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The sticking points losing their touch
We used to dive into drops of rain
He met her at the bus one day,  
Her smile like dawn, his heart astray.  
A fleeting glance, a laugh so bright,  
She lit the world in passing light.  

Her voice was soft, her words were few,  
Yet in his soul, a love he knew.  
But time was short, the ride too fast,  
Her stop arrived—his heart held fast.  

He watched her step onto the street,  
Her fading form, his lost heartbeat.  
His own stop called, the doors hissed shut,  
A silent ache, his soul left cut.  

If only time had paused awhile,  
Or fate had matched her steps to his mile.  
But buses run, and moments flee—  
Now all he holds is memory.  

A love untold, a chance undone,  
A station missed, a setting sun.
Ma-kayla May 15
Don’t Look Back

I shouldn't have walked home alone—
The street feels colder than I’ve known.

Footsteps echo, not just mine,
I glance behind but see no sign.

My keys shake quiet in my hand,
A voice once warned, “Don’t trust the man.”

My chest is tight, my pace is fast,
I pray each step won’t be my last.

I want to scream, but nothing comes.
My thoughts are loud, my body numb.

Please, not tonight—not like this.
I just want home. I just want peace.
This poem’s about that creepy feeling when you’re alone and can’t shake the sense someone’s behind you. Just trying to get home safe. We’ve all been there.
Lips together, pressed,
as if you were the one dead,
"Wake up"-your only prayer,
but death doesn't care.
Now you can only choke,
on words you never spoke.
28/4/25
Vrinda May 3
"Why do you treat me right?
talking late in the night
staring in your pretty eyes
you're so pretty, that I might
might pull up a fight
the stars above shine oh so bright
yet, I only see you far in sight
why?"
Vrinda May 3
"It's late in the night
3:08
filled with hate
thought it was fate
turns out it's all fake
I still wait
for what? oh I wish I knew
flying feelings over the moon"
i wrote this at 3:08 am
Summer in a corn field  
learning about love.

Two kids coming of age 
Under the afternoon sun.

She was warm, and wild, and willing,
I was young and hard and lean.

It wasn't exactly love
It was never meant to be.

We both went our own way, 
living our own dreams.

But sometimes when I'm sleeping 
you come back to me.

Through the corn fields of my mind,
We wander one more time.

You were warm, and wild, and willing,
I was young, and hard, and lean.

And we make love in memories,
we make love in dreams.

I wake and I wonder,
do you ever wonder of me?

Do you ever revisit the corn fields
of our childhood memories?

Do you ever wake and wonder,
Whatever became of me?

I wonder what became of you!
So this isn't about any one particular girl more an amalgam of girls I've crossed paths with. Who live on only in memories, some cherished, some fleeting.
Inspiration: Bob Seger's (Night Moves, and Like a Rock)
And John Mellencamp's (To M.G. Wherever She May Be)
I was born in a small town in Michigan, those guys were a big part of my Adolescent Wanderings and Wonderings.
The You Tube Video is up
https://youtu.be/XuO1TZQlSRs?feature=shared

Thanks
I sit and watch the world spin round 
glad I'm no longer in the fray.

Time has quietly passed me by 
as day bleeds into day.
The night it moves much slower.
My mind always fast awake, 
sleep is often hard to find
before the day's break.

Vampiric nights and exhausted days
swirl and turn inside a yellow haze.

This is my life now!

I sit and watch the world spin round
wishing I was still in the fray.

Longing to feel the sun on my face
and frolic away my days.

This is my life now.

Is this my life now!?

It's been a long winter,
It's always worse in the winter.
Getting older brings about a lot of changes
We never thought about when we were younger.
Maybe we just didn't have the time.
Andrew Feb 18
Quietly sitting beside a dying fire,
hands outstretched, waiting for warmth
that never fully comes.
You tell yourself it's fine,
even fading heat is better than the cold.

But is it enough?
The flickering embers,
the half-light that barely holds back the night.
It is better than the risk of ashes,
better than watching it all burn away.

So you stay.
You stir the coals,
feed it what little you have left,
collecting the smallest sparks,
as if they might one day catch flame.

But they never do.
And deep down, you know they won’t.
The fire dims, shrinking into embers,
glowing softly but offering nothing,
leaving only smoke and the weight of the chill.

And maybe it’s too late.
Maybe one day, the fire will vanish completely,
a hollow space where warmth once lived.
Or maybe—just maybe—
you’ll walk away before the cold takes you too.
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