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i am for a moment.

faded like dusk

a whisper

like the lingering smell of cigaretts

my touch cold like the wind in the early morning

but my skin is burning

i want to feel

but my mind wont let me

trapped in an endless cycle of self loathing

how can i be happy

i am only for a moment

haunted with the memories of happy faces

and cursed with the demands of my past

i cant keep this up my light is fading

don’t worry no one is really paying attention

walking ghosts whip around me like smoke

only to leave no trace

you are only for a moment

just as i am.
Endless Horizon Aug 2014
If we were given the choice,
a choice to spend forever
in a moment of past,
what would it be?

Would it be,
a vacation,
a sunset at the beach?

Would it be,
in a mall,
shopping with friends?

Would it be,
a house visit,
or something more?

For me, it would be,
that day after school,
standing in the court of hoops,

with you.
Nakksss...lol something that has been in my mind since last year :)
heartbeast Aug 2014
It was pushing on evening, a hot day in June
you excused yourself and went to your room
you left the door open, I know that you knew
you were getting changed and I was watching you

You stepped out of your room, your private cocoon
in front of me I saw beauty in bloom
you stopped in the doorway with your favorite dress on
and all I could think of was how to get it of

The light from the sun, was feeding the moon
you took the lead and led me into your cocoon
If just for a moment, I was beautiful too
you were experiencing me, discovering you
chris m Aug 2014
how come my projection is ignored
your eyes, like high beams, flash over my existence
scattering my photons/my waves                                                            ­         
in exchange for your bright/white                                                            ­                                             clean/canvas                                                           ­                                             
you wander through these halls flitting from picture to picture to picture
fitting yourself to each
scene and visual style
discarding the ones irrelevant/inconsequential                                                  ­
like me, tossed aside
connections- but how deep
what soil does your friendship take root in?
in experiences/morals/ideologies/pasts                                                            ­  
or is it simply a necessity
a validation
that you exist
but why don’t i fit into your
equation/picture/life?                                                            ­                              
You want to laugh and I want to hear you
i don’t get it
i wish i did
you look at me and you look at you and you look at the boy standing there
and somehow you laugh at his smile
you talk with his persona
you walk with his saunter
and here i am passing the other way, looking/writing down                          
your validation
in these words i will capture your
reality/aura/matter/existence                                                        ­                      
so that you won’t be forgotten
like his smile/persona/saunter                                                          ­                  

and my projection/                                                                 ­                           
photons/                                                                 ­                           
waves/                                                                 ­                           
equation/                                                                 ­                           
picture/                                                                 ­                           
life?/                                                                 ­                           
reailty/                                                                 ­                           
aura/                                                                 ­                           
matter/                                                                 ­                           
existence/                                                                 ­                           

is anybody out there writing
for me?
Ashley Williams Jul 2014
I long for...
You.
The inevitable, intangible
You.

The one
I cannot touch,
The one
I do not know...

You exist only in my mind.

But out of the trillions of men
Existent in the world...
My idea of perfection

Is...

In  all actuality...

A reality.

Right?
Stephen Purcell Jul 2014
Each moment; each thread in the fabric we call existence; is a precious gift.
Blessed or cursed, in hope or despair, we can only marvel at each passing second, minute, hour.....


Multi-faceted, fragrant and eye-wrenching life swirls around us, wreathed in sheer Humanity.

And so we dance the Dance of Life. When a crimson sunset concludes this day;
Days of grey, dreary and mired or Days of depth and mystery, whether lit up or clouded by rain;
We dance in this moment, dance in this day and dance the eternal Dance of Life.
Wolf Irwin Jul 2014
Life at hand living out the plan,
It just might not be ours,
Is what we have to understand,
Everything happens as it should or it would not,
Happen at all is something I think everyone forgot,
It's not my plan? It's not my plan?,
Oh but it is blessed with free will as man,
And woman all the same theres noone to blame,
For our own misery,
So own your solution happily,
If something doesn't look right then change how you view,
You can see a different way if you want,
Theres really nothing to it,
Life isn't so bad once you become thankful,
There's lessons in life and they will make you feel tranquil,
So live your choice and rejoice at the chance,
To be alive and hear music and have a moment to dance.
Joe Wilson Jul 2014
There was an eerie quiet peacefulness
in the small sparsely furnished room.
The only sound that may have been heard
was of a solitary man wearing a brown robe
with the hood pushed carefully back in order
that his head would bared before God. He was
breathing in and out in a steady and relaxed way
as he occasionally and deliberately turned a page.

The man, perhaps in his sixties, one couldn’t tell
but for the age-worn hands that rested gently on a tome
before him. He was deep in thought and concentration
as he studied his Bible, something he did daily.
These were his moments of quiet contemplation,
but ones that he never shared, but with his God,
and upon finishing, he quickly rose and rejoined his Brothers.

He felt at Peace.

©Joe Wilson – In quiet contemplation 2014
School urges us
ever to accumulate
yet what dawns in
maturity is selectivity
not bulk - how I soon
began to seek white
chickens and essence
of red wheelbarrow
glazed with rain.

(c) C J Heyworth July 2014
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