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Margaret's fingers clasped and still
white birds upon her window sill
silent doves that came to rest
sleeping now upon her chest
each settled bird that came to land
will fly no more from Margaret’s hands
Margaret aged 5 was a child killed in the blitz. I visited her grave when I was 10
T R Wingfield Oct 2022
‘Cause you  never wrote any of the good parts down
You just lived ‘em
and let ‘em

                                               a                    y

You knew better
than to try to capture
the silliness in its hay day
because then you’d have
to face the facts of
the very choices
that you’d made;
and there would be no question -
whether it’s was worth it -
to waste the days by trading them
for nights of frivolity and frolicking -
Of frittering away.
What should have been,
and what is so,
and where it came from,
and who’s to blame
would all be there in Black and white,
instead of vanishing in the haze.

And in your own hand, no less;
your words,
a confession dictated day by day
of what, With your own eyes,
you did see
- All the magic and the wonderment of this tragic comedy -
through foggy lenses, bottle-thick and stained:
dreary ramblings in shadows made,
and heard and said
a many things
in drunken dangling reparteé.
{•:[\|/]:•}no one ******* cares{•:[\|/]:•}

                                          _ -====- _
                                      . + T  [ ^ ] T + .
                                   /  .•^•.    .•^•.   \
                                  |   <(•)  }  {  (•)>   |
                                  (..          /^\          ..)
                                   \* /|'_'_'_'_'|\ */
                                      \\ V         V //
                                        \\ ^----^ //
                                          \ '-''-'-''-' /
                                             * -_'_- *

                                          _ -====- _
                                      . + T  [ ^ ] T + .
                                   /  .•^•.    .•^•.   \
                                  |   <(•)  }  {  (•)>   |
                                  (..          /^\          ..)
                                   \* /|'_'_'_'_'|\ */
                                      \\ V         V //
                                        \\ ^ __ ^ //
                                          \ '-''-'-''-' /
                                             * -_''_- *

(Found beneath the body of the author, who was crushed by the weight of a megalithic stone- his writers block)
p.s. - I spent far too much time on the ascii vampire skull; but isn't it neat?
Emily Nov 2021
Today is one of those days
where I could weep any minute.

Where it feels as if my soul has been laid bare,
and anything can touch it.

The thought of you not being here
to comfort me in these times,
makes it almost unbearable.

How I wish to see you on the other side.
Maria Mitea Apr 2021
in a world of glitter and tinsel
we are two visions of mori butterflies,
whose larvae eat the darkness of the night
like a white mulberry tree, leaving holes of light
on the forgotten silky roads.
jǫrð Nov 2020
Ancient Fairchild Oak
Stripped away with saws and rakes
More room for the dead
The History: The day brought me to a memorial garden with Fairchild Oaks draped in Spanish Moss.   I watched as a group of 12 cleared the tree for more dead ground. I decided when I'm reborn next, I'll call my name Mori.
Gabriel Nov 2020
I wake up and you are still here.
You, of course, being something I can't touch,
a feeling, maybe. A high school crush on forever.
You, of course, are not really a you, but an us,
something I can't touch; a promise
to someone, of something. What it is about
I can't remember. What it is all about I can never

You are filled with every good day I've ever had
and every good day I never will. Your body bursts
with all the things I didn't get to do
because I was lying in bed, or crying in the shower,
or scared of what strangers would think of me.
When you smile, your teeth bare courage, click-clacking
with the memories of speeding down the highway and turning down
an invitation to a very, very quiet concert.

I can't tear myself into two neat pieces to hate and love you all the same,
I want to pick the meat off the bones and take all the parts I'm grateful for,
leaving you a skeleton carcass that gloats about everything that passed me by.
You, though, are not a meal and I am not a vulture.
I cannot separate the memento from the mori
which, still, leaves me with two choices.
Pretend none of it ever happened,
or accept the whole impossibly beautiful, unimaginably ugly thing.
a short poem inspired by unus annus
Aditya Pandey Oct 2020
Let's Die
Let’s Die
Let’s die for a while
You, me
Let’s die

Let nature rust us meanwhile
Let’s shed this skin and masks we wear
Let’s break shell like a caterpillar
Let’s aspire to achieve a state of flow like a serene river
Let’s ask question that speak truth to power
Let’s ensure that no one is devoured
Let’s hold each other’s hand to uplift each other
Let’s make sure that everyone’s voice is heard,

Let’s put a stop to this brutal abuse and killing
Let’s put an ethical WHY before each of our dealing,
No matter how much we are unwilling
Let’s not wait for someone to break the railing
Let’s be the one who doesn’t lead the crowd
Rather stays in the centre and feels proud
Let’s ask for more humility from the all encompassing creator
As we are nothing but “just a pale blue dot,”
arrogantly moving in the vibrating vastness of the universe

Let’s end the cycle of degradation and humiliation
Let’s stop lying for pursuing immediate gratification
Let’s question fundamentals that we have been taught
Not to dismantle all but to grow without them getting rot
Let’s make this death a rupture moment
Not the one that spills blood and resentment
Let’s **** some memories to begin afresh
Let’s hide for a while in each other’s chest
Let’s make this body weak and vulnerable
Let’s carry someone else’s pain on our shoulders
which for them is unbearable

Let’s fall sick,
Let’s live our last wish,
Let’s fulfill someone’s last wish

If we do,

It will be enough to live a life and
call it worth lived
when we die

(by all, to all, for all)
Juno Aug 2020
whatever happens, promise
you’ll remember what it’s like

to fight for something even if
youre not sure if you’ll survive.

to beg for mercy, plead for help,
but no one bats an eye.

so take a second, “momento mori”;
remember, you will die.
i haven’t been very active recently because of covid, but i hope to write more now.
ps. this poem may or may not be about a fictional character.
Luna Maria Jun 2020
as if
I am not thinking
about death
all the time
life is so fragile
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