spain, making escape to be
strangers in strange lands, or remain hidden in place neath disguises
of clothes of new poems, prayers for old and new gods

this new poem comes quick like a young man making first love,
for the poem has been written by thousands nights of practicing,
so ready for quick retrieving in a smattering of a few minutes,
expulsion expulsion
what a perfect verbiage to capture the night terrors, the differentials,
the procession path between what was and what will be,
when my balance restored and this poem’s completion installation
in the body of my work, as a nail disguised in the works of my body,
entering by command of the pitch black gods
5:29am April 24th
Jayantee Khare Feb 2019
things may not go the way
you've planned for today
be thankful for the life anyway
feel blessed for each passing day
time may be dark or gray
but the sunshine is not far away....
Just reminder to  self..When things go haywire...
Kasper Jan 2019
He waits in the night
Such a glorious sight
With fingers like claws
And a crow that caws

He waits in the day
So he'll be at bay
With hair like the void
That no one can avoid.

He waits in the moon
It'll be over soon
With eyes like coal
That will rot your soul

He waits in the sun
It's almost done
With wings like fire
That suits his attire

He waits in the night
Such a glorious sight
As he goes by
You all will die
quinn silverman Nov 2018
aimlessly reaching for it
not quite grasping the meaning
of what it is as it’s slipping
through my needy fingers
the texture is lazy
slithering beneath my sad nails
planting itself in the dirt
that i was too pathetic to clean
claiming itself a flower
but y would a flower make me cry?
leaving me wet, rabid, reaching
still aching for the slightest hint of it
like an addiction scratching at it
trapped in inevitable incomprehension
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