Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Sharon Talbot Jan 20
Time slips backward over little slivers
Of love and broken lives,
Gathering them up, using the soft mess
Of once-blessed feeling mixed with
Grand passion,
Until it knits together the pieces of
Hate and love like a potion:
Unseemly, neither black nor white...
And we refuse to see it.

Time rolls forward as we ignore it,
Over hurt as well as joy,
For we have taught ourselves to lie,
To say that nothing matters in
The “grand scheme of things”...
And so our life passes us by.

Until, one day, we discover
We are alone even as we stand
Beside those we love.
And we know them not.
Where love resides,
There loathing and resentment
Peek from amidst the ruinous
Muddle, which we created,
Simply unaware.

We two may stare into each others’ eyes,
As if two strangers,
Wary of false hopes and lies.
Stale passion bonded to forgotten vows
Leave us helpless, caught in a patterned
Web of half-truths and hidden threat.

Soon we are reduced to stiff civility,
“Sly apologies and polite regrets”.
Love dies more slowly than the ability
To end the dance or forget.
We settle in, like corpses in a crypt,
To the slow departure of ourselves.

As the mind rises up above the scene,
We take it in, gawkers on a highway,
Aghast yet unable to refrain
From still more self-flagellation.
Another empty day drags by
And in our lonely, separate prisons…we stay.


Rediscovered on January 20, 2019
Thankfully, I'm in a much better place than this...at least for the present, which is all anyone can really say...
William Maxwell Dec 2018
Drink the kerosene
Then the fire in your heart
Keeps burning
Forget about me in dreams
Then the world keeps turning
Regardless of my inertia

I saw the Ithaca in your eyes
I'm coming home
Elvira Sep 2018
The ruins between my ribs held us static
We were parallel lines that were never coincidental,
A could-have-been intersection that ceased to draw itself
Just before the point of tangency.
You told me it was I who stopped pursuing you,
That it was I who fashioned these rusts in my own gears.
Apathy was my choice,
Until I saw the concern that lay beyond your hostile mask
That left me wanting for the unknown.
girl gonzo Jul 2018
my belly grows the size of a bag of apricots
there is a will at the bottom of a lake that needs retrieving
the car sank but the body made it to the shore and changed her name by midnight
come springtime the ice melts and the water is back
crawling upon shy ankles
there are growing pains who find a home between nettles and
the hives of adobe wasps
i never could cohabitate with nature
when they ask at parties where i've been
things that are at rest stay at rest
Kaddy Mar 2018
When you think and think and think
and yet find yourself rooted
to the same spot

(you’ve thought yourself into stagnation)

fight or flight has become fright

suspended between awake and asleep

life and living

hiding and revealing

(thinking… and some more thinking)
(when is too much too little?)
scorpiothought Dec 2017
quivering hands
grip this blade

invisible to all eyes
soul annihilated
ash descends
slowly

muffled abyss plunges here

apologies stifled
lick, diminish
****, collapse
swallow, ruin

quivering hands
clutch this crushed heart
i love you.
Gabriel burnS Jul 2017
Sugar is bad for you,
especially,
saccharine maple thoughts
that you cannot afford
due to the hazard
of overweight ego
dense with the aftertaste
of adipose fantasies
clogging the arterial bonds
that tether you
to solid ground

Stop the caramelized madness
from carbohydrating your soul
into victim obesity
causing the full
arrest of your spirit

The sweet is guilty,
distorted in mirrors,
a negative image
of a past feeling,
present reflection
born of the collision
of intentions and consequences
Not a part 2 of "Note to Self"; even though the first lines are the same.
Desires aren't ripened tangerines
They do not fall off the tree when they are ready
They do not fertilize the roots below
They do not shrug off the sense of un-pickedness,
just like that,
Not like tangerines do.

Desires unspent are starving termites.
They bite into living bark
And burrow into the breathing deep
Past rings and rings of precious age.
They corrupt the tender core
And, soon, no new leaves grow
And no more fruit drops.
Joshua Dougan Jan 2017
Rules, regulation and form, allows for the greatest accord.
A ruse, my elation, at the shore with the bravest of swords.
Let me explain, poetry should be like a storm, a war of the words.
But Treat every one like a worm: your encouraging your curse.
You can't move forward without inertia at your back.
It's just the set of rules that allow Us to teach that.
So yes, the form and regulations enable the greatest of sets.
But unless you use them you will just be a ****** at best.
Nikunj Oct 2016
When the soul seeks
the song frozen in time,
Divinity obliges by
sending a few echoes down my path.

They reverberate across
the blue champagne
waves of inertia
to awaken reminiscences
of our harmonic rhythm.

Moments flow syllable like
to find a meaning
between the lines etched
on destiny's canvas as
a presence converges into resonance.

Every word is amplified together into
honest understanding breaking apart
the rational mind icebergs
that predominate love.
Next page