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Nigdaw 5d
light will find us
illuminating the dust and neglect
that has gathered on our lives
shining between blinds
and curtains
we have designed to keep it out
because we are asleep
to its possibilities
and the darkness hides
our nakedness
and doubt
time to squint into the brightness
shake off the covers
and walk out
wes parham May 13
You worked with words wrapped tightly round,
This secret life of thought.
You sorely want to win, by hand,
Each battle that was brought.
But how can someone understand,
What every stranger knows?
You placed a bleak reminder  note,
where your integrity goes.

You put it off and tried to smile,
But waiting made it hard to live.
You'd seek for her forgiveness but,
There’s hardly any
                                  left to give.

Come back to life, my dearest friend,
You’ve had more than enough.
That inner voice, with strength to lend,
Is  your best ally when things get rough.
What life, the life of the mind?  Nice place to visit, but  wouldn't recommend living there.

   That’s what I originally wrote on the first draft of this.
It is an _old piece. It was born out of a dissatisfaction with written forms of personal expression.  They always seemed to lack something and just became “bleak reminders “ instead of the mighty statements you imagine them to be.  
   The middle part imagines that there is someone the speaker ought to reconcile with but lacks the will to believe that it would be worth it.  I wanted to imply that they’ve used their last favor or given up hope.    
   The final stanza came much later and serves as a reminder to listen to that inner voice, be your own ally even when you’re feeling doubt and defeat.  
Here, I shrug, trust the muse, and hit “save” before I change my mind.
She Writes May 13
Whispers of doubt and regret
Ring in my ears, a deafening duet

With every passing moment, they grow louder still
A cacophony of chaos; thoughts continue to spill

I try to drown them out, scrolling, music, T.V.
Yet they persist, keeping me constant company

I try to reason with them, to find some reprieve
They are stubborn and unyielding, just won't leave
Carlo C Gomez Feb 13
Two kinds of horizon
Pausing for connection
Fingers covering the sun
The place between your *******

Talk amongst the trees
Reflections on falling leaves
Your voice in other rooms
There's something you're not saying

Clouds of flowers
Sounds of bells
A halo of electric bulbs
The worn surface of a heart
I loved you on this day

twodollar Feb 1
Isn't the trolley problem so silly?
     right. like, if you were on one track and there were five people on
     the other, i'd save you in a heartbeat
How sweet.
If it was * * * * * ** * *
     that's not true
     if it were between the two of you...
     i would pull the lever right as the trolley reaches the junction
     thrashing it back and forth as hard as i could
     jostling it off the track until it falls lifeless on its side.
Only, the survives of humankind
lays in the ***** of  lies and truth:
As per head of men wrinkle her changes.

Only, reason for the actual pretends becomes
Hidden valley as people act like the
rest of the reasons are unknown.

Only, I understand the organic of love
You ,think highly of me;
but im going through grieves.

Only, if I can sees your eyes
to understand though his mind.
Mischievousness of human being
Wick Jan 16
the hours slept matters not
body and mind is tired no matter what
a cup of coffee gone cold
spark is gone, warmth the hearth cant hold
the only thing constant is doubt
what is life really about?
existing in a place
a house, but not a home
life as cluttered as this poem
meaning as clouded as in a storm
how low can i go?
only after this downward spiral will i know.
Ayesha Dec 2022
Alabaster hands
I paint like I know you
but I am afraid
I paint like I know
the hours of holy songs he sung
when chip by chip
he broke his David
out of stone

but I mumble with a brush
polluted a tomb
with thievery and doubt
if I return to you
I will do so stollen
rolled up in bay and --
my Florence! I couldn't see you
I was lost

I could not be him
he unleashed, I hold
and now you wear his hands
like a beloved scar
and then you haunt my sleep
with your eyes of old

I am sessile, sterile - I doubt.
I cannot speak.
stone carved inadequate, for
I do not know hands
the venules and the etchings.
I could not learn

fiddling like a cricket
in the arms of leaf
I see him leap through ages
to come and observe
I am an artefact flaw
and him the sound perfectionist
he inspects fingers
as they stumble in paint
ever-looming, giant, bearded
with a broken nose

you, Florence! He steals
movement, instill it, gifts it
you wear it, then you watch me
with museum eyes
Good love,
I am no David
do not ask that of me, I may weep
stone in my hand
I sling stutter over my shoulder
and watch the forever tyrant grow
Kushal Dec 2022
A Tree
Sat steadily at the centre of an endless field.
Never still.
Its branches grow, then fall.
From nothing, to green, then only decay,
Even the leaves come and go.
Yet, always there sits a shadow, constant behind the everblooming oak.

A boy fiddles with an apple as he sits within the shade.
He does not wander, only sits and plays,
Gnawing away at the fruits born.
I wrote this quite quickly. I'm curious to know what everyone thinks it means/represents?
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