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Lily 3d
girls like you
deserve a love that
always feels
like summer,
a love that
sings like waves against the sand
feels like freckles and anklet tanlines
smells like sunscreen and
Mackinac Island Fudge
dripping down your chin—
a love that never ends
like those rays of sun that
spray over Lake Michigan
and tickle heaven.
you part your lips
to speak and
just like that
my world
becomes
lyrical—
dipping and twisting
like a kite in the sky
flowing freely like
your baby hairs coming
out of your braid,
like your laugh as it
echoes down the
quiet shoreline,
around the chambers
of my soul.
girls like you
deserve a love that
always feels
like summer—
I pray that
your summer
never ends.
happy summer everyone! <3
~
I hold still,

let him finish stabbing me

                                                 — I count six,

let him believe me dead,

he moves on to Cecelia.

--

It does not go as well for her

as she continues to writhe and scream

and carry on,

not well at all
                                             
               ­                              — I count eight,

                                                                nine,

                                                                ten...

~
Time passes by like a whistle in the wind. Ignored and only observed within the thickness of one's skin. The once gnawing temptation in Lula's eyes were now exchanged in kaput like a dead black swan in the lake.

It grew on her and she can only justify it by moving her legs back in forth and forward with her ballet shoes; she can only obtain her physical through the applause of everyone around her. Yet, there were trickles of blood forming inside her internal wound — as the piano strikes another note in A minor, she can only whisk in pain and undone drafts in her head. "Tis will be over", she raises her head upon the crowds heaping in excitement, she turned around and flew her wings upright and the heads of the audience once more clapped in vain and delirium nonsensical pleasure.

As Chopin's symphony were almost in the last note, she stood straight and made her way to the middle. There, she locked eyes with her forbidden lover and a small smile throughout. The intensity of another Vivaldi's winter classic can be grasp once more and another set up of white swans gathered together — formed a circle and she went in the middle. Her eyes turned black and her wings bleed another tint of jet black and crimson. The crowds awed in reverence and she soared above them. A starlet in the headless crowds and dreary sweet rustle of voices gave her another bliss.

And while she was served aloft, there were another macabre symphony that plays through the soft rough piano; it was a solemn prayer and they were the kind souls going up to the heavens.

"Go on, Salem. Play the winter magic," Salem could only look at his muse and he strike another note, passing notes two steps from their 'haven'.

Lula slowly ripped her wings for the last time and smiled to all the headless men. Her satin dress reveals her plumpy chest and an hourglass body. Lula is a goddess black swan. Men could only forward their eyes and threw her pennies once more and she could only move in her balletic conventional pose. For the last time, she flew with her black tinted wings and they were all beheaded.

The white swans began to sing in a solemn outcry until it became too remorseful. The white swans turned their heads down when they met Lula's dead eyes. Her laugh echoing the whole stadium with its own persona and it is like crawling down into waltz where it reaches their earshot. They can only sing in albeit and expensive heads started to explode.

"Two steps from hell," she sings.
You can listen to, 'Salem's Secret' by Peter Gundry. This is where my inspiration came from.
Diesel May 3
A team of four - or more than two
Tappy children waddle by -
To see the lake - with a loon, with
Their mother - looking nigh:

Their funny games, which all they play
Throughout the night of orange suns;
Of tannéd eyes the streetlights bay
And run on home would all of them:

Then father hears and goes away
To other places in a night;
All gone the children, gone today -
Perhaps they'll come another time.
As I stood
Alongside a lake
I contemplated
At the holy fish
Fearlessly they swimed
Fearlessly they jumped
It was a holy lake
Fishing wasn't allowed
Fearlessly they dived
Fearlessly they survived
For there was a curse
Anyone fishing a fish
As a ***** they would finish
As I contemplated
A beauty appeared
Hi, you're a star
In the galaxy?
I enquired
No, she said
In my eyes
The lion roared
In the nearby safari
The lion roared
In my heart
I was so powerful
I was so smart
I said, OK, try!
Neither she was holy fish
Nor I was holy fish
We fished and fished!
Brumous Apr 11
I cannot speak, I cannot hear
I shall not feel, and I do not think;

For I am a stone,
that is better to be thrown away
I just don't know the problem; Maybe right now, I am too desperate to be liked by people and fill that void of my unknown desires


I hate it.
Liz Apr 7
The colour of fir seeps over the water
A bright spritely white tail dashes past
Home to it’s tea.
Mirror glass ripples as
It’s mist gently rises in the dusk
To form the dew that soaks the grass at sunrise.
Brilliant arcs swell behind
Coots tending the nest.
Blackness has nearly set upon the lake
A ghostly orange tinge on the
Horizon signals the dying of the day
Cold fingers and brisk steps.
Willows make rainbow archways
From bank to water
Lime green fronds dragging the current.
The platter of water drenched moss and spatter on stone,
Blossom trees fit to burst
Dozing in purple twilight
Wrote about my walk last night
Poetic T Apr 2
I could never count stars
  as they were always shooting
point-blank at my forehead...

Hollow point dream killers,
   my eyes open pools of despair..

                       The night shone,
within the white pools,
   non-reflective reproductions of

desperation..

Every sheep that jumped over
that
       hedge...


Face hugging the granite of my
                dried up lake of sweet dreams..

I'm still awake....
Diljeev Mar 27
A year ceased to the known,
crystal to each other
selves of their own,
clear as day,
but the day's long agone.
Her voice still etched in his ears,
and as it appears,
it sure won't be gone for years.
Years to come, years to go,
will there be another to the known?
each day passes in this question's wake,
another day of talking and giggling
over something his mama baked?
will there be yet another night
skinny dipping down the lake?
Zack Ripley Mar 4
The air is cold.
But I don't notice.
Because as I walk across the frozen lake,
I know I can't afford
to make a mistake.
The longer I look
At the fish that swim below,
A feeling grows inside me.
It's not fear.
But fascination.
We always say we wish
Time would slow.
And walking on water
Makes me realize it does.
We just don't notice.
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