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Chris Saitta Apr 24
The light from the end of eternity
Comes in through the window glass
Sits on the sill with the red Anthurium
In the stenciled orange Waterford vase
From the grassy light of the Lyceum.

If the sun were to choose where to die,
It would falter over Pompeii,
And lie like a broken godhead
Or lava poured into the pottery cups of
The open-skied houses.
CautiousRain Apr 16
I never asked
for my hands to be caked in ash,
fists full of powdered, smothered memories
weigh me down like cages;
if you were to see my body,
cut apart, missing, coated
and preserved as a martyr,
like a body in Pompeii
trying to fight back the smoke.
you can try to fight your memories, but you'll die trying
maybe we should accept them instead, ya know?
I need to get better at that
SpiritAnimal Aug 2018
Rumblings shaking the earth
Names cried out, long lost
Blame the gods, or us
Who forgot to pray?

Buildings collapsing
“Ubi est mater?”,
Children cry
Who forgot to pray?

Ash everywhere
Miles and miles of dust
This is it,
Goodbye Pompeii.
hxrvld Jun 2018
Shoulder to shoulder
Finger to finger
Thirst of love
Filled with love
Overflowing love
City lights in Eden
Caresses somewhere hidden
Streetlight kisses
Walking beside the blue river
Lured by the old architect
Under the lost city of Pompeii
French kisses in the quiet palace
Sinless pleasure
Singing beside asphalt
Down to the town
Of dazzle diamonds
Lovely dinner
Fulfilled the hunger
Ends at the train station
With no kisses
& heavy feeling.
grace Sep 2017
i watched the smoke loom into the sky.
you and i, we don't pay it any mind.
the blood is rushing to my face—
vesuvius who?

a.d. sixty-two: an earthquake shook the ground.
that was seventeen years ago, and we are twenty now.
four days ago the shakes started again
but i don't mind the sound.

i close my eyes and i am gone
the room is full of heat
volcanic ash and tephra and gas—
forever, we're asleep.
Peter B Sep 2017
One day it will erupt
and turn this city into grave - I say.

No one believes a fortune-teller,
no one wants to face the fate.
They won’t leave Pompeii,
nothing can make them go,
there's no place like this
in the whole Rome.

Nothing will make them leave,
only fools run away from paradise.
They are singing and drinking wine,
girls are dancing and music's playing.

I wish I didn't know how it will end,
I wish I was one of them.

I'll pour some wine into the glass
and down it as fast as I can,
and then I'll have another one,
and another one.
I'll be singing with them, dancing.
I'll kiss a girl and then I'll sleep with her,

I will be trying to forget it.
Niobe Sep 2017
She is made of the fires of Pompeii,
The waters of the Mediterranean,
The leaves of Tir na Nog.

She is the eye in my storming skies,
The confused time between dark and dawn,
Violet, calm, navy, bright and ordinary.
She is my Lorelei, my forest fairy.
Her voice paints my glasses in green and gold,
Hues of sunsets and city lights
Dance across the horizon.
Only I can see them.

The ocean is full of stars in direct sunlight,
And so too am I under her gaze.

She is the fires of Pompeii,
The waters of every ocean,
The whole forest of Tir na Nog.

To her,
I am a rusting penny,
A grain of rice sitting in the cupboard.
She is my Bridge of Sighs, she is La Seine,
And I am her bright red pen marking suggestions,
Never corrections.
She is my Lorelei, and I her nothing.
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