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Unto a despicable hour
A tear she sheds;
Dressed in white she sits, her essence stabbed.
Her beloved has sold his soul,
To the devil society has created,
And now he lies surrendered to the still cold hands of death.

Love was their crime; before their age, before their clime,
A fire burned deep inside,
A fire for each other through the sands of time.

See from your eyes you will see nothing at all,
But she worshipped him while he was afar,
His fragrance, his touch, his anger, his smile
Stayed close to her, every hour every breath,
Closer than mortals can imagine,
It was deep in her being; deep in her mind.
Her one desire - to be with him and serve him,
Simple yet in profound sacrifice - to be his all.

As for him, before this twist in life
She was his breath,
She was his prayer, she was his manna divine.
They waited in patience for time to ripe,
But they waited too long, the sun never shined.
Fate had another destiny in store,
A fate defined by cast, status and pride

Separated when they thought that the river had found its sea,
One, lost to the beating drums of matrimony,
The other found solace in a drink that stubbed the passion within.
No comfort he saw in all he did,
For her voice was louder than the intoxicating drink,
Every memory whipped him till he bled,
It stained his character that he fought to keep pure.

Finally, he caved in,
His prayer was lost, his air taken away,
Slowly he choked in a lifeless pit of condemnation.

The lamp they had lit,  
The little flame they had treasured,
Had consumed them far beyond they had imagined.

What was left of them?
One spoke no more and The other,
- The other had melted away her spirit
Carrying memories of old;
She walked with burdened steps,
With a sour heart for which there was no cure

Nothing mattered anymore,
Dressed in white, she lived her life for another year or two.
The only sanity left were her tears but that too dried,
Soon there was nothing left to offer,
Their love faded away with the change in seasons;
Their love faded away in total submission.
lua Jan 30
perspective shifts in all directions
a blur, out of focus from the earth
as spring blossoms in my throat

bloodied petals dried by the sun's rage
would it be my fault if i shielded my eyes?
away from his piercing glare
burning as he rises

ripping vines out of my mouth
tearing through my field of vision
until i close my eyes
and fade to black.
Erin Dec 2021
If you could feel it
breath for a moment
my arms around you
like sunset's embrace
let thy eyes be calmed
Inhale one more time
whisper my goodbye
till darkness arrives
Exhale butterflies
You were everything to me
till I became nothing
Mathieu Oct 2021
Music is like a desperate plea,
to slip back into a feeling far away.
Clawing back a forgotten dream.  
As the song fades, the memory fades.
Those Sunday morning's slip away.

Music is the only element
known to break me down,
and remind me of who I want to be.
As I sit here alone, weeping for what I cannot touch
Lost at sea, the somber serenade of time
Washes over me..

Music slips through my fingers like grains of sand,
A finite youth warm in my hands
Taken by the winds to where it needs to be.
The night in it's wisdom, lets me breathe.
A single note travels through my sleep.
The sorrow of this note unbroken, brings me peace.
Sharon Talbot Sep 2021
There is one on some loves,
That flourish like summer flowers
And bring seemingly endless joy
To lovers entwined
And hypnotized by the notion
That this will bloom forever.
But as years pass, some flawless
In execution and mutual care,
The flower begins to fade,
As if its color and fluid are drained,
Perhaps by the force of love itself.
And, unknown to the two,
They glide apart slowly,
Like two ships on the tide,
Until one day, they reach a horizon.
Each looks out for the other
As they have done before,
And call out in hope, then despair,
But they are unseen, far away.
They may try to sail back,
Beating furiously against the tide,
And finally, admitting defeat.
They each collapses, crying, shouting,
Blaming life, fate and humanity.
After months spent on the rocky shore,
In tears or questioning why
And often getting no reply,
The memory of passion fades
As new flowers bloom
And life’s garden summers on.
I am a hoarder
Of memories
Some of them
Adorn my walls
And some of them
Haunt the very halls
I seem to roam
Even when I feel
Oh, so tired

So I paint over them
Everything smeared
With colors astounding
Yet, somehow
They still manage
To fade to grey

neth jones Jul 2021
my moat wet eyes
focus free
   with the manner of a poisoned animal
those feedy gemini apertures
    fidget inward
      upon an open wounded view
       unclothing a filmy slick
      so very faithful to the dead

      ripples cross my bed of sails
    i set pale
   in my atrophy
  each signal blunted
i am greatly wilted
sat planted
lazily hazed
a vehicle scuppered

riddles prate at my bed of veils
i set sail
in atrophy
each signal bloated
  fully unloaded
   a barrow at your feet
    i truly wither
     what power may you beam my form ?

      i'm frail in heart
     between stars and the sea
   a failed flicker of no pity curses
a matrimony
   all signals mar
and spar out blotting

  a missile
misguided ?
         ; it preys on my trail
misdeeds played a trophy
   a lit penalty
i am most deletable

        i pray for the guff
to raise my head
filled to the tax of my atrophy
oh mother of pigment
      lovingly wigged murderer of woes
  why can't we abstain from human directive ?
        forever foaming something criminal
    flunked corrective of the species rudder
               idle by into an atrophy
      a perishing menace

                              - fade out
[unclothing a filmy slick
      operation of a darkly mooded spyglass
churning on ! ;
       the search-syphon
inhaling of an unfiltered rough draught
a cyclic experience
revisits prying for a satisfying result :]
Erin Jul 2021
You are on my mind,
With every detail I love,
Beats less in my heart,
John McCafferty Jun 2021
A singular urge is a first,
reach out and stretch to grasp what's ahead.
Craving the crest of a wave,
we're high on the day as it's made.

Each is a slave where emotions are led,
fixed with impatient aches when we age.
Hard to remember which intentions were sent,
resetting said objectives of late.

Targets in sight from the white of your eye, these short lived events curl up in death.
Less than a wisp as it fades into air,
rolling along to reclaim what we shared.
(@PoeticTetra - instagram/twitter)
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