Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Lydeen Aug 2019
Wal-Mart at 12 a.m. is almost eerie.

Silent save the occasional shopper or manager,
Perhaps following you to ensure you don't do anything foolish.

Picking out the dumbest things just because you need to smile.

Playing with your friend in the toys, letting go for once,
Just to be chased away by management.

Losing one of the squad and looking for her.

Wandering over to the makeup, glancing at the camera,
Then picking out what you want and pocketing it an aisle over.

Going to the arcade and winning for once.

It's not a secret, you needed a win,
Plus your little sibling will love the new stuffed toy.

Seeing a random family member.

Rushing away as to remain unseen,
Knowing if your parents find out you will be dead.

The general feeling of disassociated contentedness when you finally leave.

You won't remember half of what happened anyway,
But who cares.

Shopping at night is the best.
Glenn Currier Aug 2019
Hold me in your arms
fold me into your heart
touch me and let me feel your softness
take me away from me
help me to see
through your big brown eyes
drench me in your light
for I am down
and in the dark
remind me to laugh
and lift me with your wings of hope
smile me that last mile
before I am too tired.
there lay on the hindsight shelf
a most revealing book
the persons who were lied to
all took a detailed look

citations of dishonesty
stood out midst the tiny print
back then they'd not been
informed by a solid hint

every misleading exploit
sighted on the paper's sheet
such disregard for colleagues
who'd walked the duper's street

they saw a contrary
aspect
on this particular
subject

(Epilogue)

as time slipped away
the deceptions lay hid
yet in future days there'd
be a lifting of the lid
Lora Lee Jun 2016
There are days
when my soul feels
stretched out
like a ribbon
emotions
           hang
                  ing
from a thread
on the line,
like laundry, for
all to see, on pegs
vulnerable
           in storms
letting wind caress
and sometimes whip them
         round in beaten time
like a tempest
They tend to
get bruised, secretly
battered internally
as the surface of me smiles
and marches on
Vocal chords tightening
as the larynx longs
            in primal urge
     to take out the words
in one long
      graceful arc
             of purge
On these days I
need to sit
in the cloudforms
of my mind's eye
      and let myself feel
  what I cannot show:    
the daily coldness gnawing
    at my innards
      blow by icy blow
In these hours
I must let the tears
well up and run down
             until the sting of salt
penetrates the glacier
let the significance of
unspoken words
rise up from
the deep dermis layers
into my throat, my tonsils
up to the palate and tongue
               out through my lips
to the heavens,
releasing the unsung
         those words caught within
the walls of my neck -
they almost make me choke
exhaust contamination
from heavy, unseen smoke
  It billows up and out
and soon, like
hard-worked magic
this morse code is busted
because I am sick of feeling tragic
I command clear
communication
      to filter through
the spasms of fog
in drops of dew
I command my words to be heard
in tiny spikes of sun
And all the while
            in clear spirals,  
                    a prayer commences to
                        be spun:
for the harsh
               and bitter
be flushed out
             in unabated, icy rush
for my soul to rise up
           for the cleansing
in aching spirit blush
for the painfulness
of silence
to be ground out
upon the floor
for the shadows of
the violence
to be obliterated
to the
       core
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pS3TlGIkTKk
Kyle Fisher Sep 2015
Traction,
It's keeping yourself on the alloted trail,
Like a group of spikes pertruding from your hiking shoes.
Hidden underneath bleak chances to run off course,
There is traction.

Ascension,
It's the higher sense of letting go,
Like a swell from the waters of slightly unsecured mentality.
Stationed right above the need for grounding.
There is ascension.

Illumination,
It's the spurt of clarity, intense maturity,
Like a smith of fine silver, molding his first ring.
Seeing what might be, and generating the material.
There is illumination.

Perfection,
Its understanding the material is but a spec of truth.
Like something without beginning,.. without end.
Immortal, appearing mortal,
But, sincerely niether
There is perfection.

That is what you are.
I am.
©Kyle Fisher
Michael McLean Oct 2014
I try to lift weights

I guess I don't

pulling not-so-heavy

badly-shaped maybe-steel

from clay ground to beating chest

back and forth

atop a New York skyscraper
Kurt Kanawa Apr 2014
when i run
i imagine an airport
and you at the opposite end with open arms
and me running towards you
longing for your embrace

when i squat
i imagine a burning house
a heavy wooden column on my shoulders
and you between my legs
your life being mine to save

when i do pull-ups
i imagine a steep cliff
and your face meeting mine
drawing closer, closer, closer
at my every ascent

when i deadlift
i imagine you trapped
underneath the belly of a car
with you looking for me to lift the trunk
and allow space for your escape

when i bench press
i imagine myself (this time) trapped
underneath the belly of a car
with me pushing the car above
to be able to return to your company

when i do curls
i imagine you a mile away
a rope attached to your hips
and with each tug i repeat
you grow closer by a couple of feet

when i shoulder press**
i imagine a promise of a good shoulder rub
courtesy of your hands
once i squeeze out those
last.
three.
reps.

and when my spirit is spent
and exhaustion takes over imagination,
i shall revel in the endorphins pulsating through my veins
and pay gratitude
to my iron muse,
my unseen lover.
Though, admittedly, you can be a distraction sometimes.
Daylight 4U2C Jan 2014
A wicked woman told my love, "**** him and you will be free."
My love paused, and the wicked woman's old twig of a finger pointed off to me.
Love walked to me with tearful eyes, as if she had no choice.
I smiled wryly and told her in the softness of my voice, "Let it be done, and be free.
No sword is long enough to show my love for thee. No dagger, short enough to match my heart's beat.
So please my love, take your choice of my death. Choose what would be fit."
She didn't hesitate, just cry. She, slowly lifting a mirror from the dust.
I don't know why I felt I must, but I wiped the tears away just to savor her touch.
I looked into her sad blue eyes, just for one more glance. Then I shut my own.
I could feel her lift the mirror, this was her chance, let it be known.
A crashing blankness came down on me, soon after the last things I heard.
"I'm moving up, and you're moving down." These were her last words.
I didn't understand them then, but now I think I know.
She will one day be in the warm light, while I'm still stuck in the cold indigo.
I'd always run up the down escalator, like a crazy kid.
She always said, one day I'd trip.
And now I finally did.

— The End —