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Tell me what it is
About the trees
Dusty grey and gloomy in October
That resonates so dearly with a heart
Melancholy and somber
This rain is soothing
Like the soft white I line my walls with
A golden haze playing through my veins
And flames to match the essence
But not the calefaction

You can watch me drift into a paralysis effortlessly
A debilitation cold and lingering
Like lifeless trees awaiting the worst
Some sun
Does not change the course of nature
And I wonder what flavor of future
Nature holds for me
I feel like the trees
In the middle of a foggy autumn afternoon

And content
Living in the shadows of a world
Too engulfed in regurgitated highs
To contemplate or appreciate struggle
A world utterly ignorant to individuals soft spoken and inherently
Harmonious in the ways of authenticity
And naturalism and realism
We have the endurance to undergo lifelong tempests
But lack the energy to speed through
Trivial phases of Insatiable beauty 
Our growth is goddess enough

Tell me what it is about the moon
Majestic and nostalgically haunting
A calming through night's terrors
And unforgiving traumas
Silver whisps of validation shine into a heart
With love looking a little too much like silhouettes
An ebony void seeping into the cracks of joy
And pain becoming an obvious pattern
And the moon is there always
Watching the molding in a resentful awe

What happened to the life of the young
Happiness looking like summer nights
And chrismas lights and vintage pop bottles
Fading into an uninviting outline
Through that type of half reality
Half fantasy version of time
Months feeling like hours
But unrewarding years all the same
Childhoods disappearing into insomnia
And I'm not very hungry
And I don't want anything for my birthday
Kind of aloof answers
We get it
We're all just tired

Tell me what it is
About the stillness of autumn
That induces a numbness in our hearts
Watching our desires blow away with the wind
One by one
They sing their remorse through aeolian howls
Uncanny and ghost like
Or the early nightfalls
That strangely feel more intimate
Than our last touch did
A type of familiarity rather profound
And lacking in any form of resentment
Maybe it's the significance in vulnerability
The stripping away of irrelevant priorities
To see the real
To see the roots

Tell me what is is
About the trees
Dusty grey and gloomy in October
That soothes a tired soul
A vagabond in search for more
And a heart a little too in love with loss
Benjamin May 13
When I least expect it,
You hold my hand
And guide me

In the depths of an ocean of loneliness,
You remind me of companionship

I begin to remember the sunny days
The rainy days
The gloomy days
The days that made me

I have found to love those memories
Sometimes in the darkest of hours or even at random, memories seem to change the tone of thinking. Yet, we can deal with them any we'd like. I enjoy the memories that remind me I'm cared for.
It was pitch dark otside
And you were the only light i was holding.
However i forget,
I was yet another girl,
Who looks up at the moon
With dreams in her eyes.
Want that moon to stay a longer by her side.
Forgetting the truth
That moon will be gone soon.
And maybe the next morning will
Bring you something new
To focus upon.
However it will again be dark soon
And she'll again peep out of her window
Searching for moonlight to guide her upon
Only to find find out
That It's simply gone
You were my light and its dark niw that you are gone
crybaby Apr 17
gloomy sentiments flood my sea
nostalgic remembrance lingers
solo pienso en ti

deception camouflaged by roses
intimidated my sight, but
aun me acuerdo de los poses

ninguno lo ase como tu
I weep as I listen to the
phonograph that spins the blues
I wanted to sing.
But the world doesn't let me.
I was born mute so I couldn't sing.
I think the world hates me.

I wanted to dance.
But the world really hate me.
I don't really much remember what happened since I was little.
But I do remember when they removed my knee.

I want to draw.
I still have both of my hands with me.
But the world really wants me to never do anything I wanted.
The world ******* me up when I suddenly couldn't see.

Even so I really can't do much anything right now,
I still can use my mouth and speak freely.
But then the world really, REALLY hates me to the core.
Just as I thought, it took my voice away from me.

I am blind, deaf, mute, and I can't even move myself.
Just what did I do to the world that it had almost cursed me?!
I'm done! I'm done! Just end my life if you hate me that much!
Just end my life... and put an end to my misery...

Im begging you...
I think it is better for me to become a doll instead rather than being a human. Dolls had a purpose why they are being made - to be played be children. Me? I don't have a purpose.

PS: The above statement is just a part of the poem itself. Kinda like an intro. Hehe. Seriously. (-___-)
Shounak Apr 12
Cheer up mate, come out of the blue
How can I? Every shadow I see reminds me of you
My memory eludes me wish I could say
Because even after 5 years, it feels like yesterday
All those memories, now a part of the past
If only I knew this time would be the last
Stop thinking about her I say in the mirror
But deep down I wish I could see her
Atleast the mason is true to his job
Where I can't even be true to myself.
I wish these long, black days
Would go away
I wish the month of May
Was here to stay
I wish Monday
Would pass away
So that life wouldn't be
As gloomy as it seems.
Ali Hilout Apr 8
Positivity is a shining light,
Like chaperone to accompany you,
Through the gloomy alley.
Thus, when life overcast its murky clouds,
And make your alley sunless,
May your light still enlighten your path.
Deep Mar 31
31-04-2010      23:00

The mind is blank today. Thoughts are disconnected,
Disconnected thoughts were the trouble Poets faced
after WWI and WWII.
Oh, do not believe me, just read
T S Eliot's,
"The Love Song Of J Alfred Prufrock".

It is said that the moment you are laughing there is
the person crying at the same time.  
Not only Nature's resources but everything that inhibits this
world is in limited quantity. Be it Nature's or created by us.

Everth tiny to a giant thing taking space on this earth possess
a special value.
And copying that we created our system and governance.
Before this crisis, we had taken some professions very lightly
We have taken them granted.
But now when the tonnes of Arsenal, Ballistic Missiles,
and millions of soldiers are overtaken by another profession--
The profession which earlier was taken seriously when
the particular catastrophe fell on a single-family.
But when that catastrophe increase in magnitude then
we realize what have we done.
Yes, It is true, we see what the people
in power want us to see.

Half of the countries budget is allocated to defense. Though it is
one of the pillars that maintain stability in society,
Countries cannot compromise other sectors.
And I think this will open their eyes, at least for a moment,
And they will work on it.

Stories are coming out, doctors falling on the line of duty.
They isolate returning home,
And the shortage of protective gears is not slackening
them from performing their duty.
So, why are they doing this? Is it Hippocratic Oath?
Or something else?
If a person is dying and the art or any artistry you know that
can save his life,
Will you do it? Alright, now, if you know that there is a chance of getting the same thing yourself, will you do it?

Am I fully aware of grim reality or
I write what I see and read?
If it is true then where are my original thoughts?

It is again a chance to realize that nothing is trivial in this world.
We have the use of ant as well as elephant, equally, without any
classification or superiority.

Every profession is required to maintain a fine balance in the world.

Somewhere I have read or heard I couldn't remember correctly,
But it said that poetry is dying.
It was hard to believe, but it was a fact.
I being a literary student did not remember any contemporary
English poet in my country.
How sad it seems.

But there is another way to look this dying of poetry,
Maybe our lives have so eased, engulfed with appurtenances,
Our lives have grown too fast that we give up on things
that take more than five seconds.
In other words, our generation is impatient.
The availability of things in one touch has reduced their mind
And I proclaim, tomorrow there will be Devices and gadgets
that will do the brains work and we like animals
sleep and eat.

Or we can say that our generation is not suffering enough
to take recluse to poetry.
Poetry comes from suffering
And the best poetry had come from the worst of times.

Time flew fast! Whew!
One hour passed like ten minutes.
Indeed, writing is therapeutic!

Good Night!
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