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Ari L Mar 2016
Without you he is lost;
   His mind searches for an answer,
   His thoughts falling into narrow, twisted tunnels
   Of what ifs and what should have beens.

Without you his lips are a desert,
   And his heart a tundra. To him it is all the same:
   Vast, desolate land. A stagnant nothingness,
   Haunted by shapeless shadows.

Without you he is betrayed
   By the swathes of shimmering stars in the
   depths of the cosmos – by the notion
   that everything was possible, that the universe was good.

Without you he cannot tell
   The difference between human touch
   And the searing sensation of a white-hot branding iron.
   (Which leaves a mark, and which hurts more?)

Because without you he is lost,
   A single alien species floating in the clouds
   Above rolling hills and sprawling meadow,
      Bone-dry canyons and ancient forests,
         And snowy peaks and stormy seas.
      Miles above the earth he may find quiet,
         But he never will find peace.
For the loss and the longing.
Sort of a partner piece to Ruins:
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1598562/ruins/
That One Guy Feb 2016
I go to this place where I feel insane
And I go to it again and again
One of these times it'll leave a stain
But, somehow it always rains

To wash out all the colors
It takes away from the endless amount of colours
And tug on everyone's collars

I sometimes think I should pick up some paints
Then maybe I could finally repaint the colors
That have been missing from my world
They just get washed away
Into the rough

It downpours, just to decay
Everything it touches turns gray
Is there a debt that I have to repay?
All I have to pay with is grey

I have heard birds sing happily
And I wonder at the legality
Of having fun in this place of insanity
I want I to end entirely

There's a man that has the power
He controls the rain
And destroy the colors again
Somehow I always thought he was bigger
But it is I, who pulls the trigger
Standing on the hillside
Stilled winds blanket my skin
I close my eyes and embrace
Worms born of skies and clouds
Blank are the colors they inspire

Lying on the hillside
Earth's feathers caress my limbs
I close my eyes and imagine
My bed sinking beneath the ground
Under may I breathe better than above

Falling down the hillside
Sunless upon the town, small and wilting
I close my eyes and remember
Sensations akin to this, akin to innocence
Come the end of my fall, will either of us stand?

Before this old hillside
A body still as corpses about the air
Open eyes shimmer, puddles of rain
Ashes, dirt and dust swim about this sprawled figure
Clothing for naught, now flesh sings with Her whole
Nicole Feb 2016
Grey eyes
Gray hair
Lost in her hopeless sea of despair.

Floating from day to day
like smoke
leaving from the lit cigarette
upon her lips.

Grey sweater
Gray shoes
She has no friend that isn't a bottle of *****.

Night to night
she sees no light.
Lost in the fog
that covers her eyes.

Grey face
Gray hands
left to the dirt in no man's land.

year after year
she gets closer to their fear
of becoming the grim reaper's dear.

Grey heart
Gray soul
she's spiraling out of control.

Jumping off cliffs
and biting their chapped lips
she's on the road to her death.
Inspired by the grays/greys of the days that pass.
I am standing at the front of the line
We all know that it's about that time
You can't say I never tried
And even now it's costing me my life
Will you remember me if I die?
I try so hard

I try and I try
So hard that some would cry
But I'm not that okay
It's just that cloudy day
Showing my life
Is ready to fade
To darkness and no longer gray

Feelings are gone
Numb from too much being over shone
No more please
There's too much going on
Anymore and my lifeline will be gone

I'm shattering
Broken pieces are falling
My soul see's the light, it's calling
The mirrors reflection wants my hand
To lead me from this land
What more could I want
Sweet bliss

An eternity of nothing
Randy Ray Price Jan 2016
The clutch of winter’s cold hand chokes the air out of me just a little bit more every day. I gasp for air, but it is a lifeless, most un-sufficing sort of air. I don’t desire the oxygen, but I need it to survive. As I tread through the gray city streets the wind has a peculiar way of always flowing against me. The snow banks, by this time of year, are no longer white and pretty. No. They are *****, worn out, aching for their inevitable fate to remove them from this depressing city. But they know they still have many weeks before their suffering ends. I feel a connection with them, knowing that someday my time will come.
However, long before my inevitable death, many new summer times will spring forth much life. Soon, the air will hold life again. The wind will suddenly shift away from my face, the sun will shine a little brighter, and the poor snow banks will be taken out of their misery and replaced with green grass. I only know this because it happens every year, and I have no reason to believe this year should be any different. It is this knowledge that carries me through the grind of winter. Don't worry, your gray days will pass.
An unusually straight forward approach.
Kate Ballalatak Jan 2016
he's black, white,
and read all over
by acquaintances in his
circumference of people.
but no one asks,
no one takes the time,
to inquire behind
the gray mix of his
black and white appearance.
perhaps he's a light blue,
or a pretty yellow
that mistakenly ran into
some gray along the way,
but no one knows
because they'd rather spend
their sunday morning judging
a black story on a white page
than exploring the vast depth
of an intricate person.
Esther Jan 2016
Sky
your sky was a catastrophe.
not the inky black type and not the somber gray type either—no,
those were too cliché for you.
your sky was a shade between blue and gray,
the color of dejection, of loneliness
for it was only a shade in between.
never a whole
only half a mind,
and half a soul.
TKO Jan 2016
Not looking forward to looking back.
Not looking forward
-- Start to retract.

                                                       ­       thoughts are cyclic

The creeping sedative
Numbing every sanctum.
The Gray comes like a stroke
With unstoppable momentum.

                                                      ­  behavior becomes translucent

Leaking feelings do not return
Leaving only those without yearning.
Better yet, desire goes out completely
Leaving a shell - shattered – empty.

                                                         ­      emotional apathy

The pieces don’t fit together any more.
The more you try, the more disfigured they become
-- And so the ink begins to run
On a page, which never sees the sun.

                                                           ­                     social withdrawal

Four walls with no doors, no windows.
Secluded amongst others who are sane.
Accompanied by a consciousness so malicious,
Every effort is made in vain.

                                                  di­ssolution

Black and White meet.
The Gray is an admission…
An admission of defeat.
An admission of defeat.
Shadows of Night Jan 2016
Cast out of heaven,
For having a heart of darkness,
Not accepted into the depths of hell,
He's told that he has a heart too close to the light.

In between,
Neither white nor black,
Caught in the middle,
The colour grey.

He's the darkest angel in heaven,
He's the kindest demon in hell,
The wrong side of righteousness,
The right side of despair.

He's made a world of his own,
Rejecting the light, turning away from the darkness,
He's made a new definition,
Of the word 'broken'.

He's beyond saving,
So he's saved himself,
Pulling himself up,
Standing on the line of good and evil.
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