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In the dead of night, I questioned the skies,
The desert whispered with elusive guise.
The wind carried echoes of tales untold,
As unseen dangers lurked in the cold.

Stars above twinkled, a celestial choir,
Their ancient light sparking a deep, yearning fire.
The moon, obscured, was nowhere to be seen,
Yet cast shadows, eerie and green.

As I stood guard amidst the desert's dread,
Haunted by the words that the desert said,
The rumble of artillery, a ghostly sound,
Echoed through the night, unsettling and profound.

Uncertainty lay heavy on my chest,
As I faced the unknown, longing for rest,
Knowing I must endure just one more test,
Cold metal in my hands, whispered its own unrest.

Many years have slipped away,
Yet still I'm left to ponder and sway,
Uncertain if what I sought was found,
At the expense of the boy, lost then drowned.

Amidst the darkness and the fight's sudden hush,
The absence of our brother, a palpable and heavy crush,
The grief, a burden to bear,
In the stillness of that night, an unspoken prayer
At the heart regret did tear.

The lights pierce through the fog, my thoughts now clear,
As I sow seeds of lead, releasing doubt and fear.
But deep within, an ember brightly burns,
A hunger for truth, a heart that yearns.

Though the years have come and gone,
I seek the peace I've longed upon,
To find the solace, to calm the tide,
And let the boy lost inside me bide.

A journey through the dark and light,
To make amends and set things right.
"My past is an armour I cannot take off, no matter how many times you tell me the war is over." - Jessica Katoff
This life I live,
Is not for me.

I wish for something
A big as can be.

To fly through skies
Like a wondrous bird.

To step out from curtains,
And finally be heard.

And how absurd,
This life I live now.

Through the mind
I live instead,

Chores and rules,
I cannot choose.

I have no voice
In this house of noise.

But alas,
I bring hope.

It will guide me to cope.
This poem is a personal one for me, so I do hope you all enjoy !
I am useless,
And foolish.

I am a child
Of chance.
A night of romance.

I am an early-morning
A surprise to all,

Aren't I, mother?

One that can use no tool.
A waste to the teacher,
Within a school.

Aren't I, father?

A child
'Out of control'.
Seemingly 'too old'
To be consoled.

But alas,
You wish for connection.
How should I know of it?

I am prone to rejection.

To your own mistake.
A choice you made.

The icing on the cake.

But now I am far
Away from your pain.
For I live in worth,

As you live in shame.
Your hot breath still
Tortures me in my sleep.
At the most vulnerable moments,
You are a plague to my name.
How much more can you break me?
Please, God, let me give up
and let your blood seep into my bones.
You are the parts of me
I hate the most.
I wonder how much longer
Your grey skin and ***** fingernails
Will keep me up at night.
Lily Priest Nov 17
Her heart could heal
the heather,
Even in the colder weather's grip -
snapping the bony, brittle twigs
And sparkling sharply on abandoned leaves -
She could find her ease
On the downy carpet of the diseased,
Gather their lost limbs
Like a forgiveness-
That warm welcome of forget.
She could rest her head,
And bloom,
Bright blossom gazing up at the moon
More often than the sun,
Her fire blazing on -
A little hearth, among the heather
Warming roots in the
Colder months.
B Nov 16
Something unforgivable
blood in the wool of a lamb
you said I'd be this way forever
I am. I am. I am.

You're quiet as a child sings a hymn
someone so soft and angelic
shouldn't witness such a sin.
Where is your shepherd,
where is your father?
Can all really be healed
with just holy water?
Blake Nov 16
I wont care about you today,
As how I cared for you yesterday,
And how I'll care for you tomorrow.

I wont reach for you today,
As how I've held you dear all these years,
And how I will definitely continue to.

I wont seek your attention today,
As how I have longed for your affection,
And how I soon will beg for the absolution of it.

I wont have your promised advancement today,
As how yesterday and the days before,
Was only ever amorous play...

As your ash-heap talking,
I wont have it today,
I cant..

For the world is dark,
But my feelings are never the same shade,
Makes it so much more painful...
Like an angel stuck in hell.

And it saddens me to know,
That our time spent together...
Is longer in my mind,
than in the physical realm.

That our memories,
Last further than our future,
And my love for you..
Outwins and ruins my own temple.
Jellyfish Nov 15
Everything is connected,
I feel like a volcano that has been dormant
but want to release all of my tension.
I want to show you my emotions;

So you can see I'm not a doormat,
I just keep my feelings below the surface,
It's resulted in my body doing the same
Which is why I'm in constant pain.

My trauma has created tunnels of magma,
I can't tell where they end or begin
It's frightening and leaves me upset,
There's no one I can share this with.

I hope for one day to lay out my feelings,
Let everything flow;
Like tears, they'll roll out of me
Covering everyone I've allowed to see

Then will come the tricky thing,
to never bottle anything again.
I don't want to reap havoc on them,
I want to stay empty and peaceful

To know where I end and begin,
It would solve something, wouldn't it?
But I feel like a volcano.
Physically and within.
The mind and body are connected.
Francis Nov 13
Reminiscent on eras?
Or errors?
Reminiscent on the past,
Always eyeing the past,
The future,
What could have been,
What could possibly be,
But never a glance at the now.

“The now,”
As she always preached.
“Be in the now,”
She’d whisper,
As I angst over then and later.

I now look back on her,
Back on them all, really,
All of the eras in which they are placed,
All of the errors of that were committed,
And see it all, them all, as clear as crystal.

So many jewels of then,
So many… “hers” to treasure,
Yet here I am, in “the now,”
Wishing for nobody to fill that vacancy,
Nobody to hold that candidacy,
Because how can you love again,
When you haven’t truly loved before?

Nostalgic of an error, lost in eras,
That got whisked away, in the wind of life,
Dreaming of… “what will be,”
Reflecting on… “what could have been,”
Failing to… embrace the freedom,
To laugh, for a change,
After so long of being their court jester.

By my lonesome,
I worry not remotely,
It’s my sole duty, to be of duty,
To myself and myself,
They all had special meaning. The times were special too.
Daisy Nov 12
This poem is a response to one I wrote five years ago:

My eyes blaze with guilt,
and an outrage at being guilty.
No, at being wrong.

While I waited for the crows,
I was devoured by the chasm
between my father’s brows.
Felt my stomach drop
as I fell into the ground.
Even when I’m right,
I wish I were wrong.
But that’s just how it is to be the victim.

See, my mother was played with by god.
She’s quick to love only to be abandoned.
I remember her whispering to us,
in the middle of some nights
as if we were the daughters of Medusa.

My mother was hurt by god
She did not create sin but
she’s spent most of her life running with it.
Running from it,
running to it.
And I think at some point
she felt too distant to be worth it.

I thought I wanted to hate her,
but it’s impossible to deny her humanity and
to keep trying would only end in tragedy.
I know I’ve ignored her and
I know that worsened the distance.

I want to personally lay the burden
of how I love onto her shoulders,
tell her “You taught this to me.
I watched you love others from the mountains to the sea and I’m

sorry for the years I didn’t let you love me”.

But healing happened in a crockpot,
that wasn’t plugged in.

As a child, I felt so betrayed
because she was my favorite,
and yet I felt so alone
on nights when I couldn’t use her back
as my pillow.  

I tried to understand the kaleidoscope of her broken pieces,
and yet I wish I persisted as I got older.
I thought I protected my peace,
and maybe I did,
but it took me ten years to warm up
my shoulder.
I was sad about the absence,
until I became mad and indignant.

A case of unrecognized bias.
By having two drug-addicted parents,
and a lot of black-and-white thinking,
One had leaves, so the other was poison.
Two different flowers in the same garden.

And in that garden,
I’m weeding out the past
and digging in the dirt using only my hands.
Creating stability and forgiveness at that.
Forgiveness for my mother, who has grown despite my doubt.
Forgiveness for my father, for dying
at the hands of the devil he couldn't live without.
I am perpetually digging even further for hope.

And there is always potential for hope.
Writing this poem has honestly meant a lot to me. This is the first poem to truly help me reflect on my growth as a person. I have had the world ripped from me and shoved down my throat, but in all this chaos, grief, and pain came an opportunity to change my life.
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