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Colm May 2018
Ask to find. Don't run and hide.
The person is not the pleasure which is in mind.

Just as fears are never lasting, ever fading fast we die.

So also should our conversations be more just than that in mind.

And yet I find...

That it is the pride of self expression, which comes most before the fall.

Perhaps our story has been recanted. And I did not share Me at all?
This is a bit of a reminder from self to humble myself. Because my perceptions are often quite far from the truth. No matter how much my intuition likes to affirm what I think. Such thoughts are just thoughts. I think.
Alienpoet Sep 2017
Desperation for your touch
your kiss
I can never truly deserve this
in midnight moonlit bliss
we collide together in bedroom hysteria.

In fever pitched heat
tangled legs and arms in devotion
you sing like songstresses wailing
causing a commotion
love is song sung better with two
but longing is my heart for you...
I have been reading   Pablo Neruda 's twenty love poems and song of despair.
Poetic T Aug 2017
Staring down serene
                             views,
looking over the ocean.
The moon gazed tranquilly
looking at stars in the
                   mirror of waving tides.
Colm Jul 2017
No metaphor will tell it
Although I convince myself within the moment
That it will last

That the clouds above my head
The howling wind which I adore
The summer rain and the glorious morn
Will indeed last

But they never do

Because no metaphor can contain
Or stretch it over the canvas to fit
Or even begin to properly paint
This representation known as you

You simply are, as simply is
Beyond the metaphor
Within the shadow of a moonlit truth
The best happens...when you stop thinking about it. And just say it. As it is. True.
Honor and Roses May 2017
God I miss him,
I miss the days of old.

I can taste it.

It tasted like a windy summer night.
Where the waxing gibbous moon was radiating;
Lighting up the cloudless night and then reflecting on the surface of my heart.

Where every small movement of he makes
– with his lips, hands and fingers caused ripples.
They were exaggerated in the best way possible.

It tasted like a cold autumn night;
Like the golden, sweet and sticky honey;
drizzled over warm waffles and a hot cup of rose tea.

Where the waxing gibbous moon was glowing;
Glowing through my curtains then onto my mirror,
casting a reflection on my bed.

Where he lies all day,
Waiting for me to return from reality –
to where I truly belong.  
Where we waltzed with stars and I slide down the Milky Way
right into his arms.


I am a nefelibata.
This is a true recount of my feelings for someone. I have an obsession with a moon, stars and whatever that is in the universe/ outer space. I often feel inspired by when I see the moon. From my room, I have a clear view of the moonlit sky and it feels very comforting.

Honor
Moonlit summer shore
Blackness deep waves sing
He walks
A pencil writes His thoughts
Vivid dream several years ago
Viji Suresh May 2016
Beneath the Golden moon,
The waves shimmer,  
Like silver streaked with gold,
The beauty lies before me,
I dreamt of you stealing behind me..
Together we witnessed the serenity screened for us,
Sound of the sea orchestrated a wild Symphony,
Waves dancing on silver sand,
The salty peanuts you fed me there..
My tongue cleaning your fingers without a speck...
Content you continued to write from where you left.
I continued to type this song, continuous without a period...
This is just one evening of our lives...
There might be many,
There might be none,
But,  Its easy I can reproduce you through my memory,
Another moonlit night and you stealing behind..
The winds might roar then,
The moon might disappear without trace,
We will stand and witness the waves roar,
A wild dance that threatens and we step back,
A hurricane may brew before our eyes,
But, my heart calm resting at your side...
A cold ice cream this time,  rain washing your sticky fingers,
You nod at me and I followed,  
A Spring morning,  when the tides lazed and slept...
You held a tulip and ran on my cheeks,
I stood there closing my eyes...
It's time to reproduce you back,
The Scottish village idyllic before our eyes.
Tom McCone Sep 2015
solemn was the cratered gleam,
pointing through engorged blossoms
out in the front yard. the thing,
itself, was gnashed by teeth in
reddened cloak. a crown of
empty glow. slowly,
the sky percolated out, through
my thoughts and dreams; places
left over, broken glass strewn
in my head and gut. lone
hand stirring in the clean light.
hypnotic path, yet i stray.
so strange, so strange.

so, i
set meaning on wind.
yet, yielding no answer,
dark pinnacles hide you,
watching back over all of
this expanse.

my heart is no small cavern:
no amount of howling will
change its flows or ebbs,
hollow knocks, or nestings.
your fields are immense, oh
brighter light, and deform smooth,
in all fine transience, leaving
dusty trails in the corners
of the buried systems
of my mind.

and the wealth of the world was
no more than specks upon the mantle,
in our eyes. we sat above it all,
counting out time on
fingers and toes,
stone, and
shadow
[to the tune of: https://slaapwel.bandcamp.com/album/ruis]
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