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i found myself reading
the words of Bukowski
as he describes a series
of meaningless moments
aspects of a journey
seemingly trifling
prosaic and unremarkable
in the manner recounted

a bus stops at a cafe
in the hills
lightly touched by
a newly-falling snow
of food and coffee
he says both were good
the waitress rare
the cook effervescent
the dishwasher commodious

as the snow swirls
beyond the window
he describes the scene
as beautiful but curious
certain it will forever
be beautiful in that way
he wished to stay
yet returned to the bus
when the driver beckoned

the other passengers
spoke or read or
tried to sleep
and none had noticed
the beauty of that moment
that something could be
so poignant to one
while being mundane
to others
is worth remembering
i guess
Danielle Nov 2023
There's nothing I can really own,
I ache at something that wasn't mine; no memories to recollect and no sound of voice that I could memorize, not even a light could stay within.

And even the sky changes its color, it doesn't even own the stars.
Danielle Jul 2023
There are two opposing things that define me: a poignant in eulogy, a melancholia in a deep blue sky and
a parallel and current;
it is boundless.

My love is an empty cage, grown in an innocent body, tearing flesh by flesh,
yearning mouth by mouth, a chest is a garden full of butterflies, my veins is a vial of momentary currents and curves molded to each caresses of something that lingers.

These parallels are a loose thread that bounds a brokenness, and on each pull of the gravity, I would ache to skin and bone.

                                        It is boundless.
TheWitheredSoul Feb 2021
In the process of Failing to notice
That I was Falling in love with You,

My mind made you a part of me and
Now that I realize, I came so far and Loved so long,

I don't even remember what you were like,
All I have left is a figment of my stupid imagination and That!,
That doesn't even amount to a fraction of what you are.
I wish I had a heart that loved the presence of you rather than a mind that fails trying to make it up to something so that my heartless soul doesn't wither and roam in the memories of our past.

I Love you too much that I am not even gonna ask you to love me back.
Inked Quill Mar 2019
It’s been a while
That we’d last met
For a coffee
Our fingers met
Like our hearts
Opening to each other
I miss the moments
Of poignant silence
I’d drawn words
On your chest
In the shadows
And pried open
My own emotions
I hope
You’re doing well
And the words
Have sprouted flowers
In your scars...
Adarsh Premraj Sep 2018
I'm no special
But one in three
Me, myself
And the blue in me

Tried to escape
But couldn't flee
Unchain me
And set me free

House it seemed
Can't disagree
All contained
But peace in thee

No souls, no ears
To hear my plea
Unchain me
And set me free

Grown as a person
Never tasted glee
Heart and soul
Dry as a tree

Thirst unquenchable
By ocean or see
Unchain me
And set me free.
Solomon Dec 2017
Three angels came to greet me,
They said they seek for a friend to be,
First is the Angel of Death,
whom I befriended with,
Now my soul would be reaped with care,
Second is the Angel of Sorrow,
whom I befriended with,
To accompany me on a blue day,
Third is the Angel of Love,
whom I befriended with not,
For love only hurt,So I wouldn't dare.
Love hurts.A lot.
Mary-Eliz Apr 2017
The slow autumn presses
at the window,
as geese give a melancholy voice
to leaving
their dark v-shape
splitting a cloudless sky

the sun spreads
a quiet space
of tangerine orange
and rosy pink
as it slips below the horizon

when darkness closes in,
stars shiver
in the distance
ghosts perhaps since
some have died

the moon’s shimmer follows
the river’s winding path
complacent river in lament
mingles with powerful sea

ending and beginning
combined in poignant
Just a bit out of season! :-)
Lauren R Apr 2016
In the instant it takes a shutter to click and close, you will be gone.

We collected pictures of our perfect pretty smiles, your pearl teeth bear in front, while my lipstick lips, curled into butterfly wings, charmingly drift through the summer air. You are there, you are still there, where I left that you. Before the future became the present and you were no longer here, still there. You are where I cannot reach you.

I held that memory on the tips of my fingers, flicking a lighter close to its edge.

Your hair fell so perfectly over your forehead, but somehow, I still wanted to push it to the side when I looked at the photographs. I guess habit doesn't cease in an instant like the snap of a Polaroid or beat of a heart. When I looked at our pictures, I still wanted to whisper into your ear how much I loved you, chin nuzzled into your neck, fingers draped across your chest, your heart, your warmth. Nothing is permanent. Not even promises. Not even the visions of the kids, the house, the daytime dish washing, and night time monster watching, kids curled up in bed and us, checking on the floor, searching for what is not there and it's funny how even now, even though you're gone, I still find myself doing the same thing. Just alone.

As it caught fire, I watched our perfect lives fall to ashes in the shoe box at my feet, I saw the flash of your eyes and reach of my hand, choking me as it went. They didn't burn as easily as I thought they would.

Im hanging new ones in their place, but the dark spots behind the frames still remain, and your name is written in them.
Last of the spam for today, this one's about letting go
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