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Alex Apr 16
I've gone the distance
So much has changed
But I just can't turn back time
Can't rewind the clock
or bring back what was mine
Time has changed and things have faded
Those times really underrated
But I can't go back
I can't rewind
All I can do is remember
Before the memories fade with time
Then they will go
Like sand in the glass
One speck lost in the sea
Time to turn and start a new
Before The hourglass breaks
And we lose all the memories
Athul Ravi Apr 14
Everyday, without fail,
I'd find myself in this space,
At the end of the living room.
Just big enough for one of me
To lie sideways, and another me
To sit with his back to the railing,
And his feet right up against the doors.

I'd find myself taking a nap there,
On afternoons that render
My cozy bed and blanket suffocating,
And even if sleep kept itself
At an arm's length away,
The warmth of the sun at its height
Made me think less of how
It's not just sleep that put a distance
Between itself and me.

Every now and then,
I'd find myself curled up,
On the aging mattress lying there
On the floor, left behind by somebody.
Sometimes, I have my phone with me,
As I keep looking away from matters
That are right up in my face.

There are less fortunate days,
When my phone's a few feet away,
And the space between it and I
Is home to all my baggage
That's begun to rot and smell over the years.

Between the time I had my last meal,
And when the day has no more surprises to reveal,
I'd find myself propped up there.
Some nights, I'd sit and strum
An off-key guitar that's missing a string,
Taking breaks to light a cig or two.

It could be the nicotine, it could be my delusions,
But sometimes I feel I've become
Just a little better,
Though I know that's just my way
Of reminding oneself,
That things hopefully get better over time.

This little area has seen a fair bit
Of burnt butts and paper planes,
Of drunk delirium and sober concerns,
Of an abundance of persons,
And the lack of it all -
It's the balcony, it couldn't be
A space of my own, you know?

Even so, in the wee hours
Where insomnia flirts with dissociation,
When my 'everyone' exists but in person,
And I crave for a shoulder to rest on,
This place saves me.

Not quite in the heroic sense
Of culling dragons and scaling towers,
But, in a simpler twisted way,
Wrapping some vines around my ankles,
To keep me from seeing what's over the edge,
Yet letting me know, in it's own way,
That I'm probably not alone.
Lance Remir Apr 13
My most dangerous trauma
Has the most gorgeous smile
How you haunt my dreams
That I never want to end
Your ghost lingers in my heart
And how it beats with joy and sorrow
My most beautiful trigger
Pull it, and let it go through me
You left a hole, a wound
Unforgettable in my waking moments
The scars that spelled love
Carved by mine's truly
I wish to heal one day
But I hold on to all of it 
I am not ready, I refuse to move
Erasing all the sadness and misery 
Would also mean erasing you
Miss Masque Apr 12
I'm meant to hold your hand--
the way it curls over mine with
such a tenderness that's enough
to make me smile and leak tears
onto the bundled scarf.

The wind sweeps them away,
I blink up at you and know
the warmth your smile pours--
liquid amber honey that
holds me steady in your gaze,
and yet--
this is a new place.

We have been here for days,
Rushing around on trains
and buses
and cabs
and subways
to all the places humanity treasures--
and I want to experience every moment
with You.

The culture in new places
always feels like a theoretical
until it's experienced...like an outline,
a sketch, a diagram even--
but diagrams don't reflect
the life in your eyes when
you quietly whisper a pun
while the tour guide is guiding
and I have to cover my mouth
or risk the ire of a librarian stare
from whomever might be offended
by a little burst of joy being born.

It started raining on the cobblestone
as we were walking to brunch,
but you brought an umbrella and
sheltered us from being soaked as
some less fortunates skittered through
the streets like animals seeking shelter...
but we are in no rush;
We enjoy the rain, the sound, the smell,
as it melts the scene that should be
painted in watercolor.

I don't imagine I would--
Or even that I could
forget all the little things.
I collect them like seashells or
shiny little rocks, and I
put them in my pockets and they
lift me up as if they weren't little
rocks at all but balloons
not letting my feet
ever touch the ground
floating forever
in this love we've found.
Joss Lennox Apr 11
This morning, out my windowsill
was a vibrant cardinal resting tranquil and still,
sitting on a limb with solace and halcyon calm,
singing a soothingly mellifluous song,
all of a sudden, emotions flooded upon me,
a nostalgic moment, from when I was young,
years upon years ago,
my grandmothers making breakfast,
my grandfather, reading the paper across from me,
in good health, laughing,
we're both content as can be,
there, just for a moment, we're together again
every time I see a cardinal now, I think of him
my own warm, sweet memories
from a simpler time, now intertwined
My grandparents were a big part in helping raise me. My grandfather, who was like a father to me, loved cardinals and would always point them out to me. After he passed, I began to see so many cardinals, which comforted me through the pain of losing him. Now every time I see a cardinal, I think of him, his warmth, his laugh and I remember how much I miss him, but also how nice it is to know he's still around, sending me cardinals.
Carlo C Gomez Apr 11
South coast days on end

The ante meridiem
Married to summer

People in constant motion

To the merry-go-round we go
To the merry-go-round we go

In the center
Like the mobile over my bed

Where the heart beats
Where our eyes see in teleidoscope

Inside the lines are brighter
And wider and envelop

The journey in itself
Is the gift
Arthur Vaso Apr 9
A fool
lives inside of me
I invited love to a dance
she came, and walked right past me
the scent of her perfume in the breeze
invisible to her eyes
quietly, I walked away
through the forest
holding the rose in my hand
a goat ran up to me
I fed her the rose
she walked along with me
death following not far behind
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
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