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Rob Sandman Jul 2019
No frills tonight,I'll tell you why we hold so tight,
to yesteryear and yesterday and...and last ******' night...
before the sky broke open,
lately I'd been vaguely sorta hopin'(not doin ****,just hopin')...
that we'd get the magic back,that we'd bring back all the craic
when it was you for me and me for you again' the world,
I'm starin at the wall my mind aswirl,

Then I'm starin' thru a window to the past
when we KNEW that we would last
forever,never ever fall apart,
never ever pulled apart,
by life and time and ******' work,
we knew we were the ones to make it work!,
and now I'm staring through that window to the past,
like trying to piece a champagne glass,
back together when it's smashed,
I'm kneelin' here with ****** fingers,
tryin' to make these memories linger

REALISIN' how you'll linger there,
your scent...your smile...your shedded hair(seriously I find it EVERYWHERE!)
sorry hon I lost it there(but seriously your frickin' hair!)
your company was past compare,
I close my eyes and see you there,

I pound my fist against the glass
praying that you'll see the danger see the future Nuclear blast,
but you're just blissfully gracefully strolling past,
holding me,enfolding me
emboldening me like nobody past or present ever did or will,
the thrill begat the skill begat the quill of you so deep in me,
thought we were our Destiny.
you're under my skin like a Sinatra tattoo,
but enough bout me...how bout you?
"For the Us that became the Them,
the one that becomes two,
the true that became false,
and those labelled false who were true"
Martin Narrod May 2017
May Is A *******

To people. Two people, imprisoned by interpretation, mistaken by mindfulness, truth hurts the most when love lying beside oneself doles empty shoulder pockets to ache and left-arm wells where women once laid play on the tips of eyes that only past photographs and dreams could doctor up.  

Old loves linger long. Old lovers' eyes ensconced amidst the taciturn untrammeled tracks of 8-track playing old memories in MP3 flash-backs like LSD astral visions from the mind dancing to eyelash trances over systematic dancers antics. Indubitably confusing youth with the modern mood antics to tear apart the current heart's sanguine and evolving romance.

Sleepless nights on stiff bed-boards, imaginary phone calls with devilish and venomous lost bottles with the notes that never arrived, but were clearly post-marked, in my collection of Rolex-Ex's I collect such humanity in an array of unorganized post-cards. But still the lack of sleep confuses me, until the immense sentiment of my lover's hand sparks my mind to drift back into a state where science and romance claim such verses in this dream dictionary to be dog-eared, glowing goose-pimples, and tingling flesh right before sleeping, like if Tristen managed to meet Juliet and Isolde met Romeo during recess and each revered the other's love card.

I'm still quaffing spit, and I don't know if I'll ever be sick of it. The seashore throws its waves, while the whales, sea lions, and hammerheads catch me off guard. Whet by my naive, following peanut-butter chocolate-coated M&Ms to where E.T.'s spaceship catches me falling from the plateau where I left Earth, traveling downwards, I let the rocks do the talking, and several of my best in friendships drown or be discarded.

To people, who irascibly need for one another, swoon and swallow each other, and cannot for a moment keep themselves apart. Who write daily, and stare quietly kissing one another constantly while the nearby mountains grow taller. And while one wakes up, the other wants so much to spend every moment together so much so he proposed to her, and vows are only words to a love that spines communicate not in speech but in neural-transmitted powers.

There are still letters. Those crowns for the kingdoms whose royalty never fully walked away. There are the kings and queens, that the servants sing to such sleeping beauties bright mornings, mid-afternoons, and until the ends collecting between them every day. Stars. Hours. Minutes and the minutia of dust-covered wooden dinosaurs deserving of better moons, suns, and oceans we'd cross together, and maybe memories are just memories and not today's unmistakeable love, that's here right now, that somehow I found, and who found that we should traverse this Earth forever.

Pain is something father's and wives truly understand. So long as I honestly share every scrap of brutal pride and ego trapped in my brain's collective consciousness, I won't have to sleep in my own empty arms, or in the spoils of hearts that confused hearts and minds, between a walk in the ocean as opposed to becoming the seashore, swallowing up the Pacific Ocean one miserable gulp at a time.
Francie Lynch Jan 2016
I'll never make you smile again,
Not as your lover,
Not as your friend;
Not like it was
Way back when.
What is now, is not then.
I can smile
When I recall
The laugh you gave
When we were all.
Each day our oyster,
Each night we'd cloister
From the day's travails.
But memory pales,
And your smile fades
Into the mists of recall.

— The End —