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Anthony Aug 27
Here I stand amidst this old and dear familiar grove.
Where we were happy, laughed together and used to roam.
This special place, where my heart felt warm and contently at home.
In the center, the floret we had wrought with our hands together,
has shriveled and drooped, its petals scarred by life's stormy weather.
As two pairs of hands, we tended to this special flower,
watering its leaves and roots with our love at every hour.
Yet, with your pair missing, the world has sought to devour
this tender and slim thing, it's precious form shivering from this frigid rain shower.
I can only sit and watch, watch as this flower of feelings divine,
degrades into nothingness, as the mites of time gnaw away at it's spine.
Do you even fondly remember this precious blossom?
The very bloom you wished to protect and cherished as awesome?
I wish in my heart, that the roots will take to the soil again,
and spark into new life and flow forth freely like ink from a pen.
Yet, reality is oft crueler than I wish, as the past shall forever remain so.
Shall this sad, sweet flower of ours, never again grow?
What remains for the future of this flower is the only question within my heart.
Is it too late to amend our conflicts? Too late for a fresh start?
To begin anew and salvage this connection that grew?
Am I too late? Did that opportunity pass without a clue?
Should I lament its passing and bury this heartfelt cause?
The only answer my soul knows is that with meeting you, loving you, and losing you, I came to understand my mortal flaws.
I am no perfect being. I am not a perfect man.
No man can truly be perfect, as if designed by a heavenly plan.
We are marred creatures, some with a dream to do better,
to grow from our failings, and gradually remove the past's crushing fetter.
So these mistakes anchored within us all, will be lifted from our souls,
and allow us to bound into the future, free, happy and whole.
Yet still deep within my heart, a sleeping desire it can only utter,
that our love's fire will be reignited, and shall never again sputter.
That I shall return back into the comforts of your warm embrace,
to hold you tight, to love you always and especially kiss your adorable rosy face.
Background Information:
I fell in love with a very dear woman who wrote poetry this summer. She inspired me to start writing poetry again. It was one of the many reasons I fell in love with her. Yet, I made mistakes along the way, mistakes whose gravity I didn't realize until I made the choice to deeply reflect on how things turned out as they did. I'm working to do better by all; but the heaviest weight upon my soul is that I lost the love of the woman that had awoken such love and passion within me.
Arke Jul 4
When oysters leave no pearls and every bird takes flight
And the sky is empty and soundless throughout the night
When you feel like your flames no longer give light
And nothing makes you feel your heart or soul ignite

When you are loved for all that you do but not who you are
And every journey you embark on seems a little too far
When the blood from battles won have left a nasty scar
And you feel yourself suffocating under a glass bell jar

When time slip between your fingers too quick
And you feel like contentment is just a cruel trick
When every change you've made doesn't seem to stick
And the weight in your chest is heavy and thick

Remind yourself it's okay to take rest
Remind yourself you've done your best
Hold a happy moment close to your chest
Be kind to yourself when life tries to test
Ameed Feb 14
And yes,
I searched for acceptance
from the inside
outside’s rejection was only
a shadow of the one in there that

faded
slowly
inside
out

© Ameed
esridersi Dec 2018
yesterdays
             stumbles,
buried.
        trodden
                  into shore,        
remain
   just              
       footprints.
E R Sherin Dec 2018
I'm hyper and happy with energy to spare
Fast speech, racing mind
I spread love everywhere
A giant smile is all I bare until
a certain darkness
fills the air

You feel rampant with no good rage
Trapped in your sorrows
like a rusted shut cage
You remind yourself you're not crazy
Sometimes you're really happy
or just tired
and lazy

Sometimes you lose feeling in your fingers and toes
Like you're in the basement of a coroner
raw and exposed
Other times, you're on a hamster wheel
sweating and racing
Feeling your skin turn
rubber and chafing

I have no control over my emotions and mood
And, yes, I know that
that's no excuse
I come off strong with my opinions and personality
Which many think is wonderful or an abnormality

I'm seen in different lights
because I don't know which one to stand in
I'm only myself in my writing
and that's the happiest I've been

Pen and paper give me the control
my chemical imbalance never has
I can feel calm and genuine and less of a spazz

I'm slowly accepting
my past
mistakes
and reality
Mental illness is stigmatized
But we need to face our morality

Hell!
Carrie Fisher was bipolar though
we didn't talk about it in that era
If she was bipolar then
I'm just like Princess Leia
Zhai Nov 2018
It's like we're these two predestined stars
Bound to clash into one unfortunate,
Yet bedazzling starburst
Yes, it's destructive, but seeing it from afar
It's one of the most remarkable collisions of a lifetime
OUR LIFETIME...
Keyan R Oct 2018
What kinda flowers would you like to have?
besides my own tulips, I have
I honestly don't know much about the garden or the seeds
I know not every day is greeted by dandy lions
Or as fertilized in the fruits of its daily labor
No one owes your favor
We're all petal pushers
Waiting to blossom from the buzzin'
Not everyone has the will to stem tall
Some may wilt away; Some may brighten the day
But, I just want to floret
And never look back
Dancing on the breeze like a leaf
Forgetting the roots
What a relief
Arke Sep 2018
don't flatter yourself, love
you may have been the spark

but I'm the fire
Swells Sep 2018
17
Mister always told me he liked my dress
like it was my sunday best
and I sat before the god of my inane
thirst as he rowed me across the atlantic
in romantic suicide.
I laid with two stakes in my hands for
eight years hung up on the cross of
my Father’s back where he carried me
to the center of my own christening,
and the gathering’s gathered eyes hallowed
“I swear he’s a good man”.
I had to dig a hundred graves to bury
the parts of me that died with you
and your fascist grin,  
I had to burn the home that housed
your greasy robes
and from the smoke those memories
rose unforgiving and sordid where it
was my throat that choked instead.
How do you figure what stays
and what goes
in order to live?
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