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Aaron Elswick Sep 23
Is it... Irony?
My life is language
and I have no words for you.

Erasing each little quip
before it reaches my lip
only echoes

A thousand lines for you.

The precedent muse,
and you won't see them
even if written
you won't see them

I feel defeated

By myself and my hands
by my words
with which the short line spans

I feel deleted


As if it's my defeat to posess.
As if the story is in reference to me.

But it was ours
and now it's not.

You won't see it.
The words won't rhyme,
because it's not our song anymore.

It's a memory
Fading into the background
Frequencies slowly dying out
against the scenery
as our ears get too old to hear them.

We'll remember differently every time
we think of it again.
Until it's different again.
Over and over,
until the echoes are a whole new chorus.

A different memory.
And the spark will be dead again.
In another new way.

I'll always be sorry.
Then I'll remember it
and type it, and delete it.

And we'll forget it, but we won't.
We'll hear the echoes
and won't have the words.

If he/she could
Write something

That is you
Transformed into the ink

No wonder
Words then breathe
That's all
Genre: Autobiography
Theme: Stimuli
Author's Note: Mostly the writers are the receptors of the stimuli sensing the vibes. They see the goodness more than the average, they feel the pain more than the average, they appreciate the beauty crafting their rhyme. They can't resist their soul. They are passionate straight liners focused on reciprocating the frequency using the pen.
Poetic T Jul 7
A thousand strands of
       beautiful woven death.

Though they hang like
           silk nets holding

the suffocating twine of eternity.

Each one is eventually severed,
       and bleached filaments

gather below, static and devoid
                            of deaths adulation.

What was well kept,  is now
            discontinued echoes.

No longer the adulation of

      just void less inconsequence.
A shutter clicks in flashing colors,
recording the imaginary.

The wheezing voice of tales unfolding,
now hoarse from an endless retelling.

Capture what we can't remember,
make up everything that's left.

A faint, but echoed, call to arms
that no on hears on set
#18 in my Year One collection, from notes on 2/26
Negative one,
I am cold and I ask of you
What are all the ways,
That you keep yourself abused?
I have seen the scars,
of the one who was left behind
I have seen them fall,
In this bloodstained mind of mine

I have seen the spark,
The spark of a thousand flames
How do you find ways,
To never feel any shame?
I have felt the loss,
of the one who had many names
I have heard the chimes,
The echoes of my remains
Based around Set Fire by Carina Round
Things will never be the same again but In all honesty how could I have ever expected them to
You lose the one that love
and all your life changes completely things you thought
would go on
There's no starting over or bringing your loved one back every things from that moment of
Everything from that moment on Is perminate what ever you do or go you know do It
No more to hear Helen's voice calling my name no good night or good morning or conversations
Just echo's and visions that float around In my dreams
playing around In my head
dreams I just don't want to ever wake up
Things Will never be the same but how could ever be when all Is lost you see all that I had
Bellissima May 28
I walk from dirt trails
drenched in the echoes
of laughing teenagers,

soaked in the reflections
of drunken hopes,

to a purer path,
flooded in the promise
of a new beginning.
Ickabobroe May 9
I sit here and wish I wasn’t alone

But I don’t want anyone to get close
I wish we weren't so - temporary.
I wish the words 'left' and 'gone' never existed,
And I wish no such assortment of consonants and vowels was ever invented.
But then there's no way around it,or is there?

There was a piano that I played.
An old one,but now its keys are broken.
And I keep on counting as more break.
A life,much like this piano -O the comedian that God is!
I keep on counting - as my friends go away.
I won't hear both-the broken keys,the friends gone.

Friend 1
(My first friend in college - a birthday gift from God,who went away the next birthday)
Remember how I'd always say to you,
'Don't respond to my crap. I'm again falling for a girl.'
And you'd reply briefly,
'Good idea. Falling fast.'

Friend 2
Remember how we'd always talk, starting with,
'Promise you won't tell anybody?'
And we'd talk for hours exchanging embarrassing anecdotes,
Yet,not get tired of it at all.

Friend 3
Remember how you'd say,
'I saw you sitting alone in college.I wanted to come.'
And I would answer,
'Yeah,I do that these days.'

I wish you weren't so - temporary - all of you!
I wish the words 'left' and 'gone' never existed,
I wish you all stayed.
I wish your echoes didn't torment me,the way they do.
Inspired by 'Echoes',composed for piano by Luke Faulkner
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