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Travis Kroeker Dec 2019
Though even scars fade,
though even stars burn out,
though sunlight soon gives way to shade,
as facts are drowned in doubt.

Though death hounds every life,
and all beginnings find their end,
though what once was young must meet the scythe,
it soon will grow again.

For nothing will stay stopped
since all has been begun,
all false summits seem the top,
yet there is no final rung.
Aisha Nov 2019
My gaze falls on you,
and everything around me
starts to slowly fade away.
For that moment, nothing
except you seems significant
and all I want is,
to tell you I feel about you,
My fierce feelings;
the familiarity of a home.

But I am not acquainted
with the idea of a home,
and that's the tragedy
of finding it
inside a person,
You cannot perpetually stay.
I've never known what home really is.
To stir from my complacency
With the words as my compulsion,
Poems feel like a eulogy
Of my not-dead-yet emotion.

I write to be a memory
For either fondness or for ill,
With words of perpetuity
So that no reader’s heart is still.

The solemn thoughts trapped in my head,
My fingers type to let them out,
So my embarrassment is read
By strangers I know not about.

Writing with ego’s delusion
That when I die my words survive,
But my ironic conclusion
Is that I write to stay alive.
Blogging at www.insightshurt.com
Instagram @insightshurt
Buy “Insights Hurt: Bringing Healing Thoughts To Life” at store.bookbaby.com/book/insights-hurt
traces of being Apr 2018
synergy in the mist
of creations' breath...
multitudes croaking so loudly
drowning in eventide dew,

all the wind's timbre
is hushed;

overcome
by earth’s
communing symphony,
creations’ living
pulsing thrum..

alone in a crowd
proclaiming
the glory of now...

whelmed,
and i wishing
i were a frog,
and unalone
in the throng

maybe
such evolution
   as this—
   is reversing...
    Ouroboros    

touched wondrously
by spoken wind,
urgently
i need to search
for an intimate kiss

metamorphosis,
another incarnation

that will turn me
   back into a frog—

a speck of stardust
in a sky full of stars
seems better than
feeling like stardrift
ashes

a burned out candle
muted
by the gypsy choir

the call of the wild
sung in the wind




wild is the wind
©  march ― 2016

Note:   From the 1st days of spring  2016;
listening — hearing,   somethings don't change
just came in from a windy evening walk,
with a whelming sense of Déjà vu

note:   The Ouroboros often symbolize self-reflexivity or cyclicality, especially in the sense of something constantly re-creating itself, the eternal return, and other things such as the phoenix which operate in cycles that begin anew as soon as they end
G Rog Rogers Sep 2017
There was nothing
before the War

There will be nothing
after the War

Except and until
there is another War

Accept the fact
All of our lives
there has been war

Cold Tepid Hot War

When there is no war
then there is nothing

There is no peace
after war

Only a time for
the strategic
and tactical
preparations
for the next
and the next
and another war

So then we seek
the banal nothingness
of peace

That we may restore
our ability to wage war
more effectively

once more
and again

In perpetuity.

-R.

(9.13.17)
-LA
©ASGP
traces of being Mar 2016
synergy in the mist
of creations' breath...
multitudes croaking so loudly
drowning in eventide dew,

all the wind's timbre
is hushed;

overcome
by earth’s
communing symphony,
creations’ living
pulsing thrum..

alone in a crowd
proclaiming
the glory of now...

whelmed,
and i wishing
i were a frog,
and unalone
in the throng

maybe evolution
as this—
is reversing...
ouroboros    

i need to search
for an intimate kiss

metamorphosis,
another incarnation

that will turn me
   back into a frog—

a speck of stardust
in a sky full of stars
seems better than
feeling like ashes

a burned out candle
muted
by the gypsy choir

the call of the wild
sung in the wind



*wild is the wind © march 2016
Shane Oltingir May 2014
One day, I swear, you will regret this
She said in a contemptuous snarl,
Gnawing at my ego with a ******* zeal,
Clawing at my love-drunk smile.

One day, I smiled, drink in hand,
At the feral beast whom ravaged my smile,
For now its tame, and strives to play,
In the garden with my wife and child.

I do not regret a thing.
Shane Oltingir May 2014
In the solace of his pillow,

In the darkness of the pillows case,

Seeps the dew of all -- and everything --

He'd sooner left unsaid.

He lays the damp side on it's back --

Baptised, and cleansed in stormy tears;

He finds the strength to raise his head,

And pretend theirs nothing else to fear.

But a storm is brewing up ahead...

— The End —