trf 1d
I'm wide open,
Standing stark at your front door,
Like a covered peep hole,
I'm not welcome anymore.

I'm wide open,
Your shadow frame cracks the floor,
But it's drifting away from me,
Scaling back the dinosaur.

Now I'm closed,
Alone in a clothing line,
Thrift stores we used to find,
Our vintage passing for time.

Do you suppose,
Roses are thorny vines,
Grapes don't smell like wine,
You were never the nurturing kind.
Nylee 4d
The mystery which never existed
but repeated
as they all talked about.

It never occurred
the scenes planted in their minds
never played out.

No one questions
none gives answers
they leave it the way

They still fear
stay clear
paranoid of the stillness

They shiver
when they hear
the dogs barking

They see shadows
down the streetlight
They don't forget their flashlight.

They are all bound
everyone regrets
still stay at the edge

The morning mist
reminds them
the mishap that never happened

This morose neighbourhood
waits for the rains
to wash away the stains
Danielle May 8
The shadows grab at my frayed heart
Reaching forth their cold hands
To pull me towards the coldness
Towards despair
Towards the darkness
Desperately I cling  
Cling to the edge
Cling to the small gleam of hope just beyond the horizon
Beyond my reach
I look back down at the darkness, at the cold dark abyss
And felt a part of me call out to the shadows
And heard them call back.
I almost let go, but I saw you in all your beautiful glory
Smiling at me from beyond the ages and beyond time
So I clung harder to the edge and to the hope still beyond the horizon
I looked at my pale, white hands and felt the sharp edges of rock cut into them
Cut into me
And I saw and felt the warm, red blood flow thickly from them
My life’s blood falling into the nothingness below
I looked above the edge one more time looking, reaching, for the strength to pull myself from this nightmare, this hell
Instead the moon’s pale silver light appeared above me
I smiled and looking up at the moon I let go of the edge
Let go of the pain,
Of the sadness,
Of the hate and anger,
Of the hurt,
I let go.
Down I fell not towards the darkness,
But towards the light
Upon a golden beam of light stood an angel.
Clothed in a flowing black robe and black feathers,
of softness and fragility .
There he was waiting for me, within his dark light.
The Angel of death
Of life
Of mercy
The angel of hope and love.
I landed gently next to him upon the golden light,
And looked with wonderment
Upon his graceful black wings
With a small smile he stretched out a hand towards me.
I took it and was immediately wrapped within his warm embrace
As he rose into the air with me in his arms, a feather of pure black fell and brushed my cheek and a true smile illuminated my face.
Now at long last my torn and frayed heart could mend.
This was the first poem that I wrote that was powerful. I wrote it for an assignment back in high school. Then later when we were given an assignment to try and get our poems published I chose this one. Amazingly it did get published and has since been very near and dear to me heart. I hope that people enjoy it here even though it's an older poem of mine.
Dika Agustin May 4
everything became strange
while I tried to remember
every detail of you
just to bring back
all the dream memories

the feeling consumed me
the whole situation
poisoned my heart

you pushed me over
the edge of our boat
and let me sink
into the ocean of doubt

I don't know what to believe
while you hold me the way you do
but why you make me hesitate
and pretend like you don't want
to be part of our dreams
Two Heart breakers, standing in a room
One that you didn't suspect,
she's just starting to bloom.
And the other is what you expected,
making every heart go boom.

One never gave others a choice.
She hides information behind a knowing smirk
Her smile can turn any heart twords her.
Little did they know that a siren's song can lurk
In the sweetest of voices.

The other caused explosions
and it was only after the boom did they realize
that the aftermath was not worth the thrill of the fall.
They look around say with cries,
"I was never really chosen!"

Those two Heart breakers start to grow close,
giving the other what they require the most
of what they had to offer
Neither one seems to know
that they hold the others love.

The one who causes explosions of lust
is the first to fall
she got attached to quickly
the other wasn't ready.
So, she decided waiting wasn't for her
and moved off from the cliff's edge
to find another.

The one going into bloom
fell too late.
She missed the deadline and was so close.
But, the other had already moved on.
So, she moves on but left apart of her behind.
Because you never know when she might return.

The bloomer is now a flower.
The explosions have become dust.
They both have continued on but
keep going in circles around that edge.

Will they fall down together?
Or will they go their separate ways again?
One is too unpredictable and wild.
The other is too prepared and tame.
Maybe they will meet at this cliff's edge again.
Fall with me darling, fall and hope we'll grow wings and fly.
Bailey Apr 14
Sitting here
End it
God please
Take me
To the black sea
Just for me
For death
The edge
Nayana Nair Apr 9
I stand here
beneath the secrets piling over me
at the edge, looking at how I spill out of my own body.
Not able to contain myself.
Not able to restain myself
from looking into the darkness,
from looking into the depth of me
where lies the skeletons of many friendships
and one rare love.
Many managed to stay afloat
not wanting to be a part of me,
knowing what I was.
While I just wanted them to stay
for a moment
to tell me what they knew
tell me what I was.
So that I may not feel
like an impostor in my own life.
though avast percentage
     of Stone Temple Pilots, she push peep pulls
     viz vernacular speaking population
     to most pious take as gospel

     every word in religious tomes
     their collective soul asylum polestar,
     and doth decree important doctrines
     with especial accord

equal insignificance applied toward
    Judeo-Christian holidays across the board
thus easter tis no exception to the golden rule,
     where santa claus reached an a chord

follow auspicious signs alit in the night sky
     shaped like a drinking gourd
perhaps amassing plentiful harvests
     upon hamlets strewn

     across scantily populated Earth
     asper cornucopia exhibited secret hoard
sharing  plentiful Horn
     (and Hard art learned lesson)
     to stave off barren ness, ignored

going forward seeding nascent
     March Madness with help from Lord
     and Tailor as midwife hoot
     tended Ville Nova moored

by Wildcat fanatics, who unbelievably  
     espied heavens cleft asunder
     and golden rays poured
while collective spectators loudly screamed

     akin to the soundgarden
     of ferocious cats roared
witnessed history scored
earning players knighted
     with Excalibur sword
thence entire team handed
     Taj Mahal shaped award

which aforementioned ass hide lacks, cuz zit
     happens tubby April Fool's joke
thus above iterated verses somehow
     needs just a little bit of relevance to yoke

thine admitted ambivalent reaction to sports,
     yea aye pay figurative toke
hen to Rabbinic, generic fanatic primal
     tribal village people clan destine woke

and swinging focus of this poem
     back toward Religious perp ported berth
when (sans antiquity) trumpet signaled
     thus, any superstitions blew away dearth

when distant shofar heard
     in every home and hearth
anticipating arrival of the Easter Bunny,    
     who brings mirth

and hop poly distributes sweet treats,
     which children as grown adults,
     no matter necessity for teeth to be removed
     the sugary over indulgence wool worth
today thee American Dental Association chastises candy
     manufacturers bandying more weight
gaining deadly, debauched, and decadent, trait
then adultery verboten fruit to sate
hash-tagged reprobate.
The crushing,
The Crippling pain,
I can see the path I need but the bars ahead of me just say no.

I step,
I talk,
I scream and walk through this torrid wood,
Made of one part memory,
And one part of fear.

The glear* in my heart hacks away,
Chopping not at the trees,
But at the writer here,

The endless edge of the forest,
Perpetually out of reach.

Close my eyes.
Walk blind.

When I look,

Am I there?

~Robert van Lingen
*physically tangible, yet purely emotional pain
Steve Page Feb 20
God waited in my margins,
in my discomfort
of being close
to the edge of others,
and invited me to
intentionally trust
incidental strangers,
because there He resided,
in my threshold love,
in each adjoining reaction.
So I went to my margins,
to the verge of my comfort,
reached out
and got closer
to my marginal,
cross-border God
and there I found
the small moments,
the quiet places
of gentle surprise
and true challenge
that heralded adventures
beyond my ken,
outside my norm,
but within His plan
for this day.
Sitting up close and personal on the underground.
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