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Zoe taylor Dec 2024
Impale and gut me until I cough up the last of my wilting pansies,
Hack at the bark of my bones until they cease,

If need be, I'll listen to each word of your tirade,
Let my body take the blows to suffice yours with aid,

I'll let your sirens song of projection take me, full force,
Yes, I'm aware, it'll only end in the crucifixion of my walking corpse,

Indulge in mutilating me with the bullets of your throat,
I'll smile, looking down the barrel, even if the pistol of your tongue is no gloat,

Even when each sentence tears my tendons, I'll gladly let it lurch deeper into my innards,
I'll welcome a stream of crimson when my organs still sob blood afterwards,

I'll make space for the landfill in the core of my vessel,
If it makes you content, I'll plant your anguish in my soil, let it nestle,

Rips in my neck, I still I want you, have your sanctuary,
Rot the embers of my heart, you'll finally get your fantasy,

Don't shed worry for me,
It never hurt.
This poem is from the perspective of someone who cares so much for someone, so deeply they are willing to sacrifice their own physical or mental well being to take the burden from the person they care for even if the kinship is one-sided or toxic
Kian Dec 2024
The fossils hold no names,
no mourners to cradle their edges,
no elegies to weave their flight into memory.
And yet, they linger,
etched stubbornly into the earth’s spine,
defiant in their refusal to disappear.

The soil sings softly for them to yield,
to smooth their edges,
to fold into the quiet churn of becoming.
But they cling—
not to life,
but to the shape of it,
the weight of what they once were
locked in stone that pretends
it is still bone.

I press my hand to the ground,
feel the echo of their resistance,
and I know them,
for I too am a creature
carrying what time has asked me to release.
I too grip the brittle edges
of what is no longer,
keeping its form
even as it threatens to break me.

We are kin in this rebellion,
this quiet mutiny against forgetting.
Not because the world remembers us,
but because we remember it—
the curve of what was,
the ache of its passing,
the shape of a weight
that cannot be returned.


                     Not alive.


           Not gone.

                                    Only refusing to let go.
the kinship between the persistence of the past and our refusal to let go of what time demands we release
David Hilburn Feb 2024
Instinct (and the candor it took)
Kiss me when the intentions are ripe
Longevity is a toothsome notion, as if a guiding music
Has the voice to carry, a welfare from here to sun's light

The seen sought, a voice with more than a lip
Of a marvel meant, and deemed a friend?
To the fate we stir, with all of a hosts extravagance, a wit
Of summary heed, to a lived example, praying to be lent

Caught in a hushed tone, the truth...?
Is for any who would listen, a stone of charisma...?
Caring but for the our of decision, we have let a youth
Become the notoriety of since, and a charity of weal to say:

I grow a fruit, with kindness in mind
Tense and awkward, a hope of sincerity's homage to choose
Between a holier water that laud has to rhyme
Or an earthen seclusion of devotions, if may is to be few

Blow and service to an ideal, a harrowed simplicity to vaunt
The gifts of are, a might the fate of all who came
Or is a wealth its own reward, the other opinion in a song?
With babbling lips, and an echo of hearts, the irony of same...

A course of decision, in the name of solidarity
Sent to effused, if not enthusiasm of coping with worth
As a herald of powers and judged same, as the doting charity
We made the privilege, of a prowess in cares, that is many certain

Heed a friend when they are somber, and justice will come
See a friends need becomes the letter of sigh's, and decency is a gift
Keep a friends shadow in reach, and they will know more than home
Heathen a friends smile, here and now a shared eye will lift

Totals of serendipity?
And the quasi focus, of life on knowledge
With a realm to its unction, the reality of another candid liberty
Has become us, the timid and guaranteed forth, of persuasion come of kinds tenuous age
David Hilburn Aug 2023
Just the peace, the least
Of a lesson in gray seem...
Care for any of a mere in is...?
The pasts day come by a heart to win...

Places we played, we fated with a new passion
To call upon what we knew, for a deeds many
In held today, the common with the lasting
Of a smiling friend, that has the voice to lend any...

Heard in a clash with silence's blessing
Today is a merit in keeping style
Through a moment alone, we saw the hour we are giving
Have the affect of heeding the same, still powers, all the while...

Mercy in a roll of thunder...
Time with a being sit of earn, to know a charity to burn...
Sacrifice and learning, dealt the blow of wonder...
Sameness of a presence of mind, with shyness to churn...

Final guarantee of a simple care, in the hands of life's appetite?
Here to say, and know a seldom in the name of comparison
A snapped finger has its way of settling an argument, a fight
With itself, and the world of other's, without mercy on the run...

Cares of vice, within the range of your ears...
Patience in kind, if strength has a say...
Lucid forces to intone, a way amid pain and fears...
And wholly fated shame, we almost missed for nix, that just learned how to pray...
Where angels fear to treatise, the miracle is on the now, with vows to count...
Rama Krsna Jul 2021
tis a perfect summer evening. a blood shot moon inches across the night sky in the city of sin. the sage and the enchantress sit at an outdoor cafe under a lantern lit tent exchanging life stories, as a vintage bottle of ‘82 margaux loses its virginity.  

she could’ve been off the cover of Vogue. clad in haute couture, her slit eyes sparkle like the diamond butterfly ring, she elegantly sports. her complexion near flawless. he on the other hand, a hippie, a yogi and ancient as Rome. living proof that the hour glass can indeed be brutal on a city dweller.

her doe eyes dart from the past to the future while his steady gaze stays in the present. quite like the burning candle on their table. the mercury dips into the night as saintly time simply goes rogue.

written in the stars
this unusual kinship ~~
beauty and the beast


© 2021
S Smoothie Jun 2021
All.
Not one but all,
No true hate was ever born
without love abandoned,
rejected, abused, or scorned
Love is every positive and negative
facet of emotion
Divine and literal

Its wealth disguised by its true name -

Agapi.

Without this blind fumbling fool
We are of no use, no consequence,
no matter.
Where there is no love,
there is no existence
Only inertia.

Your deepest hate
is your deepest love in reverse
these can never be separated;
except by degrees.
like a galactic elastic band;
as far as you go for one,
you will enviably be flung to the other.
That's how energy survives,
it changes form but never dies
and life is love in all its forms

And

You are its expression devine
Love is us
Anais Vionet Oct 2020
Ode
I feel like we could
sing one of those righteous
civil rights anthems.

“We shall overcome”
goes to the pandemic point,
and we could hold hands.

Our kinship is dear, and earned,
with simple sacrifices.
Our struggle isn’t over.
we're going through something - together - but we aren't being drawn together
This poet paints a pristine picture
Using unique written words

A kaleidoscopic kinship with kindness
An avalanche of artistry
Astoundingly absurd

This poet plays a pantomime of pathological perfection
This pristine painted picture was the sum of all her worth
i tried to paint a picture
old willow Sep 2020
In Autumn river, my thought drift and came.
The people are flaky as withered leaf,
their fickleness that put my past to shame.
A once vibrant pears is now not so green.
Name lost in time, face forgotten;
the person is now foreign.
old willow Sep 2020
Blood is thicker than water.
A drop of water can shatter the greatest hardness,
can blood do the same?
With blood as ink,
Water as canvas,
kingdom fell and rises.
Kinship is perpetual;
blood represent ill-omen,
and fortune.
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