Boy, if only you knew, the perfection within you... and your chestnut brown eyes.

As the light hits, your now golden eyes, once deep and doomed, now brightens the room. Takes over the world, and all that's within. All that's left to do is wish. Wish to catch your intelligent glance, that chestnut bliss.

Of all the eyes, green, hazel, and blue, yours wins by far, the perfect chaos, as though in safe arms.

Your deep, thoughtful gaze, could stop time. Your dark, warm look, keeps one thinking for days.

Not enough credit, your eyes are given, the perfection trumped by none.

If only you knew, my words to be true, your warm chestnut gaze.

As the light hits your eyes, the dark, shimmering glow, I think it is important for you to know, the effect of your perfect brown eyes...
A player once played the trombone
As though he had ears made of stone:
   He'd slip and he'd slide,
   Glissandi a-glide,
All over his targeted tone.  

Why can’t anyone else hear the music?
The sound so alluring and entrancing.
It guides my every step in this melancholy world.
It spins around me and in me like the quiet kiss of a an Autumnal breeze.

The colors are sounds, every note a changing mood lifting my spirit with each new song.
Each new aria swelling and deluging my soul.
This feeling of devastating peace I cannot describe nor live without.

So why can’t you hear it?
Why can’t you feel it?
It’s so emphatic so intrusive and belligerent  yet here I stand in the midst of this crescendoing chorus, ears ringing with this music but nobody dances.

And no amount of sonder can take this isolating feeling away.
This panging loneliness that cradles me.
Why am I the only one?
Why can’t you carry this sustaining chord along side me?

I though I saw you hear it once.
You blinked those dismal eyes at me and in them I saw you.
They sparkled and opened up with the wonder of a child.
Your head turned to the sound and your face softened to a visage I once knew.
But soon they we’re shut.
Clamped down and locked, choosing to be blind and deaf to the song.
Turning away in shame and anger.

Oh how ignorant you are, choosing to turn away from this beautiful epiphany that could set you free.
How could you choose this life of apathy and abhorrence?
Why do you turn your face from me?
Is my music not enough?

Here I’ll wait and dance.
Spinning slowly to the sounds of my spirit.
Singing along with my own song until the day you sing it with me.
Just followed this overwhelming feeling I got from a song. 20:17 by Olafur Arnalds.
I guess I feel the need to linguistically,
like poetry,
express everything that's wrong with me
and I guess that ironically,
almost comically,
that led to my downfall in all honesty...

I promise me
we're meant to be,
and things change allegedly,
but it seems to me
you swore to me
you'd let it be,
and truthfully,
the way you did that was painfully,
not how I meant it to be...

And all of that won't change, you see,
that I love you unequivocally,
in a way most strangely,
and unmistakeably
the joy in me,
and the suffering
you're causing me...

I regret my attempt to anonymously,
express my need
in light of the unexplainably
vivid heartache it's caused me,
But who's to pay the price but me?
Who but I is eligible, conveniently?
To be,
The Nazi
to your Germany?
I never really liked this one as much...
Mary-Eliz Apr 21
through the
Humbling Portal
of these
Hallowed Pages
you'll find

Hesitant Plunges
both by new
and "older"
Honored Poets

Harmonious Palettes
to create
Haunting Pictures
sometimes giving a
Heavenward Peek

Hypnotic Potpourri
Heady Perfume
Happy Poison

Hapless Pixies
Hopeful Prophets
Hunt Pearls
Hold Parades

that result in
Holy Pandemonium

within our reach are
Homegrown Peaches
Hanging Pome
for our
Hungry Prowling

as we read
tales of
Heartless Paramours
Hissing Pit-vipers
who gave
Half Promises

we decipher
Humorous Puzzles
Hardest Perplexities
based on
Hysterical Pretexts
until our eyes see only
Haphazard Pixels
on the screen

and in a
Helpless Panic
we quickly read
the notes
Hasty Postlude#
Cherisse May Apr 13
Maybe it's the alcohol
Running through my veins
Seeping through all of my pores
Invading my skin, crawling,
Leaving a trail of heat and numbness.

Maybe it's my mind
Trying to twist myself into
A wringing mess, unconscious,
Undesirable for the current society
Whose words weigh millions.

Or maybe it's just me.
Overthinking, in a dark room.
Laying there, paralyzed.
Contemplating. Typing. Thinking.


I'm tired.
But I've stopped moving.
Özcan Sh Apr 5
Every piano key she presses I feel what she feels
She created a song through the black and white keys
A song that makes two hearts beat faster
And on her music sheets are not just music notes
These notes are our love.
memories for nothing
dreams beyond what
you hold

that's it
you hold
hold my common
hold my nothingness
hold hold
for nothing

Karisa Brown Mar 20
The way I see myself now
The way my life's changed
What some see as lonely
May be right
Maybe I need to be free

To quote my own verses
Instead of taking film
From underneath someone
Else's tongue

Using hearts
As sleeves
Is my old fashion
May be I need a gun
So this amunition is aimed
At the right coffin
Instead of my own

The need
The drive
Where the hell
Do I come up
With those

When i've been
Feed through
My own antibacterial pasts
That I can't scrub off
This time

What happens when
Your life gets stuck?
Duzy Mar 7
Be flat, see sharp. A minor or a G?

Turn up the tunes when the world lampoons

The notes are there for you to see.
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