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A love like yours
Has got me weeping at unknown doors
To be heard,
To be mourned,
To be something,
Under this sky above.

I had to pray
Thunderstorms in my way
When you would never stay
A price too big you asked me to pay.

And I can't undo the candles
The lightning and the thunders
And the passion I poured into you,
You truly never had a clue
All I did was for you.
Izzy Oct 7
my beloved,
what do i do
if i never see you again?

what if
words exchanged
were the last ones
to be so?

what if i
were
never
able
to let go

what if i
have to
keep on
turning
in my grave
Alex McQuate Sep 30
Oh how I wonder,
How Napoleon felt on that ship,
Seeing the coast of his beloved France recede into the distance,
Never to be seen again?

How did it feel,
When the Emperor stared out,
Upon the ocean and horizon
The salted spray that kissed St Helena,
Also kissing his brow?

In those last days,
Did he recall his beloved France?
Did he visit his men and subjects,
Did he see it in his mind?

In those final hours,
Did he hear the people chant,
Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité!
Did he hear his army sing Le Chant du Départ one final time?

Upon the arrival of that grande finale,
The final moment,
The End,
Did he think of François and Léon as much as Josephine?
Did he feel that laurel-wreath upon his head one last time?

Was he scared?
wading through the faces as they fade into the portraits
swallowed by the room of fresh pressed funeral suits
cold eyes boring holes into the back of my head
all the boring jokes i've told to best dressed mourning guests

the rest, my best guess
arrived to celebrate your death
no one thinks to bring flowers for the living
april showers bring may flowers
but you pushed daisies into my hands
when you're left holding the bouquet
you won’t stop to smell the roses
Zywa Apr 10
Don't mourn for the dead,

grieve only for the living --


Do it for yourself.
Novel "Midnight's Children" (1981, Salman Rushdie), chapter 3-1 "The buddha" (old man)

Collection "Low gear"
Unpolished Ink Sep 2023
Do not mourn for me in sombre colours
black and grey was not my way to be
do not drown me in sorrowing hymns
praise me with the tunes of larks
I always loved their spiral song in flight
celebrate the spirit that was me
forget the dark
embrace my light
Coleen Mzarriz Jul 2023
A jarring, disturbing day for a summer breeze in mid-July. The streets were covered by the footsteps of people hustling, hoping they’d be early for their 8–5 job, and babies crying when their mom left for a meeting that started at 11 a.m. And I bought my favorite coffee—a caramel latte.
 
It was as if my worn-out hands, which have been clawed out by the hand of the disrespectful ghost who’s been living inside my apartment, coveted the sun and thought it was time for him to be kissed by the summer and embraced by the coldness of the winter—it’s coming and it’s starting to cry a little.
 
Drop by drop, until my jacket seeped the harsh trickle of the rain. Terribly enough, I was standing near the pedestrian lane, and the universe ribboned the strings between me and this disrespectful ghost. Mind you, he was a stranger once. And we both looked at each other.
 
He was waiting for the bus, and I am too. He’s on the second seat, and I’m on the left, near the window. Third row. He loves music and likes to listen to it when he’s bathing. He loves writing just like I do, and he loves to hum his favorite songs just like I do.
 
He loves basketball, but he rarely plays, and he loves to daydream and has two imaginary friends. He loves to hold my hand and kiss me on the cheek. But then he died. And he smells like the earth—with thick thorns covering half of his body, bleeding through his shirt, and losing his smile.
 
But then again, the earth sent him back, and I started to mourn. I no longer know his name, but I mourn for him. It’s time for this ghost to go, and it happened that we’re both on the same bus, and he was disrespectful enough to not inform me that he’s leaving again.
 
Perhaps I’ve come to terms with the fact that tenants like him will come and go, and their loose threads will always be tied to me. I’ve yet to let go. He’s dead, and he’s now a stranger who once walked down the street.
 
My caramel latte is now lukewarm, and I threw it away, but I was early for work. What a jarring, disturbing day.
Perhaps in another universe, we’re both seated in the same row and we’re holding each other’s hands.
Claire Elizabeth Jul 2023
How does one lose a creature gracefully…?

Is it possible to just be okay with a quick goodbye under the hum of those awful fluorescent lights? Would it have been easier, kinder, softer, if the lights were lamps scattered about the space, yellow and murmuring? When does the gut-wrneching tightening stop? Will I ever let the sadness of it leave my chest?

Sitting in this complacent grief even months after it all is kind

I know that the grief will let me cry and I know that when I do, it doesn’t judge me for my “I wish things could go back to normal.” Because regardless of how familiar the New Ways become, it still isn’t the same. I am bookended by these two creatures that have and continue to adore the Earth I walk on. But the Old Ways stick with us for longer than we’d maybe like.

But in filling that little empty nook, the small nest where a dog named Nelson used to lie, I’ve forced myself to grow, to become changed.

My adult life started when I got Nelson, and it started again when I had to let him slip through my trembling fingers. And it continues on with this new creature named Franklin, who sits just to the left of that Nelson shaped divot.

Loving things that leave you utterly shattered is what makes us so mendable, forgetful, endlessly desperate for devotion…

The whole scene will replay in 10 years time, and I will be even more ruined then.
Hollie Jul 2023
When I lay in bed
It's your scent
Soaked and washed over me
Your arms like shelter
Keeping the day away
Because lord knows I've needed you
More recently than before
Days spanding into weeks then months
Hunger screaming in my pit
Dark and stormy
Are the skies that hover over
But when I lay
You are there
You are always there
In memories I keep you alive
But outside our bed
Your body is where it's always been
Back at the cemetery
Where I had to say goodbye
Mourning death
brai Jun 2023
It's sad to see when the ladybugs mourn
Somber dark faces with whites turned down
Trudging along forlorn and lost
For they mourn for the love of the world
They feel the cracking of the great pines
As they give the last ***** to their lovers
They sense the splitting of creeks
Two lives to leave and lead separately
As the bubbling water gets faster and clear
They mourn the day coming to an end
And they mourn the cold of the night
They feel the sadness of a courting buck
Instinctually driven but thoughts vacant
Individuality non existent, in an evolutionary daze
Predators chase prey and the rest is nil
They cary their spots as sinful stains of the world
Feeling through their sextupled appendages
Every feeling, consideration, entrenched to a wing
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