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Savio Fonseca Jun 23
The Door to My Heart, was left open.
To a Woman, I had given the Key.
She never found, what She was looking for
and soon returned it, back to Me.
I held back Memories of Her.
The moment She decided to Part
and nestled them, Safe and Secretly.
In the corner of My Heart.
I drew Her Picture in My Mind.
A Picture which I could never Erase
and painted the Picture, in My Heart
with Colours no one could Replace.
Each Night, I played the Moon to Her
and was building Her, a Mansion on Mars.
I kept building My Castles in the air,
While She chased all the Stars.
Nat Lipstadt Jun 4
The Picture Window

The vista view never changes but daily.
The naked eye, registers the same distances,
resting objects unmoved, modest alterations
by wind and water are noted, but for intent,
for purpose, the watercolor one would paint
be invariably unvarying as a Swiss Alp.

The  subtle nuanced worldview, where the sky
stretches from ceiling to a foot above ground, as
I lay prone neath the coverlet, vista always subtly differing,
from its prior reincarnation, self-reflection demands to know.

Alive & Awake? Yes.
Breathing steady? Yes.
Toes? Still can wiggly to & fro.

My soul?

Presumably ok, as I write, because I write, the
picture window into to my insight, though oft blurry,
yet intact, making discernible the changes in light,
temperature  and heart rate, as the body/soul contraption modulates, just as the gradient of daylight shifts lighter and higher, with a rising sun bringing more clarity to our interactive encounters with our environments..

The picture window internalized, much the same,as
the vista, subtle modest changes, colorations variegated,
are registered. Today is mostly cloudy overcast, and shall remain so for the foreseeable future, which be about two days hence. Not unsurprisingly, methinks, the future tends to be cloudy.

Beyond that peripheral, no one can say, our macular envisioning only gets weaker,time is a tough taskmaster
and uncertainty is it’s own principle.

But I can say, forecast from well under the comforter,
that more than less, where less is more, this picture window,
ex and in, shall remain, unchanged for the remainder of my years that fortune shall provide, and will & would grant me awakenings to the ex-sight and in-sight of a sculpted landscape, of negative entropy,  where disorder minimal.

My musings end here, unless you still wish, come the morrow,
what the marrow the day reveals, what the window will spill,
new and exciting, subtly unchanged, and always different.

Caution: The injection of caffeine may dramatically alter
the windows perspective, as the exogenous always trumps the

5:50 AM

P.S. Making coffee clarifies: If the vista in +/- unchanging,
then, all my personal, own horizons are immortal as well.
Sun Jun 4
Amanda Kay Burke Dec 2022
I was glass
You were wood

Picture frame perfect

I found in you the vibrance I was missing to display a beautiful picture

I looked empty before you

As we grew older I learned to depend on you more and more

I stood in your stable embrace

Without your arms lack the strength to keep my thin figure upright

We were useless by ourselves

Together captured a moment to remember forever

It seems so pointless without a photo to reserve each priceless memory
A picture is worth a thousand words
Odd Odyssey Poet Jun 2022
Ghostly shadows, but what ghost
really casts a shadow—cousins?
The ghost and a shadow, still in my room
at the edge of the bed.

A ghost of unhappiness, and a shadow
of these lonely despairs. Both related.

Mother nature taught me how to grow,
Father time forces me to wait for it.
The Mistress of death would love to rush
the process. Brothers in arms, alarming the gun
sounds in my head—my constant ringing headaches.
Sister company, sharing the pain of a common
parent entity

Interesting family picture.
1923 Jun 2022
I see that picture from 20 years ago
of the kid in the blue dress smiling
- throwing the feeling -
with balled up fists. Acting
Everyone laughs at this picture
- at the obviousness,
the uneasiness,
- but part of me doesn't
Odd Odyssey Poet Mar 2022
The many moving things,
moving scenes; that are stuck in between my eyes.
Look at life; and it's fragile creations,
through the window's glass.
Held on the weight of time,
those holding onto their past. But it all must change;
from the old seasons to those anew.
The many winters of cold, soon surpasses on the grass.

So many pictures, so many little things,
and so many moments. All caught in the prettiness
of an everlasting flower.
A tower plant, trying to kiss the glorious sun,
the Son of Man, and the sweetest rose.

The holies of all holies; resides inside of me.
Walking the testimonials upon my feet.
For how far have I gone to seek?
I've seen blackness, as a changing tide of darkness.
A ***** sheet; barely covering the littlest sin. But there's
still the greatest of all light within.

A Christ within me.

How are my eyes shut to the window;
and their curtains covering itself on a dream?
A dream to be free.

Freedom of will.
Freedom of speech.
Freedom to choose peace.

I scratch the tiny hairs under my chin,
biting the collar of my shirt with my dry lips.
There's no duty to being empty all your life.
No command to live that way, or any sort of drill.

But there's a thirst on my tongue,  
running down to my heart. My spirit's cup is waiting
to be overfilled. And to go on and spill.

I as myself,
only long to be spirit filled.
Holy Spirit come inside of me.

A thousand pictures in the window,
and I only long for the one picture of Him.
Nigdaw Dec 2021
emotional kata
series of strokes
against the resistance
of canvas
a picture evolves
almost like nature
becoming organic
an extension of emotion
battle conquering calamity
the brush talks
even shouts some passages
poem based in
pigment and oil
at the end
everyone is exhausted
something happened
beyond the reasonable
control of evolution
silly Dec 2021
they say that pictures tell a thousand words,
for every lie you tell, another curse
that you’ll never be enough for them
you’ll never make it to the end

because this photograph you gave me,
you hold onto my memories
it shines like a star in the night sky

if every story had an ending of its own,
why is mine cut off
by the white lines that surround the story
of my life

in a photograph
does this make sense probably not L
dailythoughts Nov 2021
all the small things you work on gets bigger altogether,
imagine the bigger picture and start now.
Lev Rosario Oct 2021
May sanggol na buhat-buhat ng isang babae
Naka teletubbies na T shirt
Maikli ang buhok, maputi ang mukha
Mataba ang mga braso

Ang dalawang anyo ay nakaupo
Sa isang silid
Nakangiti ang babae
Ang sanggol ay nakatingin sa kawalan
Buka ang bibig ngunit
Walang boses na lumalabas

Ano ang kanilang patutunguhan?
Alam ko kung saan.

Ano ang kanilang mga kasalanan?
Alam ko kung ano.

Ano ang kanilang mga pangalan?
Alam ko kung ano.

May masamang pakiramdam
Sa aking dibdib
Sa pagitan ng mga nangyari
At maaring mangyari
Hindi ko maalis ang aking tingin
Kahit na ako'y nasasaktan
Kahit na gusto kong mawala

Inosenteng bata
Inosenteng bata
Ano nangyari sa iyong pagka-inosente?
Bakit ka lumaki?
Bakit ka nagkasala?
Bakit mo iniwan ang iyong panginoon?
Bakit hindi ka pa magpatiwakal?

Bata, madami kang pagdadaanan
Naaawa ako sa iyo
Mabuti at nakayanan mo
Ngumiti ka, umiyak ka
Ligtas ka dito
Hindi kita pababayaan
Naaawa ako sa iyo

Itinago ko ang letrato
Masyado nang ginugulo ang aking isipan
Theodora, wala kang kasalanan.
Theodora, wala kang kasalanan.
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