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LC Apr 15
it let the bird fly,
learn, grow, change.
but when the bird falls,
stays the same, decays,
a thrill climbs up our bones
as the crack of the wishbone
echoes in our expectant ears
like a loud, resounding gong -
as our supposed fate awaits.
#escapril day 14!
rig Apr 1
in you since
a nuisance
-a new sense-
unknows sins.
Towards every sound, I can only move.

My eyes tied back masked in the fog.

No light shining through

No one to guide me.

Like a glacier in the vast abyss floating towards nothing.

Only accompanied by the echoes of yesterday.

thepoeticwit Mar 18
I write my songs
in the echo chambers
of my heart
a deep dark dungeon
of hellfire and unclean secrets
only ever have my eyes seen
my ears heard
and my heart keep
my demons
tremble in awe
of the songs I sing in the night
Like a lamp in the corner of a dark house
I wait for next morning
I wait for a new sun to arise
and resurrect me from this decaying carcass
So that my soul can echo the song of twelve thousand elders and saints singing
Glory, Hallelujah
I've been set free
But until that day comes
I shall echo in the chambers
and echo in the airwaves
and wave my hands in
Here I am on my knees
Almost giving up
Almost giving in
Almost giving
of a desperate dying heart
hoping and waiting
for such a day to come
Slime-God Feb 28
And I beheld fog
Swirling, echoing my thoughts
Reaching out; to feel
If we could be so in tune with everything as the fog, we might know peace.
rig Feb 19
mind the mind, mind of mine – mind
the body and be bothered.
away the water and wait:
voice veers vicious, violent.
forget forevers for now.
leave a little letter in
cursive, of course – curse this curse.
In all the things you do, you love.

Every smile you give holds love
and my eyes light up with joy.
You laugh and it stirs my soul.

With every tear you cry, drops love
and my heart breaks for you.
You hurt and I want to bandage your pain.

A touch of your hand embraces love
and my skin tingles.
You need and I want to fulfill it.

Every word you speak echoes love
and I melt at the sound of your voice.
You give life to the vowels and the consonants.  

Every breath you take exhales love
and my heart is charged anew.
In all the things you do, you love me best.
Psychorange Dec 2020
Wanting to be heard, with nothing to say
Old recitations to dialogue in a play
We speak, in echoes, like poetry, it rhymes
And the father of learning is repetition

What only concerns is the comfort in your reflection

Death is a comfort that doesn't exist
When you're dead, nothing really is
Nothing really is, and nothing will be
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