Jaspal Kaur Jun 10
The only thing that scares me the most is the sunrise.
The moment I see daylight spreading over houses and trees, all my fears become alive.
The fear people of seeing the pain of lost love in my eyes.
The fear that someday my smile will no longer will able to hide the anguish of broken heart.
The fear of breaking down in front of a crowd.
The fear of loving and getting attached.
The fear of unrequited love scares me.
The darkness of night hides all my fears in my eyes that nobody can see.
#love_doesn't_exist
#scared_to_ever_love_again
Brent Kincaid May 28
She sits in her room
Beside her lonely loom
And dreams of times of grace
And suitors come to her place.
But no one has come here,
So she sings the songs
Of being alone too long.

None will come so near
That she needs to flirt.
Instead she gathers her hurt
And weaves it into tapestries
Of such stunning majesty
That only she will applaud,
Because there is no god
That will transform her to be
A lady of famous beauty.

She never has known why
She was born forbiddingly shy.
She fears to speak and convince,
Always she is prone to wince
Instead of smiling and inviting.
Her lovely pale face whitening
With dread she cannot speak
And that makes her feel åweak.

The sun rises and it sets
She has nothing to regret
Or to remember gladly
But sadly she has grown
Comfortable being alone
Since  the pain is remembered
And she never delivered
From the roaring noise
Of life without love’s joys.
Ajey Pai K May 19
I dreamt of thy love in its faintest chances,
Showering from the ninth cloud of reverie.
When I stood the test for my affections,
't was a fool's confession of true love:
For I remained ever a lovelorn dame.
Didn't my eyes sparkle right?
Or the curves on my hip, not enough?
Did my words fall short of my love for thee?
Or my bearings in public a little rough?
Democratic are thine associations in flesh,
Deriving pleasure out of mindless affairs.
Whilst I am ascribed the proverbial taint,
I remain the sinner and thee ever a saint.
Our loves fail. But as Alfred Lord Tennyson says it: tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.
Jair Graham May 16
Hold my hand like that time in Eugene.
Please save me from this pill-routine, this empty dreaming time.
I am a shard of glass fallen from a high window and now I can only lie here until you save me, pick me up.
I'm a newspaper left in rain-showers, my sense of self lies in inky pools on the sidewalk.
I am lost in that same endless Monday when you left, took your suitcase and everything inside of me.
Could I have my heart back please?
deadboy Mar 4
No rosy death sings her,
For mine eyes, which furtive on'ers linger.
All abandon, blackness bled let,
From feeble hands on this dead cigarette

Naught but blood…
Staining flower buds.

Now I hear them softly, solemn speak.
These hollow, sallow corpses which creak,


...Breathing-- Singing, this new death.
Brent Kincaid Feb 27
I’m open to the idea
Of spirituality, but not
A proponent of spirits
Walking out of graves.
Yet some people leave
Without dying, gone
But not forgotten nor
Are they anywhere near
Just listening, talking
Inside of my head.
Spirits in a way, body-less
Haunted by what they said.

There are many of them,
These ghosts of yesterday
Who captivated my life
Encapsulated it, and me;
Tweaking me around so
That there was little else
That was happening then.
Some were women, some men.
I’d forget for a moment
Then they’d come again
Making me look at them
And at nobody else around.

That's it, it was all that easy;
A glance, some chat and then
I was hooked on this person,
This lovely woman or hot man
From my teen years to maturity.
I fell for each memory and now
They come back again to speak,
Full of the same silent promise,
Aging not a bit, as if they hoped
To find just such a twit as I
To tantalize and tease, not please;
Those days are gone. moved on.

But the place in my heart for
This Marley’s ghost of emotion
Wide as an ocean still exists
Without the urgency, the heat
But there is still the heartbeat
And the gratitude that they
Took the time to share, to care
And I don’t dare forget or ignore.
I urge them back each time for more
As if i am keeping score in a book.
Maybe it is because I still lust
For one last loving look.
Prashant Shaurya Sep 2017
The poet wished to cry out loud
And vent the slithering pain
Yet void in his sinking heart
Won't let him flee this blain.

The pen then oozed in torrid red
To scribe 'bout the hovering gloom
Yet mind feared to find the words
Which would write the poet's doom

If the poet broke his promise
No flower would ever bloom
So pen hid the poet's torment
Within a heap of silken plumes.


Prashant Shaurya ©
All Rights Reserved
Prashant Shaurya Sep 2017
The pen rambled across the pad
To write something untrue
Yet mind and heart did seldom see
When the pen hid it's rue.

Mind could think but heart would long, for
Insidious days to part
Yet pen would foster spilling of
Blood from the wounded heart.

Verses written in sparkling red
Couldn't sort the haze around
A poet caught in the vicious fray
Wouldn't want to be homebound.

Prashant Shaurya ©
All Rights Reserved
Brent Kincaid Sep 2017
I see other people
And they’re happy two by two
It’s like they all know
Exactly what they should do.
They smile sweetly
They hug and hold hands
TheY talk to each other
And seem to understand.

They look into their eyes
And don’t quickly look away
And seem to be listening
To what the other has to say.
The smiles are frequent
And so is the cheerful laughter.
It seems they are well into
Their happily ever after.

Two minus one
The mathematics of my story.
Plenty of guts
But never that much of glory.
There must be something
I have not learned to do
That makes one plus one
Add to up to a decent two.

Going out to dinner
With couples is quite a trial.
Everyone gets uncomfortable.
I quit doing it after a while.
It hurts to see happiness
When you aren’t getting much.
The reminders are constant
With their every loving touch.

Two minus one
The mathematics of my story.
Plenty of guts
But never that much of glory.
There must be something
I have not learned to do
That makes one plus one
Add to up to a decent two.
Luna Marie Apr 2017
Before we had divided,
We loved each other to no end,
Until you had crossed the line.

When our paths again collided,
My idea of you started to bend.
You got me thinking about when you were mine.

You just want my innocence.
You don't really want my heart.
Maybe you just hate the thought of me loving someone new.

You just liked my appearance.
And now that we're apart,
Is this your way of making sure that I'm not getting over you?
Help me let go of you.
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