Jasmina Jan 12

If we could write a motion memento
Just a couple of sentences long.

Just long enough for people to stop and live
the moment along.

If we could stop and tell the world the point of it all,
many eyes of disguise would laugh as they think they already know.

How could we forget and loose our point along the way,
And keep on walking breathlessly, as if the secret has never been told away.

We share our memories and our tears
We live in an irrational emotional fears.

If we could write a motion memento
Just a couple of sentences long

just long enough to catch attention
in this fast living world.

Just long enough to remind you
that all you have is NOW.

TRF Dec 2016

An inner conflict was brewing in the brain of this Regal Man,
Snap shots of his world come and go, having lost time as his memento,
He never missed the most important meeting on his calendar each day, same as planned,
His insipid body, a vehicle driven by the same shiny things that attract barracudas,
A papercut on his tongue from licking an envelope, was a microscopic distraction,
Yearning for a momentary state of bliss, it was time for a sinuous routine to get on with the show,
The prick induced a memory of his stoicism, brought back to life as an afterglow.

Disparate cynics, cannot fathom these deepest of depths,  
Man can’t choose his D.N.A. like he can nomenclature,
Be blessed you are immune child and take a deep breath,
Habits may be hard to swallow by some; no plethora of education,
As much of a paradox as this may be, the pursuit of this dance is not feeling like death,
Knowing that every cylindrical spin of the pistol can determine the future,
Indulging in an appetite of chaos, will be sure to obscure.

Only hours before the celebration that gives thanks to our last Harvest,
A quandary this time was stewing in this stoic man’s galaxy,
On his left shoulder was a badger, putting his life to THE TEST,
To his right was an angel, her relentless pleas dismissed,
Like being beset in quicksand, he dreamed that option was best,
A thought went through his head but vanished like a wave at sea,
Licking his fingers to feel the wind he sang out, “Memeto- Mori”. (Remember Your Death)

11/20/16 By _TRF R.I. P

Fresh corpses line the boulevard
as the street lights do,
and thrushes sing a requiem
for the old man who
lights a white candle each morning.

Scarlet M Sep 2016

Remember Me,
             On a full bloom paradise, a sweet spring escapade,
             when the first bud flourishes,
             on the day you ended my feelings with a drought.

Remember Me,
             On a dwindling heat, a midsummer’s day,
             when the ocean wave crashes,
             with me shouting your name.

Remember Me,
             On a soft autumn breeze, a free falling dream,
             when the last leaf drops,
             together with a heart flowing on a violent stream.

Remember Me,
             On a winter solstice, a frostbitten goodnight,
             when our fragment of memories scatters in a snow-kissed temptation
             as they screamed for a horrible goodbye.

Rafael Melendez Nov 2015

She calls and tells me she's discovered herself. She can no longer see me as apart of her future, this self she discovered, this self I always loved in every form, can no longer love me.

My edges were always rough, filled with mistakes and awkward shades. But I changed, I broke every bone in my body, stretched within an inch of my life, as I was sculpted by her.
And now I've turned into an abandoned art piece. Incomplete. Not even worth being a memento.

So just throw me away.

Nefandus Sep 2015

Happiness is melting, spreading its black liquid all over us

Left is the remains of rainy clouds

I'm staring at the black hole,  that is supposedly representing my heart, or maybe it's just an illusion since the reflection is blurred by my thoughts.  

Oh... it's raining again

Moans and groans of the dying and the living-dead
Last words: phrases that lingered
Still on their tongues
Bloods, boots and broken bones on cassava farms
where they fell
Crosses rotten, and this rusty brown shell
Tell stories of a past - that bloody movie
This bloody war

Bruna Werneck Jan 2014

The graveyard shift starts
Through the gates, the undertaker
watches the body upon the grave

There is no wreath, no will, no heir
Intestate, grave-digger?
Even if the body was not there!
There is no cenotaph

But the corpse,
mausoleum's orts,
claims to lie down elsewhere

Gloomy night, almost dawn
bereavement starts tonight
Deceased corpse cries

No repose, exanimate
Worn-out body, no replace
Requiem post suicide

Bidding farewell
The mug, full of sorrow,
is loaded with blood as well

The skeptical man,
once again,
utters a shout to the corpse.
But the worms,
spread over the skull,
have its own words to say:
Memento mori, undertaker.
Your grave we already have.
Life, death, time
It all passes by.
You’d better save your last breath.”

— The End —