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O
that if I could,
I would:

Hide the moon
and the sun
in my fists.

No more lights
in nights.
No more rays
in days.

Why should the world
remain alight
when my soul
and heart
are drowned in dark?
Tat May 29
Spacious silence, I inhale her sweetish scent.
She’s so close, here, internal.
The dawn reveals the horizon,
I can't help but breathe her.
Vermilion clouds disperse where
I will meet her again.

Stars twinkle elsewhere,
the darkness recedes and somewhere behind
I hear the last whispers of the night.
These whispers merge with the rhythm of my heart.
I was with her,
I surrendered to her gloom,
it covered my skin, I inhaled it.
Every beat of my heart resonated with her breath.
The stars faded in my eyes
and I slowly sank in her rhythms.

So high.
Pain no longer mattered.
I devote.

The sun will rise quickly,
blue and white fragments of clouds will fly away
to rain down and vanish into infinity.

Silence seeps in the sounds of a new day.
She is still on my mind.
Our moment is eternal.

She is glaring and majestic.
She lures birds,
makes them return again and again,
lie down on her flows and
slowly die forgetting about food.
Her depth is infinite.
Love.

The wind passes her power.
Storms, waves and the earth -
everything is for her.
She gives and takes back.
And only at the edge
I will look in her eyes.

She will appear with a cry of a rain,
shed unrestrained tears,
the wind will be lost in the agony of fire.
Her mad rage is frightening.
But few know her as I do.
Few believe that she is the love,
to which everyone is doomed.

She is riotous,
frenzied and mysterious.
Her gaze freezes the blood.

When the next night comes,
the moon will cover shadow with cold rays,
I will give all my feelings to its obscurity.

I bow down to her.
She totally fascinated me.

A gentle touch,
A faint smile,
she will smudge
the night sky.
She will weave a wreath
of clouds and stars.

She finally crowns me with that beautiful wreath.
Death.
Ukrainian: … тиша, вдихаю і наповнююсь нею.
світанок оголює горизонт,
а я не можу надихатись.
кармінні хмари розсіюються там,
де я вкотре зустріну день.

Зорі мерехтять,
темінь відступає і десь позаду
я чую прощальний шепіт ночі.
Ледь чутно він зливається з ритмом
мого серця.
Ми були вдвох:
кожен стук мого серця
зливався з її подихом.
Зорі танули в моїх очах,
я повільно тонула в її
ритмах.
Біль більше не мав значення.
Люблю.

Сонце підійметься швидко
і білим кругом
повисне над горизонтом.
Синьо-білі обривки хмар
розлетяться,
щоб колись впасти дощем.
Тиша
просочується музикою нового дня.
А я все не можу її забути.
Наша з нею мить
вічна.

Вона світла й велична.
неволить птахів,
змушує повертатись знову і знову,
лягати на її потоки і
повільно вмирати, забуваючи про їжу.
Вона безмежна.
Любов.

Вітер рознесе її силу,
грози, хвилі і земля - все для неї.
Вона дарує і забирає.
І лише на краю
я зможу поглянути в її очі.

Вона зʼявиться криком грози,
пролиє нестримні сльози,
вітер загубиться  в агонії вогню.
її шалена лють страшна.
Та мало хто знає її як я.
Мало хто вірить, що вона - любов,
на яку приречений кожен,
Вона нестримна,
несамовита й загадкова,
своїм поглядом заморожує кров.

Коли прийде наступна ніч,
місяць холодом обдасть
тіні,
я віддам всі відчуття цій темряві.

Опущу погляд
в надії знову зустріти пітьму - таку ж,
яка колись мене заворожила.
Досить…
Прощай.
Nat Lipstadt May 29
as a house in the country,
by the water's edge,
on a clouded, zero moonlit night,
and the handful of light ****** are
far far distant and inform you that
are essential alone

the almost total absence of vision
reminds me that once,
long long, ago, I
stood by a river's edge
in a great big, well lit,
city of millions,
and the loneliness was
so acute,
the despair so
encompassing,
the overwhelming sense
of loss,
so comprehensive,
all made the dark swift waters
a close distance beneath my body,
the equivalent black pitch
of this
countryside night
both purported to
offer comfort,
neither were

Black
is a knot
,
non~neutral color
So strangely
have you stuck to my life,
you, who have gone.

Why is everything
of my life
attached to you?

Like you are
the darkness
of my nights,

and stars,
and the moon...
they must be lightless
if I don’t
think of you.
Is it really strange, stranger?
neth jones May 28
i am a light sleeper                                              
    who wakes before my alarm
but  i have my own personal Witching Hour
a gape                                                    
    when­ I am utterly unguarded      
        and vulnerable  to serpent enemies

it's then that they broach and whisper me suggestion
it's then that i whimper like an abused and receptive whelp
then that i devolve into a manipulatable child of therapy
it's then that weights are stacked upon my chest      
    and my breaths become short  pinned  and pained

even with my wife and child to my side                            
they patiently poison me  with measured pipette drops
run them down a string like spittle
bitter mushroom down the back of my throat                  
and dreams warp toxic like cellophane near a fire
and what visions !
warrens of vivid insecurities as loved ones                        
strip their gloves  and get to work ripping out the pegs
with twisted mocks  tocking noggins              
         and flails of humiliation oiling apart
               the mechanism of my meaning

they look at their watches   time is up
they leave with their instruments      
make idle chit-chat on their way out
lock the front door with the spare key
and place the key back under the mat
25/10/24
yıldız May 26
Inside my mind, a tree decays,
Its branches broken, lost in haze.
Dark shadows cling to every limb,
A silent scream, a fading hymn.

Roots once deep now barely hold,
A story of despair untold.
I feel myself slowly fade,
A shadow of the strength I made.

No light breaks through this endless night,
Just emptiness and fading sight.
The tree is dying, lost in gloom,
A silent witness to my doom.
dark night
a cabin deep in the jungle
raindrops whispering
on leaves
on the rooftop
on everything
soft steady like an old lullaby
and I’m sitting here
by the dim light
yellow and flickering
writing a poem
about you
for you
because you are near
not here
but near
somewhere in the sleeping village
and that’s enough tonight

by morning
you’ll come
you always do
you’ll open that wooden door
it will creak just right
like a story beginning again
your footsteps will press into the wet fragrant soil
and I’ll hear them
before I see you
and I’ll know
without looking
it’s you

how timeless it feels
how classic
this quiet expectant night
like a paused breath
like the world waiting too

is this a poem I write
or is it one
time is writing through us
without asking

maybe we are not the writers
maybe we are the lines
being drawn
slowly
tenderly
by the brush of this moment
a painting
time never finishes

and maybe
that’s the beauty of it
She used to bring the mornings...
My feet patter barefoot
Across the hardwood floor
As I set out crumbs for the ghosts
The doors, they squeak,
The floorboards creak,
And I hear them drawing close

When you patter barefoot
On the hardwood floor,
I'll come knocking at 12:03
There I’ll stand, a silhouette,
And wonder:
Will you set crumbs out for me?
Zeno May 23
I could've just laid down if
I wanted to

ignoring the bells that echoes
inside my head

Let the earth swallow me
among withered leaves that decay
beside me

Let the world dry out
as if all lamented things
belong to me

I could act as if
my heart is an icy winter water,
never to beat, never to warm at all

Granite skies would drift above me,
haunting me in my night and
summer days

But in the thunder that frightens me
A swift lightning would pass me by,
a crack of gold in my darkest night

The flood crashing through doors,
through all the breathe that I've lost
I would learn to hold every air that I touch

All the celestial mass throbbing in my chest
The distant rumble of supernovas
that tears me apart,
and black sunshine that shines on my face

Even if midnight splatters beneath my eyes,
with all the stars that glimmer
that badly wants to fall

Even if half of my shadow is blown to nether
I would suffer everyday, and in my pain
I knew I could feel

I would die everyday, with all lamented things
and in all my deaths

I have learned to live
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