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The clarity of what’s in front:
Made me realize what’s at hand.
With courage,
I faced her—
I saw a pair of jet black eyes,
About to slip tears of goodbyes.
I saw a chapped pink lips,
Trembling with much anxieties.
I saw her—
Her fears.
Her regrets.
Her loneliness.
Her helplessness.
Pass through that glass—
Drenched by the clear droplets of rain;
I saw her reflection.
Then, I broke the glass.
I saw myself.
Then, I kissed death.
What’s your ellipsis?
Mike A Eyslee Jan 31
Since feeling is first, and syntax is lies,
To enscribe you, my darling little jay,
I would have to ask, "Is there any way?"
Not of mimsy guise and anything-dyes,

But of nоnce-nonsense and everything-sighs,
Keep these thoughts pastiche on a wayward bay,
And perhaps leave them, removed on display,
Entirely altogether?

You are this fool's  ". . ."
". . ." as  '. . .' but  ". . ."
Lea ve me ". . ." on, a . . .

A skip!         for,
". . .   &      . . ."    "can"t; f o r get
(love ". . .") and you,
". . ."
inspired by some cummings (as evident by the spacing and the obvious allusion to his work, "since feeling is first"). also, "Jabberwocky" for the nоnce word. sonnets are annoying to write.
little lion Jan 28
It's funny how easy it has become
to break someone's heart.

Mere seconds of fingers flying across a keyboard
is enough to shatter their world,
and the only warning they get is
three little dots...

Then there's nothing but silence...
and they're left to pick up the pieces
of the cracks that go deeper
than just the screen.

Cracks that can't be fixed by a kiosk or by mail-order replacement.
No. These cracks...
                                                                ­             they're permanent.
Words seem to hurt more when you have to see them laying in front of you...
Bunny Rubinstein Nov 2018
I love you




I miss you




I need you




Ellipsis are meant to replace thoughts unspoken

So maybe you're the reason I'm so good at reading between the lines
Autumn Daze Aug 2018
Darkness that can't be escaped from
Why is there no happiness in this state
Alone in the dark, forgotten and gone
Sorrow is all
Cause I am left between the dark
Mourn every morning, till blue become white...

© 08172018
nadine shane Jul 2018
we were contained in an ellipsis,
desperately aching for
delicate strings of words
uttered by ghastly and shallow mouths.

  we were contained in an ellipsis,
the silence
cradled the proximity
of the entangled messes
of our universe.

this was us.

this was our ellipsis,
it never seemed to end.
Maple Mathers Feb 2016
You are                                                              ­             
My ellipsis dots,                                           
                  trailing away, unspoken                     
. . .
                                                  You'll always belong
                                                                              on my horizon.
“I like your face better than you like my face.”

All poems original Copyright of Eva Denali Will © 2015, 2016
***Minus this one, sort of, as it was adapted but an old sinistra poem - the original work by my sister, Whitney Ingrid Will ©, 2007/2008.
DP Younginger Nov 2014
How many Someone’s lay planked on their waist and stare aimlessly at the candle’s flame?

Who of You is daring enough to close Your eyes and in space alone, simply drive- drive away?

The same Someone’s and Who’s-of-Who’s, on occasion holler at the moon with expectation of a bark back; or is God but a prestige to fools that We allow to wear Normal on Their crummy ******* name tags?

Sometime around Christmas there is a salivating peace, sifting downward on ordinary people, whom really don’t feel like being cold, you know?

This is me, rotting away on the carpet, a blanket’s blanky for the floor, just staring through the shutters on the vent below my brow; in the reality of it, I should probably schedule a spring cleaning…not for the vent folks.

You see- and I’m trying to be as casual as I can- I’m about to ******* pass out, you know what I’m saying?

This is that incredible moment where I’m the Bob Feller of dozing off, 9 innings of shut-eye talent, but at 2 or 3 in the morning…it looks as though I’m bringing in Mariano Rivera to close it out,

I can almost smell the scraps of mowed grass, kicking up from his cleats as he jogs closer to where home is; I never really find out if he makes it to the mound…

— The End —