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Star BG Dec 2017
My Odyssey begins at break of day,
as sun tickles the horizon,
and I feel an excitement
for the unknown.

Senses perk
as birds fly before eyes with grace.
Moments revel a magical reality,
I assist in constructing.

My odyssey begins when head hits pillow.
As busy day and darken sky brings desire to sleep.
As I feel an excitement
for the unknown.

Senses expand
as visions grand surface.
Moments revel a magical reality
I am gifted and guided through.

My Odyssey begins
inside my present reality,
AND, forever when I decloak
out of human form.

StarBG © 2017
Playing with word odyssey on a sleepless night. LOL
H Phone Aug 2017
I sometimes wield the pen in spite
Of why I am convinced I write
The poetic words that I spill

Spill like a glass of water
That’s been stirred to overflow
By my feelings and thoughts or so
I have gotten to know
The will of the flow
The direction that it wants to go
That’s what po-
etry is all about, no?

Because poem starts
with a P for personal
Not popular
Or populous
Not for the people who prefer prying
Pickpocketing or playful plying
In the placid plains inside
It’s for the persons who pray
To the poet’s plight

To go out on an odyssey,
with an O, the second letter
Not omniscient
Or omnipotent
For oscillating with your own
Is only for ones once overthrown
By an onslaught of hydrogen per-oxide
Those ostracized and odd
Off, yet open to the outside

E is the third letter
And it stands for emotional
Or extorted
until emptiness
Extended
after the excavation had ended
and emotion was evacuated ere
The embodiment of ecstasy
Had been enterred here

Lastly M stands for me!
Me, myself and I!
Not the masses who maim
My mind and meticulously aim
For the mark on my midbrain
Just the men and wo-men who make do
With musing about the mechanisms of
Mother Earth and her miracles too

Poetry is a gift
Out with it to be at ease
Especially for yourself
May it help you find peace
I want to clarify that I appreciate the positive feedback I've gotten over the past couple of days. They have motivated me to continue writing, but I need to free myself from the grip of numbers and reactions, because poetry is the utmost personal expression of the utmost personal feelings.
Frankie Gestone Jul 2017
The Angel and Demon reside inside of me again.

"I could be your sweetest dream," she said
"Or, I could be your worst nightmare," he replied.
"I could save you, my dear," she poised.
He retorted gently, "Or, let me be the one who kills you."
"I am an honorable, compassionate saint and a despicable, ruthless sinner," I uttered, seemingly unperturbed by my surroundings.
"Two extremes at the end of each of the poles," they reiterated several times in a loud whisper.

Sometimes I like to take angels and corrupt them.
Other times, I gleefully take demons and purify them.
D Lowell Wilder Feb 2017
Nervous that way I take peanut butter from the jar
where blinking and licking overlap
messily and focus is the last thing on
my mind.

There, just there scooped
is where the thought
returns.

No high flying; no explanation
just back, and the jar gets
put on the shelf of the
cupboard
of wood, the oldest part of the house,
and I cannot recall to write it the smell of
peanuts jarred and ant poison and southern
yellow
pine.
Exceptional journeys sometimes have unexceptional returns.  How do beginnings and ends get marked? Tree rings, expiration dates on jars
Devin Ortiz Feb 2017
Things have changed,
And I know I shouldn't.
But it's already too late
My hopes, caught the tide.

What difference does it make,
Across the endless sea between.
Then there is time, which comes,
Take it as you see fit, and heal.

I'll hoist this flag, tattered and all,
Singing a chanty of foolish dreams.
Be well, think of me, as I was or am,
Into the dark waters, I return..
Mark L Dec 2016
Drowned in and by my own devices,
I stand some gray longed Odysseus
Whose sails were never sewn in Ithaca
Set born journey's of the mind, not the muscle.

It remains unclear if I will start,
Or end with the end my saviour.
With such little sand between,
Will I even be able to pass toddle, pass crawl?

One thing this life has provided me,
(Albeit these necessities be dismissed)
Is an inhuman awareness.
Little fear of sand itself, but of its dried complexion.

Had I been sewn to different sand,
Different circumstance,
Hatched to ground not my own.
Then now, no doubt, I'd have succumbed.
Zelda Sep 2016
For 64 days I played a game of "Truth or Dare"
Cross my heart, beg to die
This is the confession of a broken heart
That sacrificed it's sanity for a steamy love affair

Now, I sit by the window wishing I had had a crystal ball
because it'd  have saved me a century of torment
Knowing I wasn't your knight in shining armour
It'd have saved me a century of screaming
Instead I watched Atlantis vanish
My pretty, perfect, paradise turned to ash

In my fantasies
We're still in the attic staring at it
The picture of broken love
Holding on to a hope, so cold
I should let go, but I'm paralyzed
Covered in apprehension that we'd survive
And come down from the attic
I am convinced, I'm staring at it
The picture of true love
but true love left, walked out the door
and it's all my fault and if I was honest
I'd admit it's over

Hello, unhappily ever after
Thoughts that refuse me to let me sleep
I remember when I first saw you
I ran out of words
I lost my breathe as butterflies erupted
I couldn’t resist entering the maelstrom despite the warnings
This is my odyssey
I couldn't resist the enchanting music
I thought I could take it
I wanted to be imprisoned
I never knew something so beautiful could be so dangerous

But in my fantasies
We're still in the attic staring at it
The picture of broken love
Holding on to a hope so cold
I should let go, but I'm paralyzed
Covered in apprehension that we'd survive
And come down from the attic
I am convinced, I'm staring at it
The picture of true love
but true love left, walked out the door
and it's all my fault and if I was honest
I'd admit it's over

I still want to be your ***** little secret
The thing you write your love songs about
But I'm nothing more than a wilting February song
Lost in the bitter, biting, bleak winter air
Because you were never mine
And every day I woke up alone, lying to myself
That I could live with empty arms
Instead of a soft lullaby
I scream words of a banshee

Inject me with your love, baby
Give me your love, honey
Fill me with lush tender dreams
Make cotton, candy, clouds rain sweet sugars of incandescent ecstasy
Just give me what I need because underneath I’m breaking

But in my fantasies
We're still in the attic staring at it
The picture of broken love
Holding on to a hope so cold
I should let go, but I'm paralyzed
Covered in apprehension that we'd survive
And come down from the attic
I am convinced, I'm staring at it
The picture of true love
but true love left, walked out the door
and it's all my fault and if I was honest
I'd admit it's over

You need to tell me if you feel the things I do
Your hard exterior, your indecisions are making me wonder
If it’s worth staying up until 3 am
To meet you for our  little rendezvous
But I'm tired of sleeping with the enemy
A person I can't recognize  
Take off the mask, end this façade
Stop blaming me for losing yourself
When you got caught up in someone you invented

But in my fantasies
We're still in the attic staring at it
The picture of broken love
Holding on to a hope so cold
I should let go, but I'm paralyzed
Covered in apprehension that we'd survive
And come down from the attic
I am convinced, I'm staring at it
The picture of true love
but true love left, walked out the door
and it's all my fault and if I was honest
I'd admit it's over

I admit
It's over
Our masterpiece has crumbled beneath your feet
Turned to ash, you left the remains in my chest
Because none of it was real
It was just a game of "Truth or Dare"
But I was never given the truth
So I dare you to tell me the truth
But you refuse
But that won't stop me from sleeping tonight
Without nightmares, without shadows
In my fantasies
ryn Jul 2016
Leave your world
Bring your all
A universe to be unfurled
A realm awaiting to enthral

Climb aboard
Slide into the seat
We are what we can afford
You and I... We make
our very own fleet

Strap yourself in
Get ready for the trip
The journey we were made for
Let us begin
The odyssey of our lives
In this here spaceship
kk Jun 2016
Gentle
Gentle
breathe it in
it's all for you:

The moss on the trees
the acid in your mouth
the choked air in a sun room.

We can share this together.



See here is the man missing.
         the hero is missing.

We heard many great tales of his exploits:

The wife at home,
her endless tapestry

The fatherless son now
A quarter century old.

We can share his glories,
the glorious goods:

Waking up to blood
on bedsheets
without a sign of scratch



Here
Here
     Come gentle now
forgotten son:

The sail is escaping from your grip
This ship is taking us nowhere
Change the gears.

A hero will come, he’ll come
He’ll come
He’ll come

(The hero has left the room)
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