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Man Feb 2
As a song without words-
Shall I sing, forevermore?
These shapeless chords
That give way to convey
Statement, free from form.
Much the same as one who
Must scream, yet is unable?
Man Jan 19
Forest floor, underbrush abound;
The light sprinklings of winter found.
Snow kissed scenery, that
Whether cold be dreary
Still seems the more dreamy, than
Tracing each step.
These frigid months of death-
Before life springs back
Bringing fresh greenery
Man Jul 2023
Blood from a stone;
Vulcan, erupt.
In his Ares heart,
Of the Zeno soul.
The battle drags on
For a cause, I do not know.
Purcy Flaherty Mar 2021
Concepts can be expressed in many ways; and are mostly explored using words, yet words convey the smallest fraction of our true thoughts and feelings.
Perhaps the limitation of language is why I love art and music so ? they are the perfect compliment to a *** of tea.
Francis Wilson Mar 2021
By living alone i am escaping a haunted house. to leave is to be spat out undigested, a bone picked clean of meat but spared the marrow. it was always me who refused to be easily swallowed. it was always you who hated that.
We both know this haunting didn’t seep out from the walls, it was set in every room. (you made sure of that.) in such a space, articles of comfort are more unpleasant than bare walls - far worse than nothingness, they are marks of you. it is true you have built a home. but it is not my home.
Your haunting is pristine, white walls and tasteful furniture. beautiful but unwilling to be dwelt in. in polished mirrors, everyone is dirt. at least a gutted, rotting place could have been somewhere someone like me was loved, some long time ago. even claimed by mould and time such a house is less of a haunting than any space shared with you. at least i can imagine those crumbling walls as having once been the pillars of a life. at least among them i am clean.
if you are a leech, i am water, part of blood but never enough, you consume more than i alone can give you. you consume more than i would part with, even if i could.
if a home with you is a haunting, a house alone is a half dug grave.
but at least theres work left to do.
at least i wont be rotting alongside you.
A poem about refusing to be consumed by something that claims to love you.
I've been staying up at night,
Burning the midnight oil.
Thinking about our fights and something didn't feel right...
I don't deserve you...
I do not deserve you in the ways that you treat me.

I know that I was wrong,
and you always played along.
Even when I had hurt you, you still loved me,
we looked like fools.
I don't deserve you...
I do not deserve you in the ways that you treat me.
A rough blurb of inspiration. Haven't written in a while. I hope it is something you all can enjoy
Janal Rajput Nov 2019
Where the sea kisses the land,
And Luna and Sole coincide,
Between them is a fine, fine, line,
They walk both sides of it,
Love and Hope,
In pure gold dance in diamonds and step in sunshine,
Love holds his hand showing a world to behold,
Their ambiance intoxic worth dying for it,
He could waste his youth forever,
Chasing kites, he finds no better time,
Lets them rub his back, grow in his spine,
Dancing to his own beat, two left feet,
Hope covers his eyes in the heat,

He looks back into the divide,
Where the sea kisses the land,
And Luna and Sole coincide,
There it is again, caressing his chest,
That feeling- it flows like the wind,
He sees Love elegantly dressed alone,
By the cliff-side, wanting to meet the high-tide,
Something broke, and he wanted home,
Chasing Love he screamed and wailed,
Begged her stop, she seemed so very far,
He couldn't stop her despite how he tried,
He couldn't believe it, is it true;
That some feelings can travel too?
So he watched Love meet the sea,
A silver bullet piercing the murky blue,
A shred of light glimmers in depravity,
Prayed for salvation or divine retribution,
For someone to find his center of gravity,
Maybe in the murky blue he'll find absolution,
Maybe in depravity there is the solution,
Maybe amongst the pollution and the convolution there is revolution.
PMc May 2019
Beware our first kiss
that uncrossed line of
once done is done
ours will not be a tickled fancy
nor plain nor incidental

First kiss will come from deep within our souls
where desire has slept for months,

Our ****** lip-lock longing
with the torrent of rivers Teslin and Yukon merging
the craving colours change from soft navy blue, shadows of olive
to stark aqua marine, glowing brilliant teal
seen through eyes closed, the witness of deep arousal
from deep within

Mouth water poaches an intensity, hearts race, we forget to breathe
teeth gnarl one another in a **** or flight instinct
towers of oral energy cascade through a single line of longing
faces twisting right and left in attempts to find suitable alignment
not caring when they don’t
nothing else matters
when uncrossed lines are crossed

Beware the first kiss
once
    there is no turning back
let go the vertigo, we will hold one another
while tearing our tongues into one another’s souls
push deeper with all passion’s purpose

this once
will be
      – just once
There is an oft-crossed line between partners when the decision whether or not to kiss either should - or must - be made.  Once crossed / what's done it done.
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