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Sapphire doesn't
Come close to touching it
Ice white
Winter skies
Reflected in the ocean
Frayed threads
On the edge of a sweater
The faintest
Water colour
Dash of night
On a page
I've got poet's block so I'm trying something a bit different.
Anastasia Sep 19
the shadows of stars
sparkle on your face
with your tears
i want to kiss your cheeks
and tell you it's alright
and we whisper to each other
in the pale moonlight
Tammy Cusick Aug 23
Piercing eyes
pale white gowns,

furrowed brow's
big bright crowns,

horizontal smiles
across floor to ceiling paintings
limp of emotion,

distraught in sepia
color at rest,

mildew in the teeth
callous on the tongue,
nails in the feet
dragging dead weight,

wrapped in burlap
tied in loose ribbon,

clammy cold hands
only for the given,

red in the face
angry with a fist
distraught in the heart,
spliced across the wrist.
Eslam Dabank Jul 26
Flooded lungs. Pale parts, loom.
Don't worry, your soil will need the water,
To bloom.

Laboured pump, Crushed heart.
Nevertheless, with you, a redemption,
Shall start.

Aching body. One last breath.
You will defy divinity, and beautify,
Dear death.

Dry eyes, thin shrunken skin.
Starred in a perishable gloomy world -
In the original sin.

Lids closed. Veins calmed.
The redness turned into dark blue,
A rose growing into delphinium.
She was their life-giving dew.

Hyperventilation. Reared begs.
"For them, let me live. Let me raise,
My kids".

Wet floor. Screams around.
Mumbling in an arcade of life or theft,
But, here comes the hound.

A mortuary. Coldness penetrate.
"Sirens proclaimed its honor,
Rhymed with shluddering mayday".
She's now at god's holy bay.

A cemetery. Viscous worms.
Suffer to cuddle brides, crawl in thorns,
In the valley of eternal thrones.
Greg Jones Jun 18
The mist quietly, softly, rests on her face
As she walks through the ravaged forest.
It still whispers to her,
Though the whispers fade.
The last of lasts, she rebukes her title.
Knights of the old, braves of the new,
They no longer bear her insignia.
She is but folklore now,
A reminder of tarnished treasure.
Her wayward compass guides her to forgotten crossroads,
Shrouded in darkness and hollow memories.
I wonder why she settles here?
Is it fear?
Is it acceptance?
Will her light bloom once more?
Or is a tempest raging inside her bruised heart?
s v e n May 3
Pale face, blue eyes.
Can't wait, this time.
Too late but it's fine.
Hopefully you'll keep me
In mind.
Ya, I wrote something random... that turned out to be true...weird.
Left Foot Poet Aug 2018
pale dead moon

them the words heard, cloud covered, make the few streaks visible
look like mocking smiles saying see we got your numbers,  
play pale and dead you’re sure to win and add an over/under
and a trifecta guaranteed

everyone is willing to take and give you thanks
with a nice tap on the head which buys them
a grimace smile of 2 seconds recognition and
further confirms the crumbling internals
and unless you walk away,
into solitude and recall from
high school language class

répète après moi "c'est la vie,” repeat after me, that’s life

no, now,
pale dead moon,
that’s life
the answer is a simple
as a thought
it's hard to realise how i cannot
give an explanation
i ought have known
how could be the culmination
of the lifelong
i don’t wanna take it on my own
but i'll used to it
as i did two years ago
and now i just sit in line
and wait
till the glow of mine
become paled
Bohemian Apr 12
My neck feels so anxious
The last time it had laid on a pillow
It felt an utter discomfort
Where on the bed should my hair be placed
For each strand has grown so tall with such a pace
My callus is so pale
Frozen are my palms
Lips fall dead dry ,no, I don't apply any flavoured balm
Eyes behold an anchor upon
I curl up under the sheets
But by the morning I'm fresh and flushed.
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