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When i close my eyes i think of you.
When your in my mind i cant' help but feel you.
Remembering the time we had our first kiss, knowing how warm it felt.
When i close my eyes, i think of the time your lips faded into mine, like a deep but yet subtle swarm so soft and genuine.
When your in my mind, i can't help but see you and your oceanic blue eyes and softly your kiss in my mind switches into yet another ghostly kiss i yearn to feel one more time because good bye kisses aren't enough when you're gone. All i can do is close my eyes and think of you.
Eerie when it's three twenty-five
In the mornings of a nevermore
Fiendish powers dwelling inside
Awakened in a feverous implore
Darkness harkens souls to stay
When in an illuminating twilight
Subconscious turns ashen gray
Plants suffering a certain blight
Sleep had long not hypnotized
Nights, they pass in dry spells
No ravens come a tip tapping
Upon my mind's sly betrothal
Yet, the witching hour beckons
My brain has a way of knowing
Night, just half of it is passed
Rest half would be my undoing
hymn to Apollo
by Michael R. Burch

something of sunshine attracted my i
as it lazed on the afternoon sky,
golden, splashed on the easel of god;
what, i thought,
could this elfin stuff be,
to, phantomlike, flit
through tall trees
on fall days, such as these?

and the breeze
whispered a dirge
to the vanishing light;
enchoired with the evening, it sang;
its voice enchantedly rang
chanting “Night!” . . .

till all the bright light
retired,
expired.

This poem appeared in my high school literary journal, the Lantern, so it was written by age 18, but probably around age 16 or 17. That was my "cummings" period. Keywords/Tags: sun, god, sunshine, Apollo, elfin, phantom, ghostly, magical, enchanted, bright, light, brilliant, sky, golden
Renai Nov 2018
It was a bleak and dismal Sunday morning, as I baked for the sake of baking. My head was bowed as I sliced apples when suddenly, everything within me started aching. I decided to take a brief recess and rest in my reclining chair.

As I gazed out through my windowpane, I observed that rain was there. It dripped and dropped onto the dense grass, and such a beautiful sight it was. As I continued to gaze, I noticed a faint, human-like figure in the shadows of the trees. At that moment, reason had abruptly gone, and curiosity had jurisdiction.

I found myself leaving the comfort of my chair, walking into the grove. When the rain caressed my wrinkled skin, I then began to roam. I could hear vague, ghost-like murmurs surrounding me; the predicament that I was in then began confounding me.

As time progressed, my visual perception dimed, and as it dimmed, the murmurs became more prominent. I listened to the murmurs repeatedly asserting "your end is right in front of thee." I didn't understand nor had a clue. My fearfulness only grew.

And then out of the blue, I collided with what I assumed was a tree, until I heard a rather stout, raspy, sinister-natured "hello." And instantaneously I registered what the murmurs had revealed to me. My end was unquestionably in front of me.
Thank you for taking the time to read this!
Ghostly maiden in the lonely night
Concessions for my glancing

But I could not help but drink the light
Of one so misty fancy

May I ask your hand my whispy sight
So that we may go dancing

And laugh away all this foolish fright
This love so circumstancing
The moon and clouds looked like a ghostly dancer.
Amanda Shelton Aug 2018
My dusty mind is filled
with old memories,
lost amongst poems
I dribbled on to the window sill
one morning.

I got lost in the shuffle of time,
thoughts brought me
ink drippings from
the night before,
though I already ate
the leftovers and smeared
my poems all over the walls.

You may join me
for a Gothic meel,
just don't forget to bring
your open minds
so I don't have to knock
or ring the bell.

Welcome to my gloomy day,
where black is happy,
blue is true, and the roses
withered at your feet
though they smell lovely.

(slowly the poems crumbled
in my mouth) the ofter taste
was lovely, a bit of gloom was
left hanging from my lips.

Such taboos I display,
should I speak in ghostly whispers,
so the spirit's can hear me too?

Shshsh!
I am not finished with you yet.

Come back soon and I will write you
another Gothic poem.

For I am the weathered poet.

© 2018 By Amanda Shelton
This poem is from "Vampires Eat ****** Poetry Collection" it is a collection of Gothic poems I have written.
Stare into me.
Flare up and fly to me.
My ghostly gaze falls into your eyes,
Let these phantom fingers caress your curves,

Our ethereal tangle,
As we pass through reality
Into the hills and valleys on our bodies,

Close your eyes,
And see me with your skin.

Intoxicate me with your sinful quivers,
As I ride on the highways of your sighs.

Come closer,
And I'll show you a differently perfect side of our world.



~Robert van Lingen
Donna Jan 2018
Little lady next
door dressed in 1920
long grey skirt and blouse

goes out everyday
with her hair tied in a bun
wearing black boot shoes

she quietly walks the
pavements amoungst a lot of
other people

buildings seem so big
no horse and cart just metal
things with four wheels

no kids play outside
so smiley happy go
lucky children

instead she sees a glow
from each child's hand , there eyes
engrossed in something!!

yet the sky stays the same
just differs in colours , clouds appear happy or sad

the sun shines the moon
glows and stars continue to
twinkle starry bright

trees never change ,  she
smiles at natures will to never
change its beauty

a China man bumps
into her , they both stare for
a second or two

then off they walk on
pavements amoungst a lot
of other people
One that popped into my head this morning x
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